Of Socks and Gratitude

I’ve been watching you for a couple of months now, little white sock.  You weren’t very remarkable at first, simply the latest in a long line of your brethren who’d come before – left outside near the trampoline by your owner after she enjoyed an afternoon romp with her friends.  Little did I know how different your fate would be.  Unlike so many other forgotten socks, your abandonment would last much longer.

The seasons sometimes change abruptly up here in Washington, and this was the case when our summer ended in early October this year.  Months of constant, glorious sunshine were quelled overnight as the gray rains settled in to stay.  This put an end to the bustle in our backyard and we’ve hardly ventured back out there since.

And so you have stayed there through cold, wet days and nights waiting in vain to be retrieved.  I noticed this morning that you’ve cuddled up with a dark brown leaf, long fallen from some lofty perch and wedged between you and the patio paver upon which you lie.  Both of you standing as soggy reminders of sunnier, warmer times gone by.

I wonder what you think each morning as the dark slowly gives way to our grim December days.  Does the morning light give you hope each day?  Do you wonder with each sunrise if perhaps this is the day that your outdoor adventure will come to an end?  Do you long for a happy reunion with a little girl’s foot?

I have to admit your presence has frustrated me at times.  I have often wondered why it remains so difficult - despite so many reminders - for your owners to take better care of you.  This summer there seemed to be a constant yard sale of goods and garbage on display back there on a daily basis.

Of course, on this particular morning as I was thinking about you it didn’t take long for the frustration to give way to gratitude.  Along with every parent in America, I’ve spent the last few days holding my children a little tighter.  I feel incredibly grateful for three beautiful children with big hearts who tonight are all healthy, safe, and warm in their beds.  I am grateful today for stray socks, messy rooms, loose teeth, fights over wearing tights with their dresses, fights over eating dinner, crying fits over tic-tac-toe games, and all the other frustrations that necessarily accompany parenthood.

My hope today is that I can do a better job of keeping this perspective in the challenging days, months, and years of parenting that lie ahead.  I am grateful for you, little sock, and all the innocence and life that you represent.