A sockless life is a happy life

The truth is socks don't belong on feet -- at least not in my house.

I honestly don't know what it is about the socks in my house.  I walk in from work every night and I can follow the trail of socks from the mudroom ... to the living room floor ... to under the couch ... to between couch cushions ... to the stairs going up to the bedrooms.  Fallen "foot" soldiers strewn around my house.

A herd of socks forced together for photo

It's as if they are creatures with lives of their own.  Like those dried up crabs you find on the Jersey shore -- limp, still and stinky.

And there are rarely two socks together.  They live lonely, solitary lives once they leave my kids' feet.  They seem to repel each other.  Or, maybe they are like every bad horror movie where the two teens say, "We'll have a better chance if we split up," then one of them gets gutted by some chainsaw wielding psycho.  One lost single sock is all you ever find.

No socks were hurt in the documenting of this story

History of the Sockless

This is not a new phenomenon or unique to my house.  Apparently, the U.S. military has a long history of trying to solve the Lonely Sock problem, dating back to the Civil War.  You can read more about it here.

My family has never been big fans of socks.

The most famous of these demonstrations was Tess who quit soccer after a few weeks -- due to sock irritation.  Tess was about 5 and wanted to try playing soccer with her friends.  Like all good suburban parents, we signed her up, got all the gear -- soccer ball, cleats, shin guards ... and official fuzzy soccer socks.  After weeks of having tears over the socks every Saturday morning, it was over.  She would practically undress herself on the drive to the soccer field trying to get her socks comfortable and feeling just right. Screams and tears -- over socks.  Soccer would have to wait for another day.  Tess has now become a dancer and favors flip flops and dance shoes over ever wearing socks.

Barefeet rule 

The kids play basketball in the driveway in their barefeet. They run through the lawn chasing each other in barefeet.  If they are forced to put on sneakers, they probably don't have on socks.  There is rarely a moment in the house when socks are ever on their feet.

I went seeking the truth about why they don't wear socks and so I asked Emma:  "They make your feet all sweaty and stinky."  I asked Tess: "I don't like fabric on my feet."  And finally, I asked Will, my truthteller.  "I hate socks," he said quite simply.  "But why?" I pressed.  "BECAUSE I HATE SOCKS."  Duh!

So a sockless life seems to be a happy life -- at least for my kids.  No matter how much the sock "debris" around the house drives me crazy, it's a small price to pay for happiness.  Ironically, their grandfather always wears socks.  Lawn mowing accident.  Nine toes.  Long story for another day...  ;)