Monday, September 27, 2010

T Says...

It's a weekend of odd jobs, catching up from the time spent leveled on my back, in the hospital.  T's jobs are few and far between and yet what he does, he does with little complaint.  He puts the last, most abhorred task off until late Sunday evening: sock sorting.  The basket is overflowing and within minutes of starting his piles of paired socks begin to take shape.

Then the boredom begins to set in and he's suddenly dancing, twirling the socks around as props, creating songs, using them for microphones, and whipping them at me when I am not looking, watching me flinch and laughing his butt off.  I am exhausted and the sock to the left eye is a bit much, but I cannot help but laugh at his hip gyrating sock dance, the fun he's creating.

I leave the room and when I return one of the dogs is donning bright red football socks and she's propped up on her hind legs, they are dancing.  She looks at me and her eyes scream help and he laughs hysterically, so hard he bends at the waist and lets her go. Within seconds, he's hopping around, with something tying his legs together...a wayward pantyhose stocking, and he's twirling another set in his hand.

T takes the contraption off his legs, waves it in the air, says: "What is this thing mom? Where's the other leg?  And what do they call this, some kind of a panty hoe?"

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