Matchy, mismatchy

Yesterday, I mentioned that I have not bothered to match my own socks for a long while. Truly this has been a problem for years. There have been spells when I have managed to get myself temporarily on track and, for a 2-3 week stretch, I match. I still remember being mildly shocked to realize that people notice this sort of thing, when at my first professional job it became a running joke at my expense. I simply did not (do not) pay attention to matching socks. When it comes to my kids though, there is more angst involved. I feel more responsibility to make sure they match. However, I really feel like I'm working up hill most of the time. The worn old joke about wondering why only single socks come out of the wash when a slew of pairs went in wears on me. I am constantly tracking down mittens and socks and matching them up. On really bad matching days, I literally contemplate sending kids with socks on their hands to school. On excellent, "aren't I amazing", days we're matched right down to our underware. It is not a great measure of parenting, but some days it feels like it is the only one I've got.

Of course, in our climate, it is really more important to be covered as the temperature drops, than matching, and so I often go with that. However, there is always a bit of fear of judgement. I see those little kids all matching all the time and I wonder, how do their parents do it? What is the formula, the trick, the method?

Not matching is associated with laziness, obliviousness and carelessness, and I know that I can be called three at various time, it just doesn't tell the whole story. Just as appearances seldom do.

I wonder if I'll ever be at peace with this...we just got some beautifully knit mittens (3 pairs, 1 for me and one for each of the kids) from our friend. They are so vivid and right away my son wanted to hold them and carry them around. Before long, although two pairs remain intact, one pair is mismatched and the other half is in our friend's car. Matched or not, they are still beautiful and warm. That will have to be enough.

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I entered August without you.

I won't visit you this month. You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you. I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.

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