Where All the Baby Socks Go

I'm not sure where to begin. There's that old adage to begin at the beginning:

For me, it happened back in 1989, when my college graduation trip fund became my washer & dryer fund. The generous gift from my maternal grandparents was now to be transformed into something exceedingly practical. I say exceedingly as I'd had no desire to be practical at 22 years of age. I'd long dreamt of the trip I'd make to Europe, what I'd do differently from my sister who'd graduated, received the gift, and gone off to Europe with a group wrangled by Mrs. Ruth Gay, (whom we appropriately called Ruthless Gay), God rest her soul. 

I'd do it differently, I was certain; I'd run off from the trip leader for more than just one afternoon. It was quite the daydream, as here I was already married and graduating from college. The reality of life and marriage to someone parading around as a nice guy had come to roost, and I felt the lifeblood slowing in my arteries even as I felt my first child beginning to gain substance in my belly. Running off to Europe no longer a possibility, I slapped all my trip fund into the hands of the Whirlpool man and made room for two shiny white machines that somehow managed to fit in my tiny apartment kitchen. I'd need, them, I thought, what with all those baby socks and onesies. 

That's where the mystery began. Only a few months later as Baby Kelli made her appearance did I begin to sprinkle my conversation with the phrase, "...where all the baby socks go."  For those of you who for whatever reason do not have children of your own and have never baby-sat a small child overnight, I'll fill you in on something: Tiny socks disappear. They vanish, inexplicably, into the universe. Statistically, new moms spend at least an hour a week searching for vanished baby socks with no satisfaction. 

I developed the theory then that my new Whirlpool washer and dryer had swallowed them. Now, at this point, I've had a few repairs done on each machine. And I assure you, I've leaned over the shoulder of the Whirlpool repairman (yes, he does exist), breathing down his neck but no baby socks have ever been discovered in the belly of either one. My updated theory? One of these machines is a portal. A portal into the universe. A portal to all things inexplicable. A portal to mystery, to life's deepest, darkest secrets, and to mountains and mountains of lost socks.

Fast forward twenty years. Baby Kelli will reach her landmark birthday in November, and has just driven herself to college for the first time. She's in her third year, but never before has she loaded up her own car with her worldly goods, hopped in behind the wheel and taken off. {Sniffle, sniffle}. And here the magic begins. 

I'm packing my bags for a road trip next weekend. I've patiently waited for all loads of laundry to be clean and dry to complete my weekend wardrobe which, for the most part, is casual. I plan to wear tennis shoes or hikers. With socks. I find only a singleton in my drawer which had held the three old and three brand new pairs of the cushioned wicking ones I'm so fond of I head to the dryer where I assume I'll find the dregs of the white load still resting deep within, amidst two or three well-worn dryer sheets. Enter Katherine, my 14-year old. She's getting ready for her first day of eighth grade: "Mom!!! I have no socks!!!"

You can only imagine the expletives aimed at the universe. The dryer. The black hole. And then the realization. It was, indeed, human hands that removed all those socks from our home. The same hands that once were so tiny, clapping as baby Kelli sat on top of the rumbling dryer in our old apartment kitchen had pilfered our sock collections directly from the wash. What now?

Aside from a trip to Target for new stock, I've only to reassess my theory. The one I've held so dear to my heart since 1989. No longer can I answer anyone's plea, "Where did _X_ go?" with my favorite phrase, "It went where all the baby socks go." For me, the answer must be this simple credo: Kelli ate them. Now I know. No more mystery, no more black hole theory, nor more speculation or intrigue. Everyone else will simply have to find their own answer to the universe. 

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