I lose a lot of stuff. I do this in regular, run of the mill life, but in pregnant life it is oh so much worse. Keys, money, purse ... they could be anywhere. It’s especially bad when I put something in a very safe place as I am almost certain that those very safe things are never to be seen or heard from again. Should I write a note to remind myself about some errand or appointment, I truly believe said note spontaneously combusts as soon as it is out of my sight.

Maybe they go to the same place as the socks? My household has an abundance of socks. During one of my recent nesting-type days I decided that I would find the match to every single, solitary sock under this roof. The roof doesn’t really cover it because they are in the cars, scattered in the yard, and disbursed throughout gym bags and backpacks. There were also a few stray socks in the bottom of the top loader washer that I can’t reach anymore and they had gone through the wash no less than ten times this week. I ingeniously used kitchen tongs to get to those.

So away I went, gathering socks from high and low, and managed to fill a laundry basket. I matched socks for longer than anyone ever should and threw away the ones with holey heels and mangled toes and, being the clever gal that I am, I only tossed them once they were matched. Still, at the bottom of the basket there were no less than twenty singleton socks. I stared into the sock abyss, certain they were mocking me. I decided that they had a week and after that, if no match turned up, they would go to the great sock place in the sky. Through the week there was a friend found for three or so socks and then I threw the rest away.

Of course, three days after the socks left the building, I had another basket with twenty socks with no match. I considered banning socks and all their troubles from my world completely, but then visions of blisters and very stinky shoes brought me back to reality. Socks are a necessary evil, so I’ve accepted that where they go is one of the great mysteries of the universe and that I must simply let it go. (Though I have considered hiding some socks from one another just to get a jump on them and beat them at their own dirty game.)

There are many other things that are hiding from me in this house. Those needles that go on pumps to inflate soccer and basketballs? I have purchased no less than ten of them inside a two year span, yet have three pumps without needles. Were I to go pick up a needle at the store, I am positive the ones that live here already would surface immediately. Indeed, there would suddenly be an abundance of those sneaky little buggers. They would then invite their new friend, still in the package, to join them in their secret hiding place and begin their little game again. It always reminds me of the insert you need to play a 45 record on a turntable. I’m willing to bet every household had several in 1980, but when you went to play your brand new Shawn Cassidy record, alas, they were nowhere to be found. That left people trying to fashion their own insert. I can recall that cardboard drink coasters cut down to size worked okay for awhile before warping, but using all the coasters also led to rings on the coffee table which didn’t go over well.

Lucky for me it is hot out so I don’t need those stinkin’ socks, (nor can I reach my feet to put them on) so I feel like I have won a small battle. They will, no doubt, spend this time in the sock bin plotting their next diabolical move.