Socks

It's nearly winter.  At the very least, it's late, late fall.  Christmas trees are up, frost often greets us in the morning and I've broken out the snow scraper when warming up my car at least twice.  This means that feet should be socked at all times when walking around the house.  I'm not saying we all need to wear sweaters and I'm not advocating for parkas on all outings.  But I think socked-feet mean a warmer body all over.

Yesterday, I put dark blue socks on Cole first thing in the morning as he crawled out of bed.  Shortly after breakfast, he removed one staking his usual claim that "it's wet" (which it never is). Amelia found the blue sock under a kitchen chair and happily chewed on it for a while (then it really WAS wet).  While Cole watched cartoons during my shower in the morning, he took off his second blue sock and it became wedged between some couch cushions.  Later it somehow found its way to Amelia's mouth too.

After Amelia's nap, one of her socks fell off in her sleep sack. By the time I noticed, we were in another room, so I found a lone pink sock from the laundry basket and threw it on her, not caring that they were mismatched. 

In the afternoon, after Cole's afternoon nap, I put two striped socks on him.  By supper, they were both in the living room on the floor and, you guessed it, Amelia was chewing on them too. Then I realized later that the pink sock in her mouth was not his but hers.  She'd kicked one off in the high chair and she'd carefully brought the other foot to her mouth and pulled it off her foot.

At that point I gave up.  It was probably fifteen minutes before bath time and I knew I'd lost the sock battle.  I gathered the half dozen drool-sodden socks from around the living room and threw them into the hamper (or onto the landing near the basement steps). My socks were still on.  I like having warm feet.  And socks keep the discarded cheerios and crumbs from sticking to my feet. Why my kids kept driving me crazy like this I had no idea.

Then I was sweeping up after supper and I reached under the dining room table with the broom and discovered a small, neat lump under my husband's chair - his socks.