I hate socks.

I hate socks. There are never socks around when needed. Really, I hate what socks represent. We have plenty of socks. They are here somewhere in the house. I could clean under beds and do the laundry and I know they will appear. Yet I can not. I have all I need to solve the problem except a willing body. I tried cleaning today. I didn't bend over I sat down and reached under a child's bed. I got a bunch of laundry out before slicing my finger on broken glass. I had forgotten there might be some left. When it broke I couldn't get it all cleaned up as I would have liked. I bled and cried a little. I bolstered myself back up and kept going (with a bandage delivered by my DH). I cleared out under that whole bed, removed the sheets and bedding, and... Was done. Mattress off the frame, no bedding, floor covered, under bed clean! My heart was racing and I was so light headed. Then I heard a voice. A very real voice call to me. "Mommy! Please will you cuddle me?" I had left her in my bed in her feverish state to try to do something today. Her meds had worn off. I was done. Back to bed to cuddle the wee one crying in discomfort. Together we have spent the rest of the day in the bed. We did venture out for dinner, but the lights were too bright and noises too loud. It is the middle of the night and she rests peacefully now. I know her meds will wear off soon, I will give her another dose so she can sleep, and tomorrow we will do it again. Only daddy will go to work. He wont bring lunch, bandaids, or snacks. He won't laugh at the mess I made and make the bed so a child can sleep in it. I will do my best, because it is all I can do. Maybe I will try to find socks for the school bound child. Maybe I will just smile as she leaves in Christmas socks that are mine.