I was at a friend’s house yesterday and she showed me her daughter’s bedroom, hoping to elicit a wide-eyed look of shock and audible gasp of terror from me. I glanced at the books and clothes strewn about the room and asked her a few humbling questions: Have you found dirty socks behind the books on her bookshelf? Underwear hanging from a lamp? A family of woodchucks living beneath the pile of notebook paper and pencil shavings under the desk? No, what we had here was small time.
MY daughter’s room, I’m proud to say, is the most gruesome trash heap around. At least it WAS, until the day we called the fire department to report a suspicious billow of smoke, coming from the flashlight we’d been using to navigate through the rubble to her bed every night (how fun is THAT for a relaxing bedtime ritual.) So now, there’s basically nothing left in her room but a bed, a couple of books, 64 of her journals (the child has a nasty habit of writing and drawing all the time) and one rather forlorn woodchuck. It wasn’t too bad of a fire – the bookshelves are gone, but a bunch of her really cool socks survived. And there’s the woodchuck.
"Sock-piling" - What you’re doing when you hurl your socks in the general direction of the hamper so that they end up in a heap on the floor, which you can later hunt through when you need a pair of socks.