This morning I was super organised. I was determined to have a pleasant, non-shouty, tantrum-free Monday morning. Yes, I know this kind of attitude just tempts fate but I live in hope, you know?
I was sure I had it under control. I had checked the hot dinner menu and established who was going to have packed lunches, checked there were no leftovers lurking in the required lunchboxes and gone through school bags evicting any notes that needed signing or party invites requiring RSVPs.
I had rechecked the kids’ homework diaries and discovered a particularly evil algebra worksheet that had escaped DD1′s attention. I also made sure the younger two had done their reading.
And when I put the kids to bed last night,I had been thorough in overseeing the kids’ uniform selection. I didn’t take their word for it when they told me they had their uniform ready for today, I checked myself that they had a top, trousers or a skirt and a cardigan or jumper. I also checked that the uniform they had was a/ clean, b/ free from holes and c/ the right size. I’ve been caught out by neglecting to investigate that these requirements were being adhered to before and indeed, we had a last minute hunt for a pair of tights and an appropriately sized cardigan for DD3.
But I had made one fatal mistake and had forgotten the socks. This was my undoing.
In our house there seems to be one rule for the washing in general and another for The Socks. All the other washing goes into the basket, downstairs to the machine, and is eventually hung out, dried and put away. The Socks seem to make it no further than the washing basket. They certainly never make it into the dry washing pile in the same numbers that come off people’s feet. I can only assume they end up in the same place that pens and sellotape do in this house.
So of course, we had a tantrum this morning from DD2 about not being able to find any socks. Finally some were discovered at the bottom of one of the dry washing baskets, under a load of towels. Off Topic but is it just me who has children who seem physically and mentally incapable of picking things up and looking under them when searching for stuff?
I could just about cope with the mystery of the disappearing socks if it only affected the kids, but no, MY socks go missing too. This morning I had no less than 5 single socks to choose from and in the end I did what I do most mornings and put on an odd pair. I suspect this doesn’t help the chances of me ever having a matching pair but I don’t have much choice in the matter. Odd socks are better than no socks at all, surely?
Once the socks had put me in a bad mood, the rest of the morning was a bit of a write off. There was indeed shouting ( not all from me) and a couple more tantrums. It was not a good Monday morning but the kids are now in school and I’ve had the chance to take look around the house and see if I can spot a few more sock fugitives. I’ve only found three white school socks in the utility room so I’ve made an executive decision and bought the girls 5 days each of new socks from Amazon.
I even splashed out and bought myself a few matching pairs. I know I’m now going to discover a hidden cache of washed, dried, single socks somewhere in the house but surely there is no such thing as too many socks?