Little Orphaned Footie

Every family has one. Known only as "the sock bag", this bag holds the lost, orphaned mates to matched pairs. There they lie, in hopes that an eventual reunion with their mate may someday be made.

Our sock bag is monstrous. Our sock bag is the stuff of legend. You think I kid. Oh, I do not. I would not kid about something so serious as a giant, overstuffed sock bag. I present proof of this hideous, ever-growing monstrosity:

A full cubic foot of stray socks

Our sock bag started out small. A stray sock here or there, nothing major. I think that might have been 13 years ago when there were just babies toddling around the house. And then something happened. Something horrible. (Something that Stephen King might take interest in.) The sock bag began to mutate. Or so it appeared. One day, I decided to count: 70 unmatched socks in the sock bag. 70! But wait, there's more: the sock bag has now grown even larger.

I dare not count them now.

We will buy brand-new socks for our four children, and only a few weeks later one of the new socks will find its way into the sock bag, having already lost its mate. Orphaned so soon? How does this happen?

I was assured when we purchased our washing machine that it had a non-sock-eating feature, so they aren't being gobbled up by the washer. So where are all the socks? And only the childrens' socks go missing; my socks and hubby's seem to be unafflicted by this malady.

The other day, my oldest daughter pointed to one of the socks and informed me that its mate was chewed up by the neighbor's dog. Okay, that's ONE sock. Where are the other 70+? We've turned the kids' bedrooms upsidedown, we've made a game out of the Giant Sock Hunt, and even looked in places we've never thought to look. Occasionally, one or two might turn up, but so far, we are not making a lot of headway on reducing the size of our sock bag.

Where ARE the socks?!

Sometimes I will find a sock outside, where I will joyfully rescue it and bring it in. A few times I have spotted socks out under the deck, becoming "one with the earth", decomposing to the point of no return. Those socks make me kind of sad.

I'm very bothered by the sock bag. I'm one of those people who likes everything in its place. Missing game or puzzle pieces drive me crazy. So you can see why the sock bag sends me into orbit. Here's the sock bag, dumped out:

While taking this photo, I swear I saw the pile move!

I keep all the socks. I've never thrown any of them away--in all these years. There are socks in there--baby socks--that no longer fit any of our children. But I know--I JUST KNOW--that the minute I toss that cute little baby sock, I will find its mate. There's gotta be one of those Murphy's laws or something that covers that.

Perhaps the biggest problem isn't the size of the sock bag. Perhaps it's me. It is rather odd that a person continues to hold on to socks that no longer fit anyone in the family. Maybe I don't want to toss those socks because they once fit my children and I can't bear the fact that they are growing older and more independent (the children, not the socks). Oh, horrors: am I becoming one of those hoarders? *shudders*

Occasionally, I will sit a family member down and instruct them to find mates to the sock bag. Sometimes we will find a few matches, so there is hope that maybe the sock bag won't need to graduate to the next larger bag size. Here's my oldest, Alyssa, (note grimace), tackling the sock bag:

I'm afraid I may have to resort to bribery in the future. This task is becoming more and more distasteful.

Another theory as to why I hang onto the sock bag and all its lonely occupants may be that the sock bag is simply representational of my outlook on life: an ever-hopeful, optimistic outlook that believes every lost thing will someday find its place, its rightful owner...its home. Yes, perhaps that's it: the sock bag is symbolic!

Then again, maybe I'm just full of it. ;-)

Disguised as WHAT?!

Another Halloween, come and gone. Not too sure about these costumes. My youngest went as a witch. Again. I think she spent all of two minutes on her costume. More interested in candy than in presenting herself as a proper witch. My son went as a Clone Trooper. I think he looks like an alien kitty.

And my two oldest went as...well, I'm not sure! They didn't do much trick-or-treating. They handed out candy and terrorized the little lions, bunnies, and kitties that came timidly up to our door. My second oldest is supposed to be a spook of some kind. I think she looks more like the bride of Achmed the Dead Terrorist. Fans of Jeff Dunham will know what I'm talking about.

What a crew!

So, my husband takes the younger two out. They're gone for two hours or so. Check out the plethora of candy they brought home. That's quite a haul! Naturally, I had to "check" it all to make sure it was safe. Now, where did I put those spandex pants?

I'd be smiling too if I had this much candy.

Before you start thinking that these kids are a little on the odd side, I thought I'd better show a more presentable picture of them. Friday, they got their pictures taken. They were awesome for the photo session. Not one problem with them. But I wanted to slowly strangle the photographer. She stressed me out so much that I wanted a cigarette by the time we were all done. And I'm not a smoker!

Ahh....much better!

Colonoscopy Gone Wild

Here the past few weeks, I've been thinking about my husband a lot. Mark's been working some pretty late hours and hasn't been as home as much as he used to be. And when he is home, he camps out in front of the TV way too much--at least in my opinion. I've been thinking about how I wish he would get a hobby, or at least read a bit more.

I wasn't thinking about any of those things this past Monday night. As I was cradling his unconscious body in the bathroom and watching him go through things beyond his control, I wasn't thinking about how his life could be so much more "well rounded" or how hobbies can be so fulfilling. I wasn't stressing about his TV habits as I was riding shotgun in an ambulance on the way to the hospital--with him in the back, registering a blood pressure of 80/50.

On Monday night I was thinking I might lose him.

Our priorities can change pretty fast. In the blink of an eye, what is important to us suddenly isn't so critical anymore. We hear this so often, but it is easily overlooked until what matters most to you threatens to be taken away.

Mark is much better now. His colonoscopy/polypectomy gone awry is now a thing of the past, and he is home now, recuperating and regaining his strength.

So tonight, when I came downstairs and saw him watching "The Hunt for Red October" for at least the 12th time in his life, I just chuckled and handed him a nice big, homemade strawberry-banana shake. Something to make the movie more enjoyable.

Sometimes I think I just think too much. Maybe I should do less thinking and a lot more appreciating. You never know what life is going to throw at you.

Refill on that shake, Honey?

Bless This Mess

Well, I've got these four kids. Five, if you include my husband. They're really good kids, but boy, can they make monster-sized messes! My oldest likes to read and write stories. That's a good thing, right? But the stories, the drawings, the books...they are everywhere. If you want to know where Alyssa is, just follow the paper trail. Literally. Chances are, if you follow the trail, you will find Alyssa behind a book or scribbling away furiously in her notebook.

Now, my next child is our horse girl. You know it immediately when you enter Brenna's room: horse pictures tacked to the wall, horse bedspread, horse books, and every Breyer horse that was ever made (okay, maybe not). It's wall-to-wall horses in her room, and I swear it even smells suspiciously like a stable in there. In fact, it's so cluttered with horses that Brenna could sneak in a real live Shetland Pony and no one would even know it. Hmmm...that might explain the stable smell.

And then there's Collin. Collin is in the fifth grade and thinks Legos are the coolest invention since the advent of the wheel. He's got buckets and buckets of Legos, enough to build a replica of the Sears Tower (and I do believe he is working on that as we speak). Legos cover almost every square inch of his floor. I don't know if he creates with them or just slings them around his room for artistic effect. I have no doubt that boy will become an engineer someday. But the Legos end up migrating downstairs...embedded in the carpet, stuffed down into the sofa cushions...even ending up in my vegetable garden, of all places.

And our youngest, Danielle...well, Danny takes the cake. She makes unbelievable, horrific messes that parallel the carnage left behind by an F-5 tornado. That girl literally colors for at LEAST three hours a day. But Little Miss Picasso never cleans up. If you see a pink blur in our house, that's Danny: running by at Mach 2 speed, onto her next disaster, er...I mean, creation. Markers, crayons, coloring books, artwork are everywhere! Because of her, we have confidently bought stock in Crayola.

And my beloved husband? Well, it's basically a laundry issue with him. Here's me: "Honey, look at this new-fangled contraption. It's called a hamper. I know we've only had it for 17 years, but let me explain how it works. You can put your dirty socks in it. Neat, huh?" Apparently, the concept is foreign to him because we are still working on the hamper vs. floor syndrome. Which brings me to...well, ME! I really can't complain too much about everyone else's messes, creative disasters, or dirty clothes sagas when I take a look at my workbench. How can anyone be creative with this type of carnage lying about?

It looks like the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?

Brand Spanking New

Wow, a new blog. Just sitting here...all white and shiny and new. Must fill it up with something. Let's see....




Okay, here's me:










As you can see, I'm not terribly photogenic. Don't like my picture taken, so you won't see many pics of me here.



Next, the fam:

Not the greatest of pictures. I think I resized it one too many times. It looks all pixelated and fuzzy, and my middle daughter looks like a squinty-eyed pirate. Will get another one later.

I'm having a heckuva time adding pictures here. Every time I try to add one, it puts it at the top of my page, no matter where I am in the post. Okay, moving on.

I am a forty-something wife and mother to four. We live in a big two-story house with way too many treacherous stairs and brown recluse spiders. Our house is filled with books, Breyer horses, Legos, and artwork of every kind. We homeschool our kids.

Things I like:

babies

kitties

toads

privacy

coffee

Things I don't like:

Wal-mart

jarring noises

big, slobbery dogs

clowns (that should really be put in a phobia category)

I have an Etsy shop:

http://www.beadstylin.etsy.com/

I try to garden, but the weeds have such a foothold here. I am afraid they are winning.

I like thrift stores and metal detecting. Books call my name and I usually have my nose in one. And I think it's pretty cool that you can rent movies for free at the library.

Every year or so, I also usually fall and break a bone or something. No, I don't have a medical condition, just terribly uncoordinated.

More to follow. I know you're all hanging on the edge of your seat.