A Socky Situation

It is not often that I can claim victory over a long-standing problem, but this morning I can say I did!

It is only an ADD-riddled person who would have the ability to get so far off track packing her kids for camp that she single-handedly solves the "sock crisis" that has been going on in our house for years.

Yes, years.*

You may know the crisis: an unmatched sock, no doubt the one the dryer didn't eat, manages to find its way into the laundry basket. Pressed for time, it sits in the basket, atop the dryer. And it sits, and sits, and sits. And, before you know it, your toddler's foot is three times larger than the sock, that sock that is STILL unmatched.

Or, you spend $12+ bucks on the one-size-fits-all baseball/soccer/football socks that only match ONE uniform for one, short season. Naturally, between the field and home, one of the socks decides it would be romantic to leave your home and go where the other socks disappear to, somewhere in the cosmos, some place far, far away where only Star Trek has ventured. So, your kid becomes "sockless Joe Jackson" for the season. The only thing that makes it sting less is that, as the season wears on, you realize other kid's parents have the same problem--some come to games with the wrong socks, hat, or without their bungee belt.

Or, you have uniform socks for your kid to wear to school. They come from a special store that has inconvenient business hours and charges $6/pair. The matches for those socks, I'm convinced, are having a party at some really expensive boarding school, somewhere on the East Coast.

So, while in the midst of packing the boys for camp, I realized the sock crisis had escalated to a point of no return. And, I further decided that I was going to be the one who solved this little issue. Even if it meant I was going to throw out socks that have been in our possession, as singles, since before Nickels was a year old, almost 10 years ago.

While that last statement sounds ridiculous, there are two explanations:

1. I am an eternal optimist. I am convinced that the matching sock will show up somewhere, somehow.

2. I am eternally lazy. I am convinced that the matching socks will show up without me putting any effort forth to find them.

Sock fairy, anyone?

So, bright and early this morning, I pulled all the singles together in one room, after searching seven sock drawers and finding the two sock-containing laundry baskets. And I went about the arduous task of finding sole mates (ha, ha). Those who didn't find true love were chucked in yet another laundry basket, one designated to head straight for the garbage can.

But, before they could make it there, I realized I had an embarrassing rainbow of unwanted footwear that was just going to become part of a landfill. The slightly crazed recycler in me cringed.**

It was in that moment that I honestly believe the spirit of my Mother overtook my body. As a long-time Preschool teacher, she could look at a hunk of dryer lint and come up with art-show worthy crafts. I actually thought: "This would be a good start to a really rockin' collection of sock puppets!"

Now, despite the part of my brain called "common sense", I entertained this idea for a good couple of hours. I turned over all the essentials in my mind: what to use for eyes, hair, which colors would be best, where to store the socks, etc.

Then, I came back to my senses. Or the coffee kicked in. Something.

Anyway, I grabbed all those socks, chucked them in the big garbage can near the back gate, threw up my hands and yelled "VICTORY".***

Honestly, though? I'm still struggling with the idea that I've deprived children all over Dallas the right to get to know a puke-green, yellow-button-eyed, red-yarn haired sock puppet named "Dork".

Somehow, I'm guessing, if this urge still exists in a month or so, that I will find that one single sock at the bottom of the laundry basket and I'll be able to make that dream come true.

Or not.


*Yes, in case you were wondering, those unmatched beauties were moved from our old house to the new. Almost three years ago. UM. HM.

**I about drive Mike nuts when we take a trip out of Dallas because I collect all the recyclable stuff in a bag in the back of the car, completely washed and ready for the recycle bin when we get home. For some reason, he just doesn't get this!?!

***See, if I had left them in one of the garbage cans in the house, I would have gotten up at 3am, convinced I had made the wrong choice, and started making sock puppets. The garbage can near the alley contains the body of the paraplegic squirrel, which the dogs managed to chase down the day after the trash folks arrived. Let's just say we aren't opening that one unless completely necessary until AFTER the next garbage pick-up.