I’m on the island of mis-matched socks


I think we have the abominable snowman living in our dryers, the tumbling noise of the dryers is him (or her. We must fight for gender equality, right!?) laughing while eating only one of each sock sending it to the Island of mis-matched socks never to be found again. Not even by the queen of lost things herself. Tinkerbell.

126590972They are banished from existence. Shunned. Their torch burned out and must leave the island. Sent to the farthest corners of the universe. Or maybe the universe’s universe. Unable to be found, even by the master of time, space, and universe travel, Dr. Who.

I think my husband has an entire stack of socks with no mate. Those poor socks are left to gather dust, forgotten about, laying there depressed because it lost its other half. There is no Jerry Maguire “You complete me” to be had for this entire collection of random socks. I kinda feel sorry for them.

The combinations my girls come up with are quite interesting. Who says you can’t wear hot pink, neon purple and yellow owls with subtle blue and green stripes? Or one no show sock with one knee high sock. OK. I am exaggerating there. We have no knee high socks. My girls don’t go to a private school… or play soccer.

I envy my children, for they can get away with wearing mis-matched socks. Everyone will peer down at their precious little tootsies and say “aww how cute, did they dress themselves? I love their socks” and walk away with a quiet giggle. SHH don’t tell them. There IS no match. My poor poor children. Doomed to a life of mis-matched socks.

If WE wore mis-matched socks? Not so sure that would fly. I can’t exactly see my husband walking into an important client meeting wearing one brown sock and one white sock and them taking him seriously. They would most likely be thinking. Wait. You are an architect. We are supposed to trust you for our building’s DESIGN decisions and you can’t even match your socks!?

Yeah. Don’t think so.

***insert Donald Trump shouting: YOU’RE FIRED***

I think we could only get away with wearing mis-matched socks while we have newbie babies. Others moms would look at us with pity, thinking. Oh that poor, dear, sleep deprived mama. She is so tired she can’t even match her socks. Welp. I sure hope she is at least wearing underwear (OH CRAP! I KNEW I was forgetting something!)

This blog really doesn’t have much of a point. I am not going to give some elaborate story about how mis-matched socks are some cosmic example of living life wandering about, never finding your perfect whatever you need to find something perfect of.


I just get annoyed with mis-matched socks. Especially when I know for DARN sure that I put BOTH socks in the dryer.

That sock eating dryer monster had better watch its back. Karma is coming. All those socks stacked up in the corners of closets, or under beds, collecting dust, will one day retaliate. The will form a sock monster bigger and badder than the marshmallow monster thingy from ghost busters.

In the mean time, maybe you can make THIS with all those socks you have lying around…


Love. Laughter. & Littles (and mis-matched socks)
❤ Emily


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