Odd Socks

As I search through my sock drawer, I realise that I will have to wear odd socks, today. I bought 10 pairs, a few months ago, from Boots on a 2 for 1 offer. I bought them to wear with my jeans, to replace my old, black ones, which were beginning to wear thin. The new ones were all dark colours, but distinctly different. Some were black with grey toes and heels, some were grey, with a black pattern, some were black with a grey pattern. Even my husband would have noticed, if I'd mixed them up with his dark, plain man socks. Somehow, 2 of my distinctive socks have gone missing and today, I will have to wear a black one with a grey toe and heel and a grey one with a black pattern. I've been able to manage without wearing my odd socks, up until now, but my youngest son has gone back to university again, and without his dark clothes, I don't have enough dark washing to make up a load. I haven't got used to the idea, yet.

It's a sad time of year for a lot of mothers, whose sons or daughters are going off to university, leaving a gap behind them, which, somehow, can never be filled. It is my youngest son's second year at university, but I am finding his absence harder to deal with this year. My eldest son moved out 3 weeks ago and my middle son, as well as working 7 days a week, is now spending most of his time at his new girlfriend's house.

I always assumed that my 3 sons would leave home one at a time, over a period of a few years, as there is a gap of 6 years between the eldest and youngest, but, instead, they have gone over a period of a few weeks. Middle son and youngest son haven't moved out totally, of course, but it certainly feels that way, at the moment.

My husband and I helped my eldest son and his girlfriend to move into their rented house, which is about 30 minutes' travelling distance away from us, but we've heard very little from them since. They came over when we had a barbecue, a couple of weeks ago and we've taken some of eldest son's belongings over on a couple of occasions, but that's all that we've seen of them, so far. Eldest son became less and less comunicative when he reached adolescence, about 12 years ago, so, in recent years, I began to realise that, when he did finally move out, it was unlikely that he would bother too much about keeping in touch.

Suddenly, we have 3 spare bedrooms and the house, which was once full to overflowing with people and voices, is now mainly empty and still. When darkness falls, only a solitary room is illuminated in a house which once exploded with light, on the skyline.

I pull on my odd socks, go downstairs to the kitchen and switch on the radio. I turn the volume up a little louder than it needs to be, whilst I half fill the washing machine with dark clothing. I must go to Boots, later, to buy some more socks.

The Sock Incident

There is a pair of socks outside our bedroom door. They have been there for several days, and I have finally mustered up the enthusiasm to try and trace their owner.

My 2 older sons are missing, so I pick up the socks, which are obviously in need of washing, and head downstairs, in search of the fourth male-who-knows-everything in my life - my youngest son. I find him in the living room.

"Do you know who these socks belong to?" I ask, turning them to the right side.

"They're 'Playboy' socks. They belong to *******," (eldest son) he replies.

"Oh!" I say. "I wasn't sure whether they belonged to ********" (middle son).

"No, those are his," he explains, pointing outside, in the vague direction of the patio. I walk closer to the window, and see a pair of socks over the back of one of the garden chairs.

"Obviously," I mutter, with as much sarcasm as I can muster.

"What?" He looks at me, wide-eyed and incredulous. I open my mouth to try and explain. A few words fall out of my open mouth, but they do not emerge in any intelligible pattern, and I realise that I am unable to explain. It all makes sense to him. I am feather-brained, so I should not concern myself with such a complex problem. I admit defeat. At least I know what to do with the socks.

I go back upstairs, and add them to my eldest son's pile of laundry, which he insists on keeping on the landing, outside the door of his seething pit. I remember that he has been staying at his girlfriend's house for the last few nights. I pick up his laundry pile, and drop it on the floor, just inside his seething pit. I close the door with a grin of satisfaction. The landing is now clear of clutter. I could even vacuum it, if I was so inclined. I am not.

I have already achieved something, today. I have tidied away a pair of socks, and a pile of laundry. I live in a household full of men. I have learned to be content with very little. I am content.