PB & Socks


Cooper shows off his crafts

I had to stick my hand in a sock today.  Not once, but twice.  I had to close my eyes and breathe slowly, while conjuring up images of pretty flowers and butterflies.  Until my teeth started to hurt.  Ache.  Just plain drive me crazy.  But I wasn’t going to let my kids down.  A mother should be able to sew buttons on a sock puppet, right?

Uhhh….I need a break from socks, before I continue.  (pause)

You see, before my children were brought into this world…I had two stubborn ideals.  I would not allow peanut butter in MY house (a culinary decision I made at age 5).  I would not touch socks.

Enter kiddos.  We went from bananas (w/Oscar), to pickles and ham (w/Cooper), to “oops, I dropped the bread…but I know you won’t care when you taste this peanut butter and yummy JELLY” (welcome Zoey).  Reality.  I serve up those pb & j sandwiches without the crust (hey, I get it).  I just try hard not to get it on my fingers.  UGH. 

Today, I pair socks, although I refuse to turn them inside out.  Everyone has gotten used to it.  My wonderful husband doesn’t say a thing about it.  I’m glad.  I feel like enough of a freak about it.  I never used to have this trouble.  Back in the 90’s, a bad wisdom teeth removal led to cotton stuff in my mouth and….gag.  Can’t finish the story. 

So I feel pretty successful about sticking my hand in a sock today.  Okay, my kids kept asking what was wrong with me while my wobbly knees kicked in and I clung to the kitchen counter.  Yet, I did it.  Therapy at its best.


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