Dear Little G,

Today, you chose your socks. This was not different from what you do most days. However, today, most clean pairs of your socks were in the dryer, not in your drawer, so you did the best the could with what you found in your room: a brown sock and a maroon sock, each pulled up to your knees. I noticed this but said nothing about it beyond congratulating you on your big-boy accomplishment.


Remember this day, sweet boy. Remember that I chose not to fight the battle of the socks with my cute little two-year-old.

Remember, for a time will come when I will choose to fight a clothing battle with you. I will see you dressed for school or church, perhaps with an earring in one or both of your ears, your name etched into the hair on the side of your head, your pants backward and/or sagging, your necklace threatening to put someone's eye out. And then, dear child, I will choose to fight. But should you forget that I ever allowed you to choose your own clothes, no questions asked, I will take a picture to remind you of this day, and the battle I chose not to fight.

Remember, remember, the 19th of November - erm,I mean, March.