.....a pile of socks whose match has somehow managed to vanish into thin air in the space of a week. This week, you will notice that there are a staggering 7 pairs with no match, 2 of which are Ethan's beloved toe socks that Grandma and Grandpa brought him from Japan. Seven pairs with no match for two boys who together wear 14 pairs a week. So if I remember my statistics from college, that means that half of the time one or both absent minded boys put one sock in the laundry basket and the other God knows where.
So, I look under beds, under couches, outside (if you knew my oldest that would make perfect sense) and any other spot I can possible conceive of a sock being. I may find one or two but never all of them. Where they all go is a complete mystery. Probably out there somewhere with Jimmy Hoffa and D.B. Cooper.
from here
But, none of that is really my concern anymore because Tuesday night at dinner, Drew told me that I was fired from being his mother. I think that was an attempt by him to make me feel bad but all I was thinking was, Sweet! No more washing everyone's clothes, no more cooking things people complain about, no more cleaning up toys to turn around and clean them up again and again and again, no more suffering through homework, no more getting chewed out for cutting a tortilla wrong (because really, who am I to cut first without asking, right? The audacity), no more having to watch Dirty Jobs, no more of any of that. Doesn't sound too bad.
Of course, within the hour he had me back on the job heating him up a piece of pound cake and examining the minuscule scratch on his finger to determine if he is going to live or not.
