Socks . . . and a T-shirt

Not choice, but habit rules the unreflective herd.

~ William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850)

Six people.

Fourteen feet.

Hundreds of socks.

Some the smallish ankle-hugging kind. Some long enough to reach the knees. Some with holes. Different brands and sizes. Nearly all white.

My wife is a trooper. She sorts them – the ones that have pairs – and bundles the likely mates together. She hates it, so I volunteer to help on occasion. I hate it worse, though she claims that’s quite impossible. Every load of laundry has socks in it. And since there is not much room left in the drawers, they all go in the big laundry basket sitting by the shoe basket near the front door.

And every morning it’s the same worn and weary refrain . . .

“Mom! I can’t find any socks!”

Thus, as dubbed by She Who Must Be Obeyed, it has become the “MOOOOOM! I can’t find my (muttered under breath through clenched teeth) damn socks!” basket. Or, when she’s really grumpy, the “MOOOOOM! These-socks-don’t-fit-anymore-so-I’m-throwing-them-on-the-floor-beside-the-basket!” basket. These castaways end up . . . ? You guessed it. Back in the laundry, where they’ll be washed yet again and put back in the basket. As the world turns . . .

You’d think, after all these years, we’d put our heads together and come up with a solution. Anything would be better than this most annoying and predictable of morning rituals, scrambling for socks while trying to finish breakfast, catch the end of Curious George, and make it to the bus stop. You’d think . . .

But the other night, in a rare moment of melancholy, in, of all places, the middle of the Housewares department at Wal-Mart, with so many viable options for ending the monotony stacked upon the shelves, my wife observed . . .

“Ya know? In a few years, we’ll miss that . . .”

Tru dat.

One day, there will be no morning routine. At least not one involving frantic kids and piles and piles of socks.

So, in the basket the socks will stay.

But I’m wondering . . . perhaps, just to make it more fun . . . I might have to buy a green pair . . .

Because it’s T-shirt Friday at the Gimcrack Hospital, and because my wee one is so darn cute, I offer you this . . .

The sock basket. And a close-up . . .

“I’M TRYING TO BEHAVE”

Yeah. Right . . .

[photo credit]

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26 thoughts on “Socks . . . and a T-shirt

    • If you only knew . . .

      Actually, there’s the stray kid that wanders in nearly every day and we usually end up with his socks in the basket as well . . .

      I could change the post, I suppose, but that’d be a bit like picking the booger off the end of your nose that’s been there all day anyway . . .

      Sheesh!

  1. I have a friend who remarried a few years ago. The new blended family had six kids. I asked my friend how she dealt with all the laundry. She said, “It’s really not that bad… except for the frickin’ socks.”

    Your daughter is SO darn cute – she’s a nice combination of your wife and you.

    Loved the exchange above between derfina and you – funny! I didn’t even catch the 14 feet with six people. That’s great!

  2. My son definitely owns more socks than me. And I’ve thought about how much I will add to the laundry when we have a second kid… and just how much I will miss it someday.

  3. Oh my god. I was just sorting my socks yesterday and thinking, “This is the most atrocious annoying job ever.” I have about a million mateless socks. I don’t understand how this happens. I had them all lined up on the bed like I was playing Memory or something. Which is sort of what it’s like when you think about it.

  4. No lie – we do the exact same thing. The basket is in the 2nd fl laundry room and I don’t even bother to match them anymore. I’ve also noticed that the kids don’t even try to find matches anymore either – they just cover their feet. Fine by me. No time to sweatsock the small stuff, right?

  5. Sometimes we count living beings in our house by the feet. With five people and three cats, we do tend to confuse. I was wondering if you had some sort of amputee pet situation going on, or what. I’m with you on the bad math, though.

  6. she is awful darn cute! my daughter solved her sock problem when she was about 2 years old – and to this day doesn’t bother wearing matching socks. me? i buy all black, matching socks. when they get holes? i throw them out. when i need more? i buy more black matching socks and start over… lazy? you bet!

  7. Fab t-shirt Friday photo .. your daughter is lovely 🙂 we have solved the sox problem (my teen & I) we buy black trainer sox…. that means no more matching .. oh and we wear boots a lot (this is only a recent change in our household.. before I would spend an age matching up after the wash.. zzzz)

    p.s. thank you for visiting 70s land 🙂

  8. We’ve got this tackled, given that I only wear black Thorlos because, dangit, they’re more comfy than any sock has a right to be and Liam’s socks are, well, tiny. Anything left over is, by default, Dede’s. So, obviously, only having 3 people and – typically – only 6 feet among us simplifies matters considerably!

  9. Regarding socks, we are colour-coded in our house. I like black (I’m the guy with black socks and runners at the gym), my wife prefers red (fiery, Latin temperament), and the boys are blue and yellow respectively (nothing fancy for these brackets). Makes sorting easy.

  10. I don’t know if it is the same where you live, but the kids here don’t care if their socks match or not. As long as they have two on their feet they’re good to go! Some purposely make sure their socks don’t match. It makes it easy. Any socks without mates (which is a lot) end up in a drawer in the laundry room. Those who need socks simply reach in and grab two.

  11. I loathe socks. I don’t wear them. Sorting the odd ones gives a perverse sort of pleasure. My daughter has been known to wear 7 or 8 socks at a time. I wondered if you had some kind of extreme polydactylism going on with the extra feet…

  12. Fun post for T-shirt Friday. And like the others said, your daughter is adorable. I live alone with my dog, and her socks won’t fit me. I keep losing them, too, especially in the upper dryers in the laundry room because I’m too short to see into them. Or they may all be under my bed. I just gave up and wear whatever covers my feet.

  13. That’s so funny. 🙂 I used to sort them all and put them into their drawers but then my life turned into a Dr.Who episode. I am now transformed into a ‘wanna-be’ neat freak who is suffering horribly as a result of having her ‘fix’ cut off by such an immense and paralyzing workload.

    My son wears black and gray socks almost exclusively, and that helps with keeping them looking cleaner— because he runs all over the house and slides in them. My daughter and I buy colors and patterns and we manage to recall which ones belong to whom somehow. I mend the good ones when they rip, because they are expensive. All of them are in a laundry basket beside the washer, and I pair them if I am not having a nervous breakdown that day, or if I can bend. There is a lot of hollering about socks in here since my life turned into a Dr.Who episode… I miss my life as a part-time home-maker like a dog misses her tail!

  14. How does six people equal fourteen feet? Who has four? Or do two of you have three?

    The advantage of a warm climate? I haven’t worn socks since November.

  15. We go through this several mornings a week (we get to skip it on the days the kids wear flip flops to school, which is a bonus in AZ). But it’s exactly the same here. We have a basket, and I’d like to set it on fire some days!

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