sock monkeys.

For my sixteenth birthday, my mom made me a sock monkey.

It's a little rough-looking. Its eyes are half off, and one leg is much larger than the other. It's got some seams showing, and one of its ears is upside down and crooked. But, as I'm twenty now, that's not from age and wear and tear. It started out that way.

My mom made sock monkeys for each and every one of my other siblings. That's five sock monkeys. Well, four sock monkeys and one sock elephant for my brother. Regardless, I was the one kid without a sock creature. I was deprived. (Don't even get me started on my total lack of Lincoln Logs growing up.)

I think I mentioned this once or twice to my mom, mostly as a joke. Guilt trips on your mom can be fun. "Mama, you never made me a sock monkey. Mama, you always make her favorite food. Mama, you love her more than me." It's all fun. Behind my teasing, there was a note of envy. (Apparently, I use humor to mask my true feelings, go figure.) All the other kids' monkeys were well worn with much use. They had all been featured as the stuffed animal of choice at bedtime. Why had I been left out of the tradition? Really, where was my sock monkey?

Mama clued into this. So my dear sweet mother got up at 4:30 on the morning of my sixteenth birthday and made me a sock monkey. Yes, its legs are uneven, and yes, it may very well go blind soon. But it was her first sock creature attempt in probably twenty years, and I thought it was beautiful. It was nothing like what sixteen-year old girls get for their birthdays, but it was easily one of my favorite presents ever. The tradition was complete.

I think I want to have a sock monkey tradition with my kids. I will make them each one, except the one I love the most will get a sock elephant. The best part is that I can show them mine and tell them about my wonderful Mama.

Plus, that will segue nicely into the explanation, "See, dear, the legs are supposed to look like that."