Things I've learned from my children: Matching Socks are irrelevant to life.

We all learn from our little ones. They almost have more to teach us than we have to teach them. Personally, I think if we didn't live in such a fallen world, they WOULD have more to teach us. We just have the world-skills that they have to have in this world to survive, so we edge by. But really--they have the important stuff down pat.

Today's lesson is a doozy. One that may get me thrown out of the Mommy Hall of Fame. (Warning for Aunt Karen: my child may need fashion counseling fom you at some point in the future.) So, Bella taught me this week that matching socks really are irrelevant to life. Yesterday, Bella was wearing socks that in no way resembled each other (one purple, one blue stripey.) I think in combination they had something to do with her outfit, but I couldn't be sure. However, when I commented, she shrugged with complete ease and said, "Who cares Mom?" I tried to come up with an answer for that. "Well, I do," didn't work because really, I didn't and I needed to leave, so what she was wearing was going to have to do. Besides that--have you all seen some of my unfortunate outfits? Especially when I'm pregnant? Yeah, didn't seem the best answer. I thought about saying something like "Well, in polite society..." but I don't know if I want my 3 year old to get too hung up on that...I suppose I could have brought out the "Daddy cares" bullet, but I save that one for getting her hair combed...so I let it go.

Today, I realized that in my haste to get into the garage to clean it (because Matthew agreed to help me and I couldn't waste any time getting out there when he was ready), I had inadvertantly put on a dark blue sock and a white and blue stripey sock as I threw on my Crocs. Yeah, I was going to change them before I ran to the grocery store later, but I forgot until I was standing in the parking lot and I looked down and it dawned on me: they weren't even remotely close to matching each other OR my black sweats and sweatshirt. (We won't discuss the fact that I was braless--hey two shirt rule!--or that the shirt under the sweatshirt was vaguely disreputible.) I started to worry and then it occured to me: Arabella was right. Who cares? Do you know, not a single person in the grocery store said a word about my mismatched socks...