Put a Sock In It

I attempted to rummage through my sock drawer this morning looking for 2 socks that matched. I say “attempted to” because my right hand & arm aren’t really capable of rummaging. I’m not a stickler for matching per se, but I make an attempt to keep my socks with their rightful mates. After all, we’re all warriors in the unspoken battle with the little people. I don’t mean dwarfs, I mean THE little people; the ones that steal one sock at a time from the dryer. Lately I find myself more and more frustrated with not being able to do my own laundry. You may not believe this, but I miss laundry. Between my husband, the little people, and a 2 year old who’s idea of helping fold laundry is pulling clean items out of the basket one-by-one and chucking them across the room, I’m left with…well, this:

This is my sock drawer. Notice anything in particular? If you’ve ever been admitted to a hospital you’ll notice my extensive collection of hospital booties with the rubber grip bottoms (which incidentally never stay on the bottom of your feet.) You’ll also notice that each of these hideous socks have their mate. Yet my beloved striped witch socks, my knee-high skull socks, and my Elmo socks do not. Do you know why the hospital booties have their mates? Because even the little people hate those hideous socks!

You may also be wincing at the (lack of) organization of my drawer. This is what happens when you can no longer do your own laundry. Some days I just stand there and curse at it – in a whisper of course, because the baby monitor is usually on and I don’t want to seem ungrateful to my sweet, overworked husband. Silly socks are very serious business. You can see in the picture that I’m not a regular white or black sock kind of girl. Each pair in my glorious collection has been hand picked by yours truly or gifted to me by a thoughtful friend. When one is missing, I’m genuinely upset. I keep telling myself I’m going to pull the drawer out, sit on the floor and go through each and every sock until that drawer makes sense again.

BWAHahahaha! Yeah that’ll happen.

Even in the hospital I chose my own socks.

I fantasize about a lot of things I wish I could do again: carry the laundry to the garage, stand on my tippy toes to reach things, crawl on the ground to see how much of my stuff has been shoved under the bed. Something tells me that the day I can get a good view under my bed, it’ll be like finding a buried treasure. I suppose that is something to look forward to. I know someday I’ll have the strength to pull that sock drawer out and get it organized. For now, all I can do is put a sock in it. And hope its mate turns up before I turn to the booties out of desperation.