Whose job is it to match all these socks?
It’s that time of year when other women look cute in their flannel shirts, but I look like I’ve misplaced my ax.
This meme/gif/hashtag/ I-don’t-understand-anything-anymore was sent to me several weeks back, and it hit the nail on the head. The one thing I would add, if anything, would be “Especially in Greenwich.”
Fall is in full swing, the leaves are almost gone, the frost has started covering the cars by morning (reminding me that none of my spring bulbs have been planted) and Thanksgiving is around the corner. Can someone please explain how this happened?
I found myself heaving our Jack-o’-lanterns into the woods as I just tried to keep up. The pumpkins were so rotten they exploded like squash bombs, with each detonation eliciting great relief. Three cars slowed to investigate: Who was the lady in PJ sweats, with wild unbrushed hair, laughing demonically into the woods at noon?
“Are you OK?” my neighbor yelled.
Well, let’s see: triennials, report cards, a teenager who communicates entirely by yelling, a recent discovery that we have mold in the basement that might have spread through the house explaining why we all have constant headaches — I think I’m good. It’s just that time of year.
“Mom,” my 10-year-old George said, “I think we need to start brushing our hair.”
George said this after seeing a picture of himself sitting in the front row of Parkway School’s ceremony on Veterans Day. Unbeknownst to him, his hair was sticking straight up on the back of his head. It was like Alfalfa, that kid in the “Little Rascals” — a show I highly encourage you to revisit if you want to feel terrible about your parenting.
“If you consider three kids on each other’s shoulders pretending to be an adult as the height of Rascal-ism,” my husband Ian said, “you should try being woken up with a leaf blower pointed at your head.”
It should be noted that Alfalfa’s slicked-back hair is combed throughout, but for the one offending strand. George looks like he has his hand stuck in a light socket.
And still there are piles of clothes throughout our house because we are transitioning our seasonal wardrobes, which means we are moving from lightweight sweatpants to a heavier cotton blend. And no one, I mean no one, has matching socks.
“They are always two different colors,” George complained.
“Then don’t take your shoes off,” I told him.
But when I found myself wearing a rockin’ jump trampoline sock on one foot and a kid’s ski sock on the other, I knew we had turned a corner.
It was time to play Match That Sock.
Match That Sock is a classic family game, which involves going around the house and collecting every sock you see in a trash bag and then dumping them all out on the living room floor. Merely collecting the socks from random places throughout the house is somehow satisfying; it’s kind of like le jeux sont faits, with socks.
Family members are summoned from all corners, as well as any of the kid’s friends who happen to be visiting. Last weekend, that was Chloe, my 12-yearold Selma’s best friend from sleepaway camp.
“Match That Sock?” Chloe said in horror.
“Mom,” Selma shouted, “Chloe did not come all the way from Boston to play Match That Sock!”
“Look, at least the socks are clean,” I told them, “and besides this is fun!”
“It’s a way of getting US to do YOUR work,” Selma responded.
My work? Oh boy — time to take things downtown.
The rules of Match That Sock are simple: In three 10-minute rounds, each family member matches as many socks as they can — but the socks must match and be balled accordingly. The person who matches the most socks by the end of Round Three wins a prize. There are no teams — it’s every man for himself.
“The only way I’m doing this is for cash,” our 13year-old Louie announced.
If anyone matches socks that do not match, they are immediately disqualified; likewise, if anyone counts their friend from Boston’s matched socks as among their own they must match five socks to every illegally counted sock. Please not this infraction is measured PER sock, not per pair of socks — a critical distinction. Then they are taken outside and shot.
“It’s like ‘Squid Game’,” Ian announced cheerfully.
“Squid Game” is the top show ever on Netlfix, and it’s not about grilled octopus from Polpo, but rather adults who play kids’ games for cash or death. There’s a giant doll that shoots people from her eyeballs if they fail to freeze during Red Light, Green Light. It’s the No. 1 show, folks.
So if you feel overwhelmed by the approaching holidays, your teenagers or your socks — don’t worry. You are not alone; you just need an ax, a pumpkin toss and a few rounds of Match That Sock. And whatever you do, stay away from Red Light, Green Light; it’s just too triggering.