Lost socks, found socks and the beautiful mind of my five-year-old

My sunshine. That is what I have called Donut (5) since he was a small baby. He was the happiest baby I had ever seen. Big smiles, easy-going, and sweet, sweet, sweet. He’s changed a lot over the years, but the sunshine is still inside him and the innocence and beauty of the way he thinks and the way he expresses himself makes me catch my breath at times from the sheer loveliness of it all.

What does this have to do with socks? Well, Donut never has any. He is forever stealing socks from his brothers, older and younger and telling me “but I don’t HAVE any socks, Mummy!” While I know this is patently false, because I buy him as many, if not more socks than his siblings, I can’t, for the life of me, figure out where they all get to. But today, the mystery was solved.

8 pairs of socks, all happily being washed as I type this *grin*

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