Yep, laundry is pretty sweet... except for socks... I don't much care for matching socks. This might be partly because my socks never seem match... even when I'm wearing them. This could be attributed to the fact that the gremlins are constantly stealing one sock from every load of laundry... but always the left one? Maybe they are right brain? Or I might hate matching socks because they get everywhere... and I do mean everywhere. Or it might be because every load of socks is an exercise in futility because I live with five children who are incapable of putting their socks in their dirty clothes baskets... or even wearing their socks for a full day. And then if by some miracle a pair manages to get into the laundry basket and into the SAME LOAD of laundry one of them is SURELY going to get stuck in the crevice of the washer or the dryer (where I find no small amount of legos, froggy toys, and loose change) and will never be found until three days later no matter HOW MANY TIMES I check it. I can't even keep the socks straight in my sock drawer!!!! Therefore it might be understandable that I don't like socks. If I didn't need them so much I would burn them all!!!!!!!!!!!! Well, not really, but you know what I mean.
Anyways, from the beginning of living in Texas I have made it perfectly clear to small people that washing and drying and folding socks is an act of patience, diligence, servitude, a small case of martyrdom, but most importantly it is an act of love. This is so much an act of love that I have taught my smalls the following phrase-
Ahem, repeat after me.
Thank you, Gabbie.
Thank you, Gabbie.
I love you, Gabbie.
I love you, Gabbie.
You are awesome, Gabbie.
You are awesome, Gabbie.
I will wash your socks, Gabbie.
Nooooooo!!!!!!!
No matter what you think, they are always listening... and even they won't match socks for me.
Thus the amazing convenience of the safety pin. From an early age we had to safety pin our socks together before they went in the laundry chute (something that seems like it may be a peculiarity of the midwest, since I've never seen them elsewhere), or else face parental ire. It was annoying, but it did at least keep the socks in pairs. Now, determining WHOM the pair belonged to was sometimes a different matter...
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