Step One: Search for the missing orange soccer sock early on a Sunday morning. Tear house apart, intermittently hissing that the damned thing couldn't have walked out of the house.
Step Two: After pouring inlaws their second cup of coffee, loudly exclaim that you and your husband need to clean out the cars so that you can look for the sock. Mention that the cars are total shit heaps that haven't been cleaned in over a week. Say nothing as they agree to watch the baby as you "quickly" clean out the cars.
Step Three: Take over an hour excavating the massive amount of crap in the cars. Yell at the older children that you are going to burn their belongings if they don't come and fetch them from the growing pile in the kitchen. Loudly take an inventory of the items you have removed from the cars, to include cheese, musical instruments, underwear, and an eye patch.
Step Four: Scream at husband that he is going to electrocute himself as he begins to vacuum out your car. Remove third row seat and point out standing water in the leg wells from the forty-seven juice boxes your five year old likes to squeeze on the way to soccer. Remember that you still haven't found the fucking soccer sock and berate children for undressing in the car and for eating your good cheese.
Step Five: After more than an hour has passed, see triangle of orange peaking out from violin case in back of husband's car. Grab sock and parade through house in brazen imitation of Britney Spears at VMAs. Chortle to inlaws that they should love your bad self, your sock-finding boo-tay then tell husband to grab the Deep Woods Off for the mosquito larva growing in the big car.