Sock Humor

As a Mom, Things I Wish Happened Only Once a Day Instead of Wordle

Or perhaps never?

Amy Strommer
Published in
2 min readMar 1, 2022
Photo courtesy of author (with help from her children)
  1. Hearing the neighbor’s leaf blower.

2. Hearing my teeth grind together as I read anything about a previous president whose last name starts with T and ends with P.

3. Hearing my kids whispering in the other room because that is never good.

4. Picking up my kids’ dirty socks off the kitchen floor.

5. Answering a call from AT&T.

6. Answering a call stating there is a warrant out for my arrest.

7. Answering a call from my daughter who is screaming, “I CAN’T FIND MY OTHER UNICORN SOCK!”

8. Feeding my family.

9. Feeding the dog.

10. Feeding my unquenchable desire for Girl Scout Cookies.

11. Finding my husband’s stinky socks wedged between the cushions on the couch.

12. Reading a news story about our world’s impending doom.

13. Reading a news story about things I eat that will bring about my impending doom.

14. Feeling paralyzing fear about my impending doom.

15. Yelling at my family to pick up their own damn socks.

16. Googling old boyfriends.

17. Googling beach resorts in Bali.

18. Googling the price of houses in places where I will never be able to buy a house.

19. Folding laundry and screaming when I find one sock missing from each of the 20 pairs.

20. Giving up and matching any two damn socks together regardless of color, size, or style.

21. Realizing that my issue with socks is really not about socks at all but is about my existential angst over climate change, our flimsy hold on democracy, and the backward movement on Women’s and LGBTIQA+ rights.

22. But also, it’s a little bit about the socks.

23. Weeping into a pillow.

24. Crying into my soup.

25. Sobbing as I order 20 pairs of the same sock.

26. Reminding myself to find a little perspective because a new Wordle is available soon and then everything will be okay.

However, if I find one more fucking sock in a potted plant or on the dining room table, I am turning myself in to the police before they even arrive with their warrant.

Amy Strommer lives in San Diego where she dreams about writing humor between naps, having a clean house, and reading the 17 books stacked on her nightstand. Find her on Twitter @AmyStrommer and

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Amy Strommer

Amy dreams of writing humor between her naps, having a clean house, and reading the 17 books stacked on her nightstand.