The fight between Clothes
Hangers and Odd Socks Broke out this Morning
Yet Another Flight of
Fancy
by Tilly Moments for you to smile at J
The battle of the coat hangers,
still persist in our house. I have come up with several cunning plans to draw
up a cease-fire but the children, clothes hangers and odd socks always carry on
the assault. Angus has now taken his big brothers habit of shoving socks down,
behind and sometimes into cushions, behind chairs and in DVD cases…. mine is
not to reason why, just do or die trying to pair up socks.
For
anyone who lives with more than one person in their house this is a constant
battle – odd socks and coat hangers. In the time in which it takes me to wash,
dry and sometimes iron the clothes I have to put the empty clothes hangers
somewhere! But no matter how organised I try to be or which place I put them
in, they escape or are released.
Angus
plays with them and they can become anything from Captain Hooks hook to a big
bazooka that gives him full control over all he surveys, apart from me much to
his bitter disappointment. He can be very inventive – after watching “Spy Kids”
he set a trap for his sister. I fell over it in spectacular fashion that he
would’ve been very proud of, but he was at school at the time. Health and
safety in the home would say I should have a serious talk with him, but it was
so inventive and impressive I hate to quash his talent. At least I found the
missing cotton I got out to do a running mend, now the cotton reel is empty!
The
older ones create a pile in different places, which changes day to day hence
the disarray. I try to gather them up the best I can, near the ironing board
and laundry basket preferably, and often find an odd sock or two hanging
desperately to the hook.
Ella
with her ordered thinking decided we had too many clothes hangers and odd socks
so she started to throwing them out. When I pointed out that was due to the
pile of washing (which nearly reaches the ceiling) not being beaten into submission
yet, so were eventually going to need the hangers and the odd socks will
eventually meet their partners! She was free to sort the pile out, then there
would be no clothes hangers to annoy her. With this she turned on her
disgruntled heal and stormed off. I stared after her, as most of the clothes
were hers!
Going
on strike or working to rule is hard work! But short of constantly shouting and
being in an agitated state to get my family helping with the daily chores, I
find I have no option. My theory is – that the more you do the less they
appreciate what it takes and think less of you too. I’m working to rule with
some things and on strike with other motherly duties, which doesn’t bode well
for the washing pile.
When
they needed their sports kit or their favourite thing to wear, they attack the
pile with the ferocity of a mole, and wear it crumpled “see look it’s fine,
what is all the fuss about” bemused I look on and do you know I’m really not
sure why it does matter. Somehow it’s the way I show my love, care and an
outward respect of self. Nothing smells more homely than the smell of freshly
ironed washing and nothing looks more cared for than crease free clothes,
giving a confidence to the wearer.
As
I set the ironing board up, I ponder on what must happen when I turn my back. I
know I left a nice neat pile of hangers there, and the odd socks all place
together waiting patiently for their partners to find them. However when I came
back the odd socks and the coat hangers are
intermingled as though a full-blown battle had ensued and the debris a strewn
all over my bedroom, maybe a fairy battle? Now that would be grand. I smile to
myself, perhaps there is a story there, and start to write in my head as I iron.
The
children think fairies do the washing anyhow, after all no human in their right
mind puts any effort into such a mundane silliness as ironing clothes, and
pairing socks? You open a draw and there are the clothes all ready for you – right?
Well children and men think this. Lets face it women have to oversee the chores
because men are just incapable and certainly not made for the job of nurturing
or teaching, a luxury of not shouting to get things done is all theirs.
A
loud booming voice broke off my sexist thoughts and made me jump, as I didn’t
recognise it. There it went again; it came from a fluffy chin that had the hint
of manhood about it. As I marvelled at this sprouting wishful beard, that had
so many differing colour in it that deep call came again. Low and behold it was
connected to that colourful chin. I realised it was my son’s chin and his
voice. How did that happen? That ever-deepening boom had replaced the teenage
trill of yesterday, and I marvelled at nature. Apparently he was looking for
his favourite socks but any pair would do he said. ‘I’m on strike, I’m not
doing demand service today’ I reminded him, still transfixed by the multi
coloured beginnings of a goatee. He, disgruntled turned on his heal and left
leaving the battlefield for me.
When
I get back from taking the children to school, I put in the second load of
washing for the day, pick up the scattered hangers and unruly odd socks and being
to think of my flight of fancy and her idea of writing. In-between loading,
unloading folding sorting the washing I write my four novels, blog and short
stories. I finish just in time to prepare the evening meal, and ready to pick
up the children who will come home famished and needing to be fed. I stand
there taking a breather and wonder why I never get anything finished.
We
all clamber out of the car and then the race is on, can I cook the meal before
they empty the contents of the cupboards? To stave of the assault of carefully
planed fare I had lined up for the week, I ask them all to go and get the
washing in. Irritated teenagers followed by a buoyant and mischievous seven
year old, I sigh at the struggle. All sorts of hollers and yells come from the
garden, which I close my eyes and ears to, though I do notice my youngest son’s
foot flying in the air around my whirly gig washing line. I try not to focus on
how they are folding the washing and how many extra creases have been put into
the clothes, which will take me twice as long to iron.
My
daughter comes in and disappears, I sigh, but soon she reappears and helps me
in the kitchen. My little one gets the drinks and by the time the meal is on
the plates, my husband is home and putting the them on the table. It’s like the
Walton’s on the old TV show, happy, helpful and very respectful and I’m truly
humbled and take it all in, case it never happens again.
As
I run the youngest bath, I try to put the clothes away and iron them while he
plays contented, and this evening I brace myself for the fight. There on my bed
are neat piles of carefully folded clothes that need very little ironing and
inwardly I bloom. Axl at least has appreciated the struggle to have an ordered
home. The clothes hangers neatly placed in their specially designed box and
paired socks all in a neat row – my daughters ordered mind has wrestled them
into submission. I feel valued and appreciation spring to my eyes in water
droplets of joy. I know the same struggle will continue tomorrow children,
clothes hangers and socks being what they are. Perhaps they are just tiny steps
in my shoes but at least they took some time to walk with me in them.
A clothes hook was patented in
1869 by O.A. North of New Britain, Connecticut but it was Albert J Parkhouse in
1903, after co workers complained of not having enough coat hooks who bent a piece
of wire into the shape we recognise today. This is the fact that I find so
amusing though, he worked for Timberlake wire and Novelty Company, does this mean the humble clothes hanger is a
novelty?
Ever
since the struggle with this particular not so novel novelty, has and forever
will rage and enrage. In conclusion then, men’s inventions may solve a problem
but inevitably create a different difficulty – mostly it has to be said for
women.
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