Deep Thought Thursday

I have a story for you. A story about a little girl who grew into a woman. A story about me.

When I was on the playground in second grade, Sammy Sanchez threw a worm at my jumper (a jumper which my mom had made me). The worm pooped on the pink ruffled lapel. The stain refused to wash out. I was devastated. Little did Sammy know, at that point in time, everything in my life had to be perfect. Worm poop on my jumper didn’t fall into my realm of acceptable dilemmas.

Years later, in high school, I got extremely sick with a colon disease. In order to get well, I had to GET OVER my desire for everything to be perfect.  (I wrote about that in a book called Finding Miss Sunshine, which you can order at

Swing forward to present day. I haven’t seen Sammy since second grade, but I still work on making sure I don’t get wrapped up in being perfect.

Little did I know, trouble was brewing …

A few years ago, in a conference room, at a design and manufacturing company, a group of people gathered. They brainstormed and they schemed, until they’d concocted a way to throw another proverbial “worm” at my jumper. They hoped the worm was going to poop on me.  They hoped I would show my second-grade self. They hoped I’d be tormented by the worm poop.

The company devised their plan, and they put it into action. They implemented design upgrades on their product. They put it out on shelves. And unknowingly, I bought it. I bought lots of them.

“What? What is it?” you ask.

Well, I’ll tell you.

Sport socks.

But not just any sport socks. Sport socks with “L” and “R” stitched into the fabric at the toes or inside the ankle.

The. Worm. Had. Just. Pooped.

On my jumper.

See, here’s my laundry reality: I’m lucky to come out with an even number of socks. After every load of wash, if there’s not a solo straggler, I do a silent victory dance. It’s a good day when corresponding colors get matched.

Today, as I pull that giant pile of socks out of the dryer, I prepare myself to face the worm poop. I refuse to return to my second-grade self. Oh yes, my hands start to shake, and my chin quivers a little. But I square my shoulders, clench my jaw, and look away.

And then, I pair an “L” with an “L.”

Yes, that's right. "Left" with a "Left." And a "right foot sock" with a "right foot sock." I refuse to give in. I’m determined. I WILL NOT give in.

I’m sure some of you out there revel in the idea of knowing your left big toe is going to position itself exactly where your left big toe was last time in that sock. Admittedly, years ago, I would have jumped for joy at this inventive idea.

Now, I only think of worm poop.

And I take a deep breath. And I pair those same-letter socks, and then, I...

Well, I let it go …

Do your children go to school with “L” and “L” socks? Does your husband wear “R” and “R” socks to work? Let’s support each other. Let’s make a stand together. Here’s to being perfect no longer. Here’s to wearing worm poop proudly on our lapels.

We have enough things we can’t get “quite right” in life. We already judge and critique ourselves far too much. I refuse to allow matching our “L” and “R” socks to position itself on my whiteboard of to-do’s. I won’t give myself any “star stickers” for doing that.

Above all, let’s remember our blessings. We have little people we get to put those socks on. We have running water, toilets, and WASHING MACHINES! We live in a day and age where my biggest complaint I can think of (seriously) is “L” and “R’s” on socks, and worm poop on my jumper lapel. Wow. What a beautiful time in the world to grow up and be alive.

Quick, right now, name five things you have to be grateful for.

I’ll start.

I’m grateful for sport socks.

Love to all,


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