Dirty Socks

This morning I was making rounds, picking up stuff to bring to the washing machine, and I came across yet another pair of dirty socks, this time on the kitchen counter.  Dirty socks trigger my rage.  I feel provoked by the sight of them.  Are my sons struggling so much with hot sweaty feet that they need to peel of their socks and fling them everywhere?  To be fair, my oldest son is not a sock litterer.  He deposits his socks in the hamper consistently.

So anyway, the socks.  I noticed this morning that I have an opportunity when I encounter dirty socks.  Usually I feel my body tense, my breath becomes shallow, and I feel immediate anger toward the perpetrator and dream of ways to set him straight.  But today, I decided to pick up the socks and place them in the washing machine myself.  I often talk to my sons about energy expenditure, how when they fail to take care of their responsibilities, it drains my energy.  Then they owe me some kind of expenditure to make up for the energy they drained.  Just holding them accountable for this drains my energy, and this morning I didn’t have any to spare.  So instead, I decided to try a little experiment.  For the rest of the week, I will reshape my response to dirty socks.  When I see them, I will use them as a cue to be mindful, to come into the present moment, to monitor my breath, to remind myself of what my intention is for the day.  Just like the hourly toll of the church bells, I will use the dirty sock encounters to help me stay grounded.  I’m not sure how it’s going to work, but I know for certain that my sons aren’t leaving their socks around to trigger my rage.  I have bigger battles, so I’m going to try to let this one go.  Wish me luck!