I realized this morning as I was throwing my wet hair into my daily pony-tail, trying to Downy Wrinkle reduce my only-slightly-dirty-will-have-to-do workpants, and any polo that hides the hideousness of a two child stomach, that the state of our family comes down to socks.
In calm times, at the beginning of semesters, they are neatly folded (even match) and are located in correct drawers.
Then there is mid-semester. Sleep-deprivation has set in, two parents at home at once is reserved for sleeping, and kids are climbing the walls in between preschool, babysitters, and trips to the library.
On this mid-semester morning, I cuss quietly less my three year old introduce new vocabularly during show and tell while I try to find socks. Any socks. They don't even have to freaking match socks. There is a clean pile on the floor, inches from the dirty pile (wait, that is a clean pile, right?), all surrounding a tiny box labeled "mis-matched" socks. See, this box was supposed to have that one sock that made it's way through the washer without a pair. This tiny box is now overflowing. I can no longer tell you if I am wearing my socks, Travis socks, or which kid belongs to what. I can't remember the last time I could find that glorious matching pair so perfectly folded (heck, folded in any way). Last time I opened my sock drawer, jeans were crammed in with a sweatshirt (thanks for putting that laundry away, hun).
Wait, I can remember the last time my socks matched. Winter break. Gloriously quiet, students all home, Travis not in classes, winter break. At least Spring is coming. No need for socks with sandals...unless you are my amazingly fashion faux-paus husband with his awesome white socks and birks combo.
And that is about all I have to say about socks. May we all have folded-socks days ahead.
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