socks

I notice the sun beginning to descend behind the mountains and I scramble to figure out what my loved ones will eat for dinner.  A few hours later, I serve them an unbalanced meal with a guilty heart.  I glance around the house.  Toys clutter nearly every surface, the trash is overflowing with fast food wrappers, the floor is covered in crumbs, dishes fill the sink...

I gaze at my family.  Nearly every member enthralled by a screen.  A little one with breakfast still on her chubby cheeks.  Another with holes in the knees of his pants, hair covering his ears betraying his desperate need of a haircut.  The littlest wails for no apparent reason, and the oldest covers his ears.

I trip over an overturned laundry basket in the hallway.  Both laundry machines are full, and awaiting my attention.  Dirty clothes clutter the floor, and a little one tells me that she has no clean socks in her drawer and "what should I do mom?  My feet are cold."

The sun peers through the blinds, offering a ray of hope for a fleeting moment.  But then those same rays point out the flecks of dust on the living room mirror and on the frames that surround memories of a white dress and naked feet.

I feel helpless to do anything about the weight that is shoving me down.  I go through the motions of bagging up trash and pouring soap into the washing machine and pushing the broom, but there is still evidence of a haircut in the sink, and fingerprints on the walls, and that little one is still pushing the hair out of his eyes.

I put on my socks.  At least my feet will be warm.