Monday, 15 August 2011

The Definition of a Sock Bucket

My children seem to have a severe aversion to picking up after themselves - actually, I think I could go as far as to say they are actually allergic to it.

My two older boys share a room - or as I like to refer to it - the local tip.  Clothes are strewn on the floor, despite the fact that they have a washing basket in their room, socks can be found hanging off their ceiling fan, jackets are thrown over the desk, PJ's are never a pair because they'll just grab whatever top and whatever pants which of course means they are washed separately so that particular cycle just continues on for another week.  Shoes....hmmmm, I need to take a deep breath and move on from this topic for the moment.  It needs a whole discussion point of it's own a little further on I think.

We generally start our days with arguments over what to wear because it's the middle of winter and they insist on wearing shorts & t-shirts.  This is then followed by a lengthy discussion while I try and explain to them the reason they need to wear something warm, which then finishes off with my standard line "if I'm cold then everyone is cold, so go and get changed".  Even school days are no better.  Although my response on those days tends to be "I don't care, go and ask your principle why you can't wear your summer uniform".

And for those mums of girls out there, don't be thinking you're the only lucky ones that have to put up with multiple changes of clothes and things only being worn once before being dumped on the floor.  Oh no, we "mums of boys" share your pain.  We also share your pain of "skinny jeans", although I have now found them to be an excellent bargaining tool.  The new threat I use on my elder son of "stop annoying your brother or you're not wearing your skinny jeans for a week!" works a treat.

Meanwhile, my laundry closely resembles Mt Vesuvius.  It is just this never-ending pile of molten spewing clothes.  It only takes one day where I don't put a load of washing on and then it erupts everywhere.
Apparently, as the mother, it is my job to check all the pockets before clothes go in the washing machine.  Which also apparently means the fact that the brand new iPod went through the washing machine is also my fault.
I've tried ignoring the clothes strewn all over the floor and therefore not doing their washing t all.  I mistakenly thought that when they ran out of clothes they would suddenly realise that they don't grow legs and jump into the washing machine all by themselves and come out sparkling clean afterwards.

My Laundry at Home - ha, I wish.

Seriously, who was I kidding?  They are boys - as if they care their clothes are dirty.  They'll just pick something up off the floor, regardless of whether it's got dinner from the night before spilt down the front of it or dirt all over their sleeves because they thought it was a good idea to bury their matchbox cars in the back yard using their bare hands.  And really, who cares if a pair of socks has been worn all week.  This of course all ends up with me screaming like a banshee woman at them and refusing to take them out in public because they look like no one owns them.

And the socks - OMG - the socks.  Every day is the same.  At least one of them will come to me with the same line.  "I can't find any socks to wear". Then go and get some out of the sock bucket is my reply.  So what does that tell you?  The fact that we even have a "sock bucket" is a major issue in itself.  What is a sock bucket you ask?

Definition:  a sock bucket starts off as a small piece of spare Tupperware for placing an odd sock or two in, before its mate is found.  This becomes quickly replaced by a purpose-bought large plastic container for storing the insurmountable number of individual socks whose mates seem to have actually vanished off the face of the earth.  I'm assuming they have either been stolen by some kind of sock monster, chewed up by the washing machine or tumble dryer, or what is probably the more likely scenario - stuffed in some totally obscure location by one of the boys, never to be seen again.

Shoes!  Now this one I seriously don't get.  In winter they have sneakers and footy boots.  In summer they have thongs, plus they have their school shoes.  It's not like they have a cupboard full of shoe racks and boxes they have to maintain.  I set one rule, put your shoes in your wardrobe, then when you need to find them in the morning, you'll know where they are.  Not so hard to do I'm thinking.  Yet every morning is the same.  "Muuuuuuummmmmmm, where are my shoes?"  "I don't know, where should they be?"  Well, I put them in the wardrobe but "INSERT NAME HERE" must have moved them".  Yes, of course they did.  That's why I find them under the couch, under the coffee table, in the dog's kennel, in the car, in the toy bucket and one particularly frustrating day, in the bottom of the clothes basket!!!  Yes, buried under a mountain of clothes!!!! The one day they actually pick their clothes up off the floor and into the clothes basket and they bury the pair of school shoes under it all.  Arghhhhhhhhh.

And while all this is going on, I have my beautiful little 16month old boy who takes a drink then spits it down the front of whatever little outfit he's wearing.  His is constantly on his hunger strike for world peace so whatever food I try and feed him is also spat out and ends up down the front of him.  Oh, and because we are also the laziest 16month old around we still refuse to walk and therefore continue to crawl everywhere picking up every last bit of dirt and dust as he goes, but then that's a whole other washing story all on its own.

Amanda

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