As far as household chores, I don’t mind doing laundry. As a writer, I’m home during the day, I can throw a load in the washer and the dryer and the clothes are ready to return to their rightful owners. I’m not particularly picky about how clothes are done, I’m just way more efficient at getting them all done in one day than anyone else is because I’ve been doing it for a long time.
Since my daughters were small, I’ve made them put away their own clothes. That’s served a couple of purposes. It discouraged the “I tried this on for thirty-five seconds and I don’t want to wear it so I’ll shove it in the dirty clothes” issue many of my friends were having with their young daughters, because I made my daughters put their clothes away and it takes less time if you’ve got less clothes. My friends would complain about the amount of laundry they had to do every day. My philosophy? I wash clothes once a week. That’s it. Sure, there are a few exceptions, especially when work uniforms became part of the teenagers wardrobe, but by then I was already teaching the oldest to wash her own clothes so it didn’t matter. It also showed my daughters that I am not their laundress/maid/personal assistant. It also allowed them to choose how and where they wanted to organize their drawers and closets.
But making them responsible for this also meant I had to give up control on where and how they stashed said clean clothes. Shirts sometimes are wadded up rather than folded. Closets are…well, to be honest, I rarely look in their closets any more. The clothes get put away where they want them, on my time frame (no piles of clean laundry in the family room for days on end) and I’m good with that.
What’s always been the bane of my laundry existence? Mis-matched socks. I cannot tell you how many socks they’ve lost over the years. At one time, when all three girls were still at home, I ended up with 47 individual socks with no matches. How in the hell can they lose that many socks? I’ve heard the jokes about the dryer eating socks, but that was beyond ridiculous. And the worst part was…my daughters didn’t seem to care.
So in a fit of maternal pique, which I’m sure you ALL can relate to, I laid down the law. No more new socks until they started keeping track of the socks they already had. Well, my daughters, ever creative, started wearing mis-matched socks. The first time I looked down at my 12 year old daughter’s feet and she had on SOCKS THAT DIDN’T MATCH, I gasped in horror. I can’t wear socks that don’t match. It’s not about what other people might think if they saw me wearing one purple sock and one white sock, but a visual thing for me. I walk around in socks all day and it’d be damn distracting every time I looked at my feet. But…I let it go. I figured if they were all right with it, then the 47 mis-matched socks would actually almost become 24 new pairs of wearable socks.
I stumbled across this display in a store a few months ago. I was so shocked and surprised I took a pic with my cell phone and sent it to the daughter who’s never followed the rules very well and was the first one to get creative.
A company, Little Miss Matched, actually sells socks that don’t match. This is not a joke. And they sell the socks in packs of three, in funky combinations:
My daughters were trendsetters — who knew?
Just for fun, let me hear your missing sock stories, or whether you can wear mis-matched socks and one lucky commenter will win a pair of socks, mis-matched or not — and I promise they’re not from my personal stash.