As I’ve gotten older, my memory isn’t what it used to be—no wonder my family’s socks keep piling up; mine are the ones that disappear the fastest.

get older, my memory isn’t what it used to be—no wonder there are more and more socks at home while I have the fewest. When I make some nice-colored ones, my son says, “Mom, can I have these pretty colors?” Since his feet are just as big as mine. And when I create something with beautiful patterns, my daughter asks, “Can I have this one too?” Always eager to hear compliments, I ended up knitting shorter socks for her. This time, I made a storm of sweaters for myself, then planned to knit low-cut socks as well. But after not knitting for so long, I forgot to measure properly and ended up making them too small again—leaving my daughter pleasantly surprised once more{}