As a parent
I’ve calmly dealt with trips to the emergency with gaping head wounds, years of sleep deprivation, toddler meltdowns in the supermarket, building resilience in a bullied child, I’ve negotiated, reprimanded, encouraged, guided. Basically, I’ve been a paragon of virtuous calm and sense in the maelstrom of family life. (Well that’s my version of the story anyway).
But in the end it was the socks that did me in.
It’s St Joseph’s Feast Day at school today. So help me we were organised. YESTERDAY I bought the orange juice* (eldest child’s contribution) and the paper plates* (youngest child’s contribution). The was to be no last-minute stop off at the supermarket on the way to school this time, oh no this little black duck had Feast Day sorted.
Then this morning the children informed me they had to wear their sports uniform – again I’m sorted, by some miracle I had managed to wash both sports uniforms between Tuesday sport and Thursday night – go me. Only problem was the bloody sports socks.
You see our school uniform decrees plain white socks with the standard uniform, but with the sports uniform a special version of a plain white sock is required. This one has a band of blue and the name of the school around the top edge neatly wrapping around the ankles of the ankle biters.
We could only find three socks. Which is unfortunate given between two children we have four feet.
Everyone has a tipping point. Turns out mine is socks.
I rant, I rave, I bring in issues completely unrelated to the missing socks, in my head it made sense at the time.
The children refuse to consider my solutions to the problem – OK amputation may have been going to the extreme – but the idea of grabbing a texta and colouring in the sock with a bit of decorative script was a bloody good one – didn’t I just pay $250 for an art excursion? Surely if you are thinking about doing art for the HSC you could manage to jazz up your socks with the name of your school! They refuse to work with me.
Proving just how completely overcome with madness I am there is a brief moment where I consider joining the P&C to lobby for the removal of the sports socks from the uniform. Not that the lobbying is a bad idea, just the joining the P&C bit is INSANE. I once wandered in to a P&C meeting for a look – back in the early days of school life when I was all fresh, new and eager – and accidentally got appointed President – we are never going there again.
So I’m left with my own modern-day Sophie’s Choice. Which child do I pick to wear the proper socks? I make my decision, I scrawl a note to the teacher for the child who misses out. Yet again highlighting to the school our complete ineptitude when it comes to matters domestic.
I can see it now, my child at thirty, sitting in the therapist’s office “my mother never loved me, she chose my sister to wear the SOCKS”. It’s going to be difficult to get the therapist to understand the magnitude of the moment.
I remind myself Joseph was a tradie, a man so easygoing he was happy to raise his wife’s child by another man, spirit, deity, I’m pretty sure he never gave a toss what socks people where wearing when they paid tribute to him. Now if I can only get the school to see it that way!
*You will note both children have a keen awareness of their mother’s limitations – neither had offered to supply anything that required baking, cooking, or the involvement of their mother beyond her producing the money to buy staple items.
Do you have a tipping point? What idiotic thing has sent you over the edge?
I had to think for a minute – at the moment, what sends me over the edge is the inability to put the bluddy socks on! You did it yesterday, why do you need help today?!
Oh yes, the loss of ability when it suits, a very good example.
Come over to the dark side ….
I’m tempted, really tempted.
Sounds like quite a day! Thank you for the laugh. As someone who has spent a great deal of like in uniform (school, Girl Scouts, US Air Force, various work uniforms) I could relate.
Oh yes if you’ve been in the Air Force in particular you would certainly be able to relate. I can’t remember enlisting but it seems like we may have done!
Oh lordy, we’ve all been there, I think. I’m not sure what my big, BIG tipping point would be, I’ll come back with that after I think some, but to commiserate I’ll tell you this morning that the first words out of my son’s mouth were not “Good morning,” but instead, “Where’s my belt for my baseball uniform.”
Well, since YOU had a game yesterday and YOU took YOUR uniform off in the middle of our downstairs hallway so I could wash YOUR uniform so YOU could have it to wear to another game today, well, YOU TELL ME.
Ahem.
It’s nice to know that all over the WORLD we are having the same conversations with our children.
That was funny, esp the bit about the child in therapy! Thanks for the laugh. I wonder where all those socks go?
This is the great mystery. I bought about four or five pairs of the sports socks – we are down to three individual socks.
I think my washing machine EATS socks. I really do. I have a basket that I use to keep all the odd socks in while its partner is making its way through the wash but I’ve noticed more and more that many socks don’t make it. Do socks have tendencies to roam independently of the other? Decide they need space? Time to ‘think’ before returning home? Is this trend of separating socks an analogy for something? I’m sick and tired of spending money buying more socks!!
Clearly I understand your pain, Janine. *ahem* Possibly a little too well, lol.
It is bizarre. I’m with you, I’ve put in pairs and I swear I’ve ended up with singles. I don’t know how many pairs you got to buy to get through even a term! Pleased to know I’m not alone in this suffering.
well, janine, you had a lot more plusses than minuses – the clothes were fine, sports uniforms fine, food, taken care of. socks – you can be forgiven for that one. st. joseph will NOT care, nor will the teachers.
but, your high blood pressure? that might need a little help.
joy to you!
I seem to be the only one wondering who wore two of the same sock that day…
Hippie Child got to wear the socks, which was a bit unfair because Princess Child had been the one searching for them (and had managed to find three) but Hippie Child gets more detentions for things like wrong socks and has been the one who has gone with “the note” before, so I let her wear the socks. This is the kind of judicial decision making you have to engage in when you become a mother.