Confessions of a Mid-west housewife (or, It's snowing socks)

I have a sock basket.
Basically, I hate matching socks.
(This is my first confession.)
So, until I have time to sit down and pair them off into happy sock couples, our clean socks just sort of mingle it up in a round, white laundry basket.
When we need socks, we rummage through the basket until we find two that match.
Well, some of us do anyway.
Even when I have a burst of energy and actually fold and put away the socks, there are always a few lonely souls left in the basket. Socks whose matches have up and left. I always remember Erma Bombeck writing about missing socks, and how she would tell her children they went to live with Jesus. That always made me laugh.
Anyways . . . I just don't have the heart to discard these single socks, these sad and lonely socks, because their mates are out there somewhere . . . and what if they show back up? What then? Then they will be lonely, and it will all be a big mess.
My point is, there is always a little something in the sock basket.
My boys, God love 'em, drag this basket to the living room to rummage for socks, and then, leave it there.
Sometimes I put it back.
And here's another true confession. . .
Sometimes, I don't.
Today, it remained in the living room.
And Daniel spotted it.
And before I knew what was cooking in his oh-so-smart little brain, he grabbed a heaping handful and tossed them up into the air and giggled as they landed soft around him, "Look! It's snowin'!! It's snowin'!"
And before I could get all huffy that he was throwing socks around the living room, he did it again, and squealed, "I'm making it snow! It's snowin', mom! It's snowin'."
And again.
And again.
Until my living room was covered with socks, most likely happy for the exercise, and to be out of that danged basket.
At first, all I could see was the mess.
But then his little voice fell on my ears, "See the snow, mom? I'n makin' it snow!" as he looked up into my face, a grin filling the corners of his eyes, then his cheeks, then his mouth, which widened to show his perfect little teeth.
Very sweet.
And instead of scolding and picking up, I stood in the "snow" and grabbed my camera and laughed.

Apparently, it was snowing toys too!

And this laundry basket of unmatched socks, this bane of my housewife life, became . . . something beautiful.
Thank you, Daniel, for helping me to see the possibility for the amazing in the common.