The Pea has learned the mysterious art of shoe stripping. (If you have never had a two year-old, "mysterious shoe stripping" refers to the paradoxical phenomenon that if I ask him to remove his shoes, it takes no less than 17 minutes for him to do so. Yet somehow, if we are in the car for more than 30 seconds, he manages to always arrive at our destination barefoot.)
There are little white socks everywhere. Everywhere. Under couch cushions, lodged in the corners of his crib, stuck in kitchen drawers. Pretty much every place you can dream up other than the hamper.
It's gotten to the point that I no longer see them. At the end of the day, when it's clean-up time before bed, I'll have him pick up his toys, books, puzzles. Then, an hour later, I'll sit down on the couch and lo and behold. Socks.
I have little white socks in my WIP. I didn't realize it until I started the read-aloud. The usual suspects: just, only, but, got, some, a few...and, ironically, little. All I can say is, "Thank goodness for find in Word."
Now, if only there were a find button for those socks.