How do you know whether to sit or stand when presenting or speaking at a meeting? This video will answer that question.
Quick Tip #119: To Stand or Not to Stand
Where are my Socks?
Like me, I’m sure your socks go missing. Two go into the dryer, but only one comes out. Where do they go? Currently I have nine single unmatched socks in my sock drawer. Some have been there for years. I save them, hoping that one day their mates will return. I could blame it on the dog, but we don’t have a dog anymore. Trying to find these missing socks is like trying to find Waldo in the Finding Waldo children’s books. Where in the world are my socks?
According to a study commissioned by Samsung when they launched a new washing machine several years ago, Brits lose an average of 1.3 socks each month which equals more than 15 lost socks every year. With the average Brit reportedly living to 81, scientists determined Brits lose 1264 socks over their lifetime, costing them 2528 pounds which equals approximately $3100 dollars. They concluded that means about 84 million socks go missing in the UK each month.
Wanting to further understand this laundry mystery, I turned to the internet for help. I learned that during a wash cycle, socks can creep into the yawning abysses of the laundry drum. I looked. There are no socks in any abysses. I also discovered the heat and rotations can separate clothes causing socks and small items to disappear into the wastewater hose. I can’t see into my wastewater hose, but I did look behind the hose. No socks. They are not under the bed, rolled up with other socks, in the wrong drawer, mixed up with the cleaning rags or stuck in a shoe.
So, I asked my son who is a creative thinker. He blamed it on the sock gnomes, smaller mythical creatures who can move through solid earth and steal socks to make your life inconvenient. Probably a long shot, but I have no better explanation.
Apparently, my curiosity with missing socks is shared with renowned theoretical physicist Stephen Hawkins. In a book called The Nature of Space and Time, Hawkins concluded that spontaneous black holes are responsible for their disappearance. Hmm. Perhaps my son’s theory isn’t too far off.
Maybe, just maybe, the unexplained missing sock mystery is somehow related to the Bermuda Triangle. For decades, just like my socks, ships, planes, and people have been sucked into this black hole never to be seen again. There are dozens of theories about the disappearances but like socks, no confirmed conclusions.
As I continue to research this daunting dilemma, I’ve discovered that colored socks make up the majority of missing socks. This actually makes sense to me. I don’t wear white socks, but my husband does. His socks never go missing or since they’re all the same he doesn’t notice. Perhaps I should start wearing whites.
Samsung’s work led them to develop a sock loss formula to help work out the probability of losing a sock in a single week by using statistical modelling software that involves a bunch of mathematical complications. I was never great in math, so my eyes glazed over when I looked at it.
Besides, this still doesn’t explain where my missing socks went.
Articles on the subject recommend attaching pairs of socks together with safety pins or sock clips to prevent them from disappearing. That sounds like too much trouble to me, though I guess it depends how attached you are to certain socks. Other articles offer ways to repurpose single socks such as using them for icepacks, dust rags or covering golf club heads so they don’t get bumped or scratched when you are not playing.
I don’t want to repurpose my socks. I want to reunite them with their partners.
I will never know where these socks go, but I think I’ve figured out a plausible way to find them. If I get rid of my single socks, their associates will return. It’s like losing a shoe or an earring. After waiting a while for the missing item to resurface, when it doesn’t, you assume it’s forever lost and discard it. Then like magic, it’s match shows up.
If I do that however, I’m right back where I started as an owner of a bunch of sad lone socks. Only, this time, their matches will be gone forever.
Advice to the Working Mother
When I was a young mother, I worked outside the home. My job as a television news reporter was demanding and time consuming. Juries. Stakeouts. Crime scenes. Long hours that couldn’t always be predicted. My husband traveled so we hired a babysitter to make sure someone was always home.
Many of my friends traveled a different path. When children arrived, they quit their jobs to be full time stay at home moms. They shared stories of Mommy and Me classes, holding their babies for a first swim lesson, being present at every milestone and activity. Sometimes they made me feel guilty.
I always adjusted my schedule and swapped shifts to be present for important moments like school plays, sporting events and volunteering in their classrooms. I was there for their first words, first steps, potty training and transitioning from crib to big boy beds. We enjoyed family dinners, holiday gatherings and great vacations. But these so-called friends had a way of making those who worked outside the home feel they were less of a mom than those who stayed home full time. Once, one of them asked if I ever felt guilty about “having someone else raise your children.”
Seething, I told her our babysitter wasn’t a replacement for us and I remember defending myself. But why? Because she made me feel guilty? My husband reassured me that I was a great mom, and I shouldn’t let others tell me how to feel. He was right.
We’ve always been a great team. If I was away, he did what was needed. Laundry. Shopping. Driving. Attending events. When he was gone, I did the same. Unlike the stereotypical TV shows of the 1950’s where Dad earned the money and Mom put dinner on the table, in my house Dad also put dinner on the table. We parented equally. This was not the case for some of my stay-at-home mom friends. Like their mothers before them, Mom ran the home while Dad went to the office.
There is no right or wrong as to how people choose to run their households and raise their families. But thanks to the choices we made, our boys grew up appreciating women as equals. I’m the first to tell you it’s easier to go to work than to stay home with young children. I’m also the first to tell you not to let anyone guilt you into making you feel you’re not as good as them.
Fast forward to present day. Our sons are well adjusted independent adults. I never think about something I might have missed, and I never feel guilty. Rather, I feel proud. Proud of the young men my boys have become and proud of everything we shared and continue to share together.
As the years went by, it occurred to me that perhaps these women guilted me to mask their own insecurities. Maybe they envied that I worked outside the home. Maybe they resented marrying men who left the child rearing and housework to them. Maybe they needed to validate themselves and justify their decision to stay home. Or maybe they were happy and genuinely believed their way was the better way. I also realized it didn’t matter.
One of my son’s was just married. He married a woman who shares the values we instilled in him. He knows how much he’s loved; how proud we are of him and that we will always be there for him, his brother, and his family.
Being physically present 24/7 for your children doesn’t define you as a better mother. You are the only one who can define you. How you raise your children is your choice. If I had to do it over again, I’d do it the same way.
Quick Tip #118: Power of the Pause
Um. Uh. Just. Ya know. Filler words are distracting, annoying and make the most knowledgeable person seem uncredible.
