In my house we have 3 boys, a man and me. There are all different colours and sizes of socks in our house we have baby socks, school socks, daddy’s work socks weekend socks, copious amounts of sports socks and everything in between. Try as I might I can’t seem to keep the mess of socks under control.
Much has been written of odd socks. Ann Enright in her novel, Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, wrote hilariously about the perils of odd socks and I laughed at her recount in my ‘before children’ naivety. But I have turned into Ann Enright and my life, at times, does centre around the ‘where the heck did all these come from!!!!’ sort of helpless mania.
I’ve tried various things such as washing them in a net, pairing them in the washing basket, only buying my hubbie black socks but nothing works. I still end up trying to manage (I mean hide) the pile of lonely socks in the utility room. They’ve been sorted in a zipped canvas box (so I can’t see) but they outgrew that straining the zip and then finally sprouting out as if multiplying like rabbits. They’re now in a red wooden box in the hope that as the box gets full I’ll magically sort them all back into pairs to be filed in the correct drawers. Pigs will be flying and hell will have frozen over if that ever happens.
Why can’t I control the socks of the house? Is this some sort of overlooked secret Freudian task that I am failing? Should Freud have skipped the dream analysis and really concentrated his concerns to odd sock management? I think so. That would really have shown the inner workings of your mind. Is my inability to control them a reflection on how I organise my home and children? Is my confusion on how to store them revealing my confusion over how my life has turned out? One thing is for sure it has nothing to do with sex or my jealousy of men for not having a penis which the lovely Freud would have put it down to.
So I give in. I can’t control the socks and won’t even attempt to as after 7 years of marriage and 6 years of having children if I haven’t figured out a way yet it really isn’t going to happen. Let the socks run wild or maybe I should take a new direction and just pair any old socks together, it would certainly be a talking point.
I am no Stepford wife but I am going to relax about the socks situation and not get so upset by it all. They will not beat me. I will stand firm. But if I start to dream about the odd socks coming to get me maybe Freud could have been right..?
Tobias ‘helping Mummy’ pair the odd socks.
(He put the sock on his head and said ‘hat!’)