I made socks for my honey, for my oldest and for my third boy. The youngest one waited so patiently. He really wanted mom to knit him his own socks. He even went to the yarn store to pick out just the perfect yarn (and it's burnt orange, like the Longhorns he adores).
The sock yarn sat in the dark recesses of my closet, and still the boy waited.
Another pair of socks for dad, and still the boy waited.
The older brother wore his mom-made socks and waved them in the boy's face, and still the boy waited.
He was patient. He even learned to knit to entice mom into knitting with him (and hoping that she would knit on his socks).
Finally it happened. Mom had the needles available. Mom had the yarn. The socks were cast on. The boy offered to try them on as each row was knit. He wished he had smaller feet. When it was time to turn the heel he watched and wondered how the magic happened.
The first sock was finished. The boy carefully sat and wore one sock. Knit as fast as you can mom - the second sock was needed.
At last they were finished. The boy smiled, and slipped his feet into his own mom-knit socks. They were perfect. A few moments for mom to take a picture and then the shoes went on.
The socks help him to ride faster and run farther than he'd ever imagined.
If only mom-made socks were available to everyone - the world would be a better place.