If you’d been peeking in out windows, you might’ve thought it was Christmas. Or her birthday. Or both, even, on the very same day. She was that excited.
We’re talking up-too-late and way-too-early kind of excitement.
It was smiling-wide, giddy, leg-twitching excitement.
All because someone told her she would wear unexpected socks to kindergarten.
We went through her drawer pair by pair. Pumkins? Irish argyle? Bunnies? Mix and match? Tall or short?
She finally landed on her polka-dot leg warmers with the hot pink ruffles around her ankles. (And yes. I know they aren’t technically socks, but they look like it, so we went with it).
And she pulled them up to her knees and left home smiling and feeling so proud. It was in her walk, and I could totally see it. She might tell her grandchildren about crazy sock day one day.
From behind my steering wheel in the pick-up line that afternoon, I could see my girl from across the parking lot. She was smiling wide, talking to the other kids in the car line, leaning slightly forward under the weight of her backpack. And her hair was a jumbled mess, which is the mark of a really great day. And her socks were still pulled knee-high. She’d worn them up all day long, despite temperatures hovering around 100-degrees and brutal humidity. She’d worn her polka dots all day long, through music class, in centers, circle time, on the playground.
She’d rocked her socks.
And here’s the reason why. Julia knows it’s the little things that make the biggest difference. Polka dot socks make her happy, so she’s going to wear them. She’s a sidewalk skipper and a blankie snuggler. She loves strawberries for breakfast and kisses from Molly. Julia relishes in the smallest things. And those small things make her life great.
It’s that simple.
And I needed Crazy Sock Day to remind me that my children are the greatest teachers. And my kids know that little things matter big.
I’ve been trying to put on my own metaphorical polkadot socks with the pink ruffle at my ankles. And I’m seeing the world as Julia does. And it’s a beautiful place. It’s a place where we stop to take pictures of our crazy faces while we giggle on the floor. And it’s the place where we let Molly on the bed to snuggle while we read books at night. We’re noticing our long evening shadows, reflections in puddles, and twirling until we fall over.
We’re enjoying. And that’s how it should always be. So thanks for Crazy Sock Day. And thank you Julia.