Nothing to See Here…

Spring officially began last week, however somebody forgot to notify somebody and therefore the End Winter Start Spring program didn’t get run, but I’m sure it’s all a glitch and someone probably got fired and it’ll all be sorted out soon.

I’m so happy it’s nearly here, for many reasons.  Oh, the flowers will be blooming and the birds will be singing and the laughter of children will once again ring out in the neighborhood.  The barbeque grills will fire up and the windows will open and the bulkiness of winter coats will be put away until the cold weather finds us again.  All of those things are wonderful; great and good reasons for being happy to welcome the spring.

But none of them is my main reason for welcoming spring.  My main reason is SOCKS.

You read that right – socks.

I hate socks.  Not the wearing-of, mind you.  I find them to be warm and comfy and cozy.  In fact, I’m wearing a pair right now.

What I hate is the Sock Management and Administration role in the household.  I’m an SMA failure.  Examine the evidence:

I have an entire hamper full of unmatched socks.  FULL.  I should just throw them out, right?  Many of you right now are wondering “Why doesn’t she just throw them out?”  The truth is that the Green Hamper of Sock Despair is necessary for those mornings where I am scrambling around for a near-match because there are no clean matched socks.

Socks are the fucking bane of my existence.  I know, in retrospect, that I should have just standardized on a make and model of sock and stuck with it through the years.  But now, I have lots of different socks, from Target and Walmart and Kohl’s and other various other places.  All of them are slightly different.  Most are white, but there are cutesie patterned ones too.  Some are the fold-down cuff kind, some are the ankle sock kind.  And every other type out there – we have them, I’ve bought them.

Add to all that my horrible awful no-good laundry habits, and you have additional problems.  For example, they don’t always go through the wash and dry cycle in pairs.  One of them goes through with the whites and some bleach and its partner goes through with something red that should have been washed in cold so it didn’t fade but, hey, this is MY house we’re talking about and 90% of the laundry goes in on WARM/WARM and things, occasionally, fade. 

So in the end, I sit there, surrounded by socks, blubbering like an idiot.  Why don’t they match up?  What kind of SMA failure am I?  How can I, once again, add another pile of unmatched socks into the Hamper of Sock Despair?  Why is it when the children are getting dressed I can never seem to find a matched pair?  WHY DO I HAVE THREE CHILDREN WHO WEAR THREE DIFFERENT SIZES OF SOCKS?

Will there ever be a day when this sock business gets under control?  I’m optimistic.

When Sarah is 18, Jadyn will be 13, and Rae will be 11.  I think by then, they will all be able to wear women sizes like me.  That year, and directly defying the laws of the land, I will have the biggest fucking Sock Burning party you ever saw.  I doubt any of those bastards will have a matching partner by then.  There will be that ugly striped sock that has been hanging around for 7 years, its matching having run off to the circus or something.  And there will be about 500 white socks, all in various ‘shades’ of white (mama don’t got the magic of Clorox 2 here, evidently).  Some will be the footsies, some quarter socks, some half socks, some cuff, you get the idea.  But they will all burn like a malodorous tire fire that sends black plumes of smoke high into the air and poisons the noses of people for miles around.  And I will stand looking upon them laughing maniacally.  Burn, you bastards, burn. 

I will do my research, of course, and find a sock I can commit to.  A brand and model that is durable and well-made and will surely be available to buy for many years into the future.  I will mortgage my house and buy a thousand, no TEN thousand, pairs of them.  I will dedicate a room just to the storage of these beautiful new, consistent, matched up socks.  It will be a New World (Sock) Order!  No other brand or type of socks will be allowed into the house.  No sock will ever be washed with a towel or a shirt.  Mama WILL get the magic of Clorox and they will all stay bright white and like new.  The Green Hamper of Sock Despair will be history, a topic to laugh about when we gather together for fun evenings of Yahtzee with our feet cozy and warm in these superior quality, matching socks.

Ahhh…. That day in my future, I see it so clearly.

But I’m no where near it yet.  There is still the Green Hamper of Sock Despair.  There are three children who wear three different sizes none of them the same as me.  There are slightly pink ones and cuffed ones and ankle ones and striped ones.  We, my friends, are currently living in Sock Hell.

Which is why I’m glad spring is nearly here.  Not for the flowers blooming or the birds singing or the children playing…. FOR THE SANDALS!!!

Yes, it’s nearly sandal weather and my girls and I shall make the trek to the shoe stores and find each of them some sandals, those wonderful sockless footwear inventions that make their appearances when the winter is safely behind us.

I worship at the alter of spring and summer because it means that for 4 or 5 short months, I get to take a break from Sock Hell.  I get to hide the Green Hamper of Sock Despair in the back of the laundry room not to be dealt with again until September.  My mornings will become easier as I help my children into their shorts, t-shirts, and slip-on sandals.  I will not give a thought to socks once during the season of nearly bare feet and pink toenails.

Praise the lord (in whom I’m not sure I believe) – SANDAL season is nearly upon us!!  I think that it is for this reason and this reason alone that the flowers bloom and the birds sing and the children laugh.

Bring. It. On.