A Stitch In Time

Our household has practically everything in place and a place for practically everything. While the children are generally accepting of my Felix Unger extremist ways, they have questioned the efficacy of certain chores. Picking up sticks in our woods, vacuuming the wall to wall carpet in the garage, or alphabetizing the spice rack jars are a few of the intolerable cruelties they have endured. Lists, plastic sheet protectors, tags, and labels ultra organize our house where organization trumps sanitation but sanitation runs a close second. I readily admit that it is not easy living with me. My prayers for those who try.

Inside a windowless steamy walk-in closet, my son Jimmy and I recently tackled a repair job. Although Jimmy clearly wanted to leave well enough alone, I needed a helper to reorganize closet organizer shelving. After convincing Jimmy that lopping three more inches off a top shelf would make a positive difference in the world, Jimmy begrudgingly returned to sawing. After a few minutes, something unusual caught Jimmy’s eye. He suddenly stopped the swing of the hacksaw to gain a better look. Then he gave me a bewildered look as if he could not believe what his own eyes were seeing.

Clueless to the work stoppage, I asked, “What’s the matter?”

He pointed down to an adhesive sticker that mysteriously hitchhiked onto my sock. Dumbfounded, Jimmy did not yet have words for what he was about to say. I read the typewritten words DARE GRADUATION off of the adhesive label adhered to my sock. While I had no answer for how a sticker seperated from a leaflet of a school function got there, Jimmy arrived at his own explanation.

Jimmy said dubiously, “This is even hard to believe for you. Don’t tell me you label your socks based on where they have been.”