Win Some, Lose Some

My lord! I used to think that keeping track of my own socks was hard, little did I think of the challenge that children’s socks might present. I mean, the manufacturers might as well write “disposable” on the label ‘cause you know you’re only going to use them once and then they’re gone.

Initially, I tried to pin the disappearance of baby socks on the usual scapegoat, the dryer. My husband noticed a strange opening at the back of the “dryer barrel” – what do you call the inside of a dryer? We surmised that some kind of grate had fallen off, creating an excellent escape hatch for tiny socks. But then the dryer stopped working entirely a few weeks back. You could set the timer for 3 hours and your clothes would come out as wet as when you put them in. And still, the socks continued to disappear.

My husband claims that I’m always losing things and should keep better track of "my stuff." One might be tempted to wonder in what sense baby socks are mine and not his, but we won’t allow ourselves to take that conversational detour right now. Instead, let’s ask how one might go about tracking forty separate 1 x 3 inch pieces of stretchy fabric through the long and arduous laundering journey they must take every week. Let’s see… off the feet, onto the floor, into the hamper, out of the hamper, into my arms, down a long flight of stairs, through a maze of children’s toys, more stairs, into the sorting pile, into the washing machine, out of the washing machine, more arms, more toys, more stairs, onto the “laundry sofa”- wet end, on to the drying rack, back on the sofa – dry end, AND THEN, if they’ve made it that far and we’ve got a match, into the cupboard, safe at last. Many begin the journey, but few finish the race.

Speaking of missing grates and lost items, a few nights ago, when friends were over for dinner, one saw our toddler accidentally drop a toy into an open air vent on the floor. She reached inside the hole to help him retrieve it and, in addition to the “just-lost” item, pulled out a precious toy phone that my parents had bought him over a year ago at a special, locally owned toy store. It had gone missing shortly after he received it, and I hadn’t had the heart to break it to my parents. Now I wouldn’t have to! She reached in again and found two missing Playmobil figures. Yay! Her husband, not to be outdone, stuck in his hand and pulled out a silver chain, a large hairpin and some black rubber thing that no one could identify. Another friend who has the longest arms I’ve ever seen tried his luck and pulled out a rubber low-relief cat that had fallen out of an irritating battery-operated book that we threw away long-ago. Bonanza. By the time I got a turn, there was nothing left in there but a dustball. And I’ve got no trouble finding those around here.