I love hanging my laundry outdoors. I always dread winter with it's dreary, freezing no-laundry-line days! I like to separate my pile - socks at this end of the basket, underware at the other and hang them all in a neat, orderly row. I'm not as fanatical about my laundry hanging as my MIL who's known to re-pin her towels intil they are all not only in color order, but in perfect order by size from largest to smallest! I must admit, however, I have my own little system.
The big Daddy socks always come first. Worn from days and days spent on feet encased in work boots, they hang long and strong reminding me there's a faithful man at my house who works hard to provide for me and mine.
Next come the Big Boy socks which aren't so much smaller than the Daddy socks these days. Several times lately the Daddy socks and Big Boy socks have gotten into the wrong drawers, in fact! Their stretched out tops are proof that, like his dad, he likes his socks pulled up loooong and tiiiight. God grant that someday he follows in his Dad's footsteps in many other ways too!
Marching along behind Big Boy socks are the First Grader socks. She too has acquired her dad and big brother's genes and wants no part of socks that barely peek over her shoe tops! Her row always boast more "all white" socks than colored toe ones because those are the ones she likes best.
The Littlest Girl socks come right behind, overlapping with the First Grader socks, in fact. They wear the same socks most of the time, except that Littlest Girl has a love for short, colorful socks and insists on wearing them even when they're becoming too small for her growing feet!
Next come the Big Girl socks. She, unlike her dad, likes her socks the shorter the better! With socks that are bigger than her mom's these days, it's sometimes hard for me to remember that this woman child is really just that - a child - and deserves to be treated as such.
Then there's the mom socks. Practical, grey-toed, short socks that look like they could possibly belong to the little, immature girl she often feels like she is, rather than the mature, heading-toward-fourty mother-of-five she is supposed to be!
A few colorful Littlest Girl socks slip in before we reach the end of the row and the Little Man's line up of little, grey toed socks. The multiple pairs might mean the little guy pulled them off and deposited them in the laundry immediately upon arriving home from taking children to school, or that possibly stray pairs were discovered in obscure places when cleaning up the house!
Sixty-six socks. Seven pairs of busy, healthy feet. That row of socks this morning reminds me that I am, indeed, of all women most blessed!