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There are a number of seemingly random events, actions, reactions, states of being or … things by which I measure how well I am coping with the realities of life as a full-time working mother of young children.

In no particular order:

  • How frequently I manage to cook dinner (more times a week = good!)
  • How many congealing baby bottles I find under the couch (more bottles = not so good!)
  • How frequently I get to daycare pick-up by 5:00 (more times a week = good!)
  • How much wine I drink on any particular evening (more glasses a night = let’s not be judgy now and I know it’s only Monday but …. okay, I got nothin’.)
  • How frequently I make it to gym in any given week (more times a week = good!)
  • How often I respond to “How are you today?” queries at work with a caustic “Great! Looking forward to a week of making a sincere difference for Canadians by ensuring these notes are all in Arial 12 point font!” (more than a couple of times a week = not so good!)
  • How often I can identify all the leftovers in my fridge and manage to life-hack an edible weekday meal from them (more times a week = good!)

You get the picture.

But the icing on the cake?

The measure by which I know things are truly out of control?

The canary in the coal mine of my working parenthood, if you will?

The population of my Land of Lost Socks.

Everyone has one.  Really.  And if you are scratching your head in confusion?  Google it.  And be glad you aren’t the King or Queen of the Laundry in your home.  Know I. WANT. TO. BE. YOU.  And rejoice in the envy.


When the population of my Land of Lost Socks – my LLS, if you will – starts to rival the population of Prince Edward Island?

That’s when I know things chez nous are REALLY starting to get a bit out of hand.

This past Saturday was the morning I determined there was a need to send out a search party.

Yeah.  Time for these guys.

Yeah. Time for these guys.

There was a realization that reunification – en masse – NEEDED to be done.

Five hours of cleaning; and two loads of laundry later; here is the remaining underage population of our LLS:

Our Land of Lost Socks

Our Land of Lost Socks

A non-parent might be depressed.

Me?  This represents all that is left from the missings from TWO kids!

Given I’m currently ignoring the scary adult population of the LLS?  I’m pretty stoked.

It, of course, leaves me vaguely wondering where their partners are.

But the Internet, in its eternal wisdom, offers some suggestions.

Lynton Levengood posits they are being held captive by a sock dragon:


Meanwhile Lizette Valles has written a whole tome explaining their more likely whereabouts:


But me?  Looking at the remaining population of my LLS?

I mostly wonder if Dora and Princess Aurora’s sock buddies are off snoozing together somewhere beyond the friendly forest, over the hilly hills and past the troll bridge.

And Our Sock Thursday’s sole sister?

(Go have another look at the remaining inhabitants of the LLS if you are confused.  I’ll totally wait for you.  See solo Thursday sock?  All good?  Kay).

I can’t help thinking back to When Harry Met Sally and Sally’s whole fiasco over her day’s of the week underpants.  Wherever Thursday’s sole sister might be?  I’m at least confident she’s not contributing to anyone’s breakup with Sheldon – or anyone else.  ‘Cause she’s not THAT kind of underwear!


So yeah.  It’s been a week since I’ve posted and this is what I have for you.  Socks.  Life’s busy over here.  So in true “I can’t take it anymore, procrastination over other stuff” fashion, I spent my Saturday morning taking up the plight of the lost juvenile sock.  Because someone’s gotta do it.  I mean, won’t someone think of the children?

Really.  I almost feel a telethon comin’ on.

Okay, I’m done.

And linking up for the first time over at Perfection Pending‘s Manic Mondays.  Not sure if my LLS adventures really count as a parenting issue, but I noticed her link up a while ago, enjoy her blog, this felt rather manic, and I wanted to join in.

Check it out here:

Perfection Pending

For what it’s worth? I do, rather sincerely, wish it were Sunday.