Being a mom is funny. And when I say “funny” I mean every single definition of funny in equal measure.
Funny haha, funny as in that’s not even remotely close to being funny, funny as in strange, and funny as in ironic.
It’s funny all the places you find socks. I’ve found them in the fridge (in Daddy’s beer drawer no less, with a beanie version of Tigger stuck inside one). I’ve found them in the armpit area of Minion #2’s peacoat. In my yard. No, not just in my yard, but scattered all over it. I’ve found socks scattered across my front lawn that don’t even belong to my family; Like a little sock tornado sucked up all the lonely socks from every house in my subdivision and dropped them all at my house. I’ve found them in my car – or even better – my purse. There’s nothing like needing something from your purse right away and digging hastily for it only to end up turning your purse upside down in the pediatrician’s office, picking through empty candy wrappers, a few dead flowers, some lint, m&m pieces, loose change, a broken pencil, a rock and a cloud of dog hair until finally lifting up a worn, dirty, smelly sock and having to say, “oh, there it is!” (I give the pediatrician props; she grabbed the item with bare hands & refrained from sanitizing for a full two minutes).
Finding socks in weird places is one thing. Finding weird things in the laundry is pretty normal. I’ve found money, chapstick, grocery lists, other weird lists, large safety pins & cigarette butts:
That’s par for the course with parenthood, yes? And it’s usually pretty funny. The thing that’s not funny? The weird thing I found recently? The thing that struck my soul with fear? A love note from a little girl addressed to my 5th grader. That was not funny unless you count funny as in heart-stoppingly terrifying. (Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but I am a huge fan of theater and hyperbole so there you have it).
I have to admit, though the “I love you” part had me in a small fit of panic, the “you’re sweat” part made me giggle. At least she knows the difference between “your” and “you’re.” Now we just have to work on “sweat” and “sweet.” I don’t think those two words were meant to be mutually exclusive. You are sweat…quite the proclamation of love there.
I realize this is all very innocent at this point. I realize this is completely normal for this age. I also realize that this is the time for kids to experience relationships and learn how to develop, grow and maintain healthy ones. I don’t plan on having a ton of restrictions on my kids dating; I actually want them to date so they can figure out what respectful, caring, healthy relationships are supposed to look like and I believe the time to learn that is when they’re young so that they don’t struggle so much when they’re older. I guess I just wasn’t prepared for my ten year old to be so affectionately adored by the opposite sex just yet. I was prepared for many more pediatrician visits & socks in strange places…I’m not ready to find strange things ON socks just yet. 
It is my understanding that this is an old note as his sister has informed me that Minion #1 is no longer seeing “Lanissa” & apparently has lots of female admirers at or below the age of ten. Like…a whole bus full of mini-Marilyn’s who will eventually rob me of my sweat sweet little boy. (There I go with the theatrics again). What little girl am I going to find love notes from tomorrow?!
Why does puberty have to arrive so quickly after birth? I’m going to go find a bottle of Jack & do more laundry & mate more socks. Feel free to tell me your parenting horror stories in the comments. They’ll likely make me feel much better about my prepubescent, soon-to-be hormone-laden minions making a marathon-worthy run for adulthood.
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