Full Circle
July 23rd 2008 00:27
Kids don’t seem to feel the cold. It’s a natural phenomenon that reverses as one ages. My poor mother had to fish my brother and I out of the pool each spring after we’d “accidentally” fall into the icy water then plead to swim longer, even though our toes were blue and required thawing in a warm bath.
Now I’m a frog. I get cold feet, cold hands, cold everything! And the shoe is on the other foot as I contend with a two year old who won’t keep his socks on. I’m extremely concerned about his cold little tootsies on our tiled floor and the possibility that a sniffle will turn into pneumonia if his feet aren’t encased in warm socks every second of the day. I’ve lost count of the WWF-inspired episodes where I wrestle his socks, shoes or slippers on, only to have him tear them off four minutes later.
But still I’m obsessed. My barefoot husband has a point when he notes that if his feet were cold he’d leave his bloody socks on. Yet the “mum gene” that surfaces soon after giving birth has programmed me to consider extreme sock-preserving lengths such as gaffer taping the top his socks around his ankles. (I only discarded this idea because it would probably hurt like billy-o coming off).
So the battle will continue through generations. I’ve got one advantage over my mother though. He may win the sock war but the blow up pool has been packed away and won’t be filled again until the temperature hits 30. All’s fair in love and parenthood!
Now I’m a frog. I get cold feet, cold hands, cold everything! And the shoe is on the other foot as I contend with a two year old who won’t keep his socks on. I’m extremely concerned about his cold little tootsies on our tiled floor and the possibility that a sniffle will turn into pneumonia if his feet aren’t encased in warm socks every second of the day. I’ve lost count of the WWF-inspired episodes where I wrestle his socks, shoes or slippers on, only to have him tear them off four minutes later.
But still I’m obsessed. My barefoot husband has a point when he notes that if his feet were cold he’d leave his bloody socks on. Yet the “mum gene” that surfaces soon after giving birth has programmed me to consider extreme sock-preserving lengths such as gaffer taping the top his socks around his ankles. (I only discarded this idea because it would probably hurt like billy-o coming off).
So the battle will continue through generations. I’ve got one advantage over my mother though. He may win the sock war but the blow up pool has been packed away and won’t be filled again until the temperature hits 30. All’s fair in love and parenthood!
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