Footloose

For some reason we can’t keep socks on Kostyn’s feet. I don’t know why he has such an aversion, but he does. If it weren’t for the voices of his Nana and Grammy echoing in my head -- “Where are his socks?! He’s going to catch a cold!” -- I think I would have given up the daily attempt to cover his feet at all.

When I am successful at wrestling socks on his feet, the sense of accomplishment is tempered with the knowledge that they will at some point — sometimes 2 minutes later, sometimes 2 hours later — be ripped off. Guaranteed.

But the commentary that accompanied today’s “freeing of the toes” made me chuckle. He and I were sitting on the couch; we’d just finished reading a book. Kostyn suddenly reached out to grab his socks and started tugging at them.

“These socks are garbage,” he said as he yanked them off and threw them on the floor.

“Garbage?” I asked, bewildered.

“Yes, garbage,” he said, a big grin on his face as he wiggled his bare toes. “My toes feel better!”

As if on cue, Evan wandered over from the playroom, picked up Kostyn’s socks, walked into his brother’s room and dropped them into his hamper.

It’s not the first time Evan has picked up after his brother. And I suspect it will not be the last.