A week ago Calder came to me and hesitantly said, "Hey Mom, I think I might need some new shoes soon. BUT IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE RIGHT NOW, K?.... I just thought I should tell you. You know- for sometime." I bent down and felt the tip of his shoes. Sure enough, he needed new shoes. I found the size on his shoe, which was a 5, and the next week when I went shopping I picked up a pair.
Background - The kids (up until the magical age of 15) have never really cared for shopping, and would rather me do it. I have always gotten away with buying them over-sized shoes. It's a habit from earlier days as starving students. One size too big, meant one pair I didn't have to buy; and after a bit, they get used to the clown feeling (Trust me, I know how bad this is making me appear.) Now, back to the story...
So when I came home, I came home with a 7. I had Calder try them on. He got a sick smile on his face.
"What's wrong? Too big?"
"Um, no. No, they're fine."
"Let me see." Again I fingered the toe. Holy cow! They were still at the end of the shoe. "Calder! Have you been curling your toes??"
"Just a little."
I felt sick. The next day was Sunday. Cache was gone for the weekend so I made Calder wear his to church. Then I broke the sabbath while I waited for them at a fireside that night, and went to Walmart. I thought the Lord would understand a mother's guilt, and wouldn't mind the quick infraction. (Wouldn't you know I ran into another member there. But, my lips are sealed.) Anyway, from a 5 (boys) to an 81/2 (MEN), we finally cleared the toe. They're not even over-sized. As Goldilocks would say, "these are just right." I can only hope that if he's permanently deformed, he and his bound feet find acceptance in China.
This brings me to a second incident. Last week I called Bert while he was on emergency duty. I asked him about his day, and what he was doing while it was slow. He said, "I can't decide if I should tell you or not. It might gross you out." Your mind can go a million miles with that one. I warned him it was probably better to bite the bullet and tell me. He said, "Alright, but it's not blog material." I agreed. But that was a week ago. He's probably forgotten, and it's not like he checks it too often anyway. So here was his reply, "I've been cleaning my teeth."
"What do you mean? You don't usually brush when you're there?"
"No, not brushing, cleaning."
Gasp. "You don't mean like a hygienist, do you?"
"Yes."
"With your canine tools??"
"Yup."
"Ugh! Ew. That's awful! Doesn't that hurt?"
"Yeah, really bad."
"How do you do that?"
"With the mirror. It's a little tricky. Tricky, but doable."
"....... So did you finish?"
"Yup. I'm good for another six months, but my mouth is full of blood."
Obviously our lesson on 'scaling back' a year ago, was a little more successful than I thought. So, for family night this coming week we are going to have a sit down/discussion. I'm lesson. We will discuss that although we can admire Mrs. Tightwad Gazette, and find many ways to be thrifty, there is a line that we don't have to cross quite yet. I only hope it's not too late. I fear I'm about to be outdone; and although it was a positive experience, I'll be damned if I'm going to have another baby at home to even out the score!
