“Mom!” Leo yelled, not because he needed help, but because the socks were being unreasonable.
Leo frowned. His left foot was his wiggling foot. His right foot was his stomping foot. The rocket sock wanted the stomping foot.
“Left foot,” Leo commanded.
Leo pulled it off and threw it on the floor. He picked up the other rocket sock. “You go on the left.”
Leo’s lower lip trembled. This was the fourth morning in a row. Yesterday, his dinosaur socks had refused to let his heel go in because they were “scared of the dark inside the sneaker.” The day before, his stripey socks had tied themselves into a knot under the bed. socks for 4
Leo slid the first sock onto his left foot. The heel cup found its home. The toes spread out like five little astronauts. The rocket ships pointed straight toward his toenails, ready for takeoff.
On Tuesday morning, the sun was a cheerful yellow square on the carpet. Leo sat on the bottom step of the staircase, his feet dangling like two ripe pears. In his hands, he held a pair of rocket ship socks. The rockets were red and pointed toward the toes, ready to blast off. “Mom
“They want the wrong feet,” Leo said.
“Okay,” Leo whispered back. He turned the sock around and shoved his right toes into the heel. It was a lumpy, angry fit. The toe seam bunched under his arch. The rocket ships were now pointing sideways, exploding toward his ankle. His right foot was his stomping foot