Letter to My Children

Dear Kids,

Mom here. Listen, we need to talk. You’re always coming to me complaining because you can’t find matching socks (or socks at all, for that matter). Well, you see, the other day the never-ending, torrential-downpouring-rain finally stopped, so I went outside, venturing into our backyard to clean up a bit. You’ll never guess what I found.

dirty socks
A little of this..

dirty socks
And a whole lot ‘a that..

dirty socks
A smidgen or two of these…

dirty socks
A myriad of those…

dirty socks
And a plethora of this..

dirty socks
I can clearly see why you’re having so much trouble finding your socks.

May I make a suggestion? Just a teeny, tiny, insignificant suggestion, if you don’t mind (said in the most loving, most gentlest of ways)?

{clears throat}

Stop. Leaving. Your freakin’ socks. Outside. Okay!?And maybe? Just maybe? YOU’LL HAVE SOCKS TO WEAR! And find! Oh! Heck of an idea, right? Right!?!

Oh, and? STOP ASKING ME WHERE THEY ARE! I don’t wear them, and I’m certainly not the one leaving them outside for days on end in the rain! Okay? Okay.


Love, Your hard-working, tired-of-doing-ridiculous-amounts-of-laundry, Mother.

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