Laura
The morning starts with chaos, as always.
“Mom! Where’s my other sock?” Alexandra wails from the living room, hopping on one foot, a wild tangle of curls bouncing as she struggles to shove her tiny toes into her shoe.
“You had two socks five minutes ago!” I call back, frantically packing their lunches while trying to gulp down my rapidly cooling coffee.
“I think the washing machine eats socks,” Adrian announces matter-of-factly from his spot at the kitchen table, where he’s dunking a banana slice into peanut butter like it’s an Olympic event.
“Maybe it’s a sock monster,” Alexandra adds, gasping dramatically. “Do you think it’s still hungry? What if it eats my hairbands next?”
“Sweetheart, if the washing machine had a taste for accessories, I’d have no hair ties left,” I sigh, f
