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Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Is It Just My Kids?

The word is now official. Both of my children have big feet. This news is now confirmed with Beadgirl's size 8 shoe. Nicknames will not be changing. Bigfoot and Beadgirl will continue to carry their personal identities. Their shoe sizes will be forever changing, only to cease growing upon the end of the world.

Awed as I may be, I must now fess up to the fact that my daughter, Beadgirl, will soon be wearing the same shoe size as me. Only last weekend did we buy her size 8 shoes. I only bought the size 7s four months ago.

I have officially validated my reason for restricting shoe purchases to Payless Shoe Source. I can't afford anything else anywhere else. You try buying $50 shoes every three months for your kids and see what it does to your endless limited budget for four people. Only at Payless can I write a check without showing ID due to our loyal consumer purchases. A trip to Payless usually looks something like this:
Entering into the store are three people: Bigfoot, Beadgirl and Mom. Upon our arrival and recognition by the manager, we are directed to the location of the shoe sizing tool. As we are loyal customers every three months, Bigfoot and Beadgirl have complete comprehension of how to size their own feet. Off come shoes and feet are placed onto the tool. Gawking is made by Mom as I stand in amazement that their feet have grown yet another shoe size.

New sizes are pronounced, and children are sent to the appropriate section of the store. Typically, I will go along with Beadgirl to her section of the Ladies department. This is a crucial time in my need to exercise my right of parental influence. Most shoes in her size reflect an age bracket at least five years older than hers. I prefer to have my nine-year-old daughter look as if she is nine, not fifteen. We find several pairs for trying on containing pink somewhere in the fabric of these shoes.

While she is lacing up shoes, I wander to the mens large feet section where Bigfoot is looking at several different pairs. All must be black, or contain as much black as possible. White is disgusting in the mind of the twelve-year-old. No where on any pair of his shoes shall white be allowed. Shoes must have a key color: black. His shoes are found, tried on.

Perfect fits are found for both children. New shoes are packed into boxes and carried to the register. Bar codes are scanned and shoes are bagged. The bags don't last long for us. Just long enough to take everything to the car. They'll done their new footwear before I turn the engine on. I pull out the checkbook, and proceed to write the check. The manager and I carry on over the size of my children's feet. She has gotten to know us quite well. We come in every three months. Not for a replacement of worn out shoes, but an upgrade of foot size.

Shoes are then taken to the car. Bigfoot and Beadgirl pile into our two-door compact car. Before I can fasten my seatbelt, two rear-seat seat belts have been buckled and new shoes are donned. I a fix the bluetooth to the ear, and call Bigboy. He needs to know our weeds children have grown once again.

I thank God for a very good blessing He has given my life. I don't have to deal with status pressure such as the desire for Sketchers, Nike, or Doc Maartens on the feet of my children. I don't know what I would without that blessing.

Actually, yes I do know what I'd do. I wouldn't buy every cool name brand they want. I'd buy them what we can afford, proceeding to lecture two kids on the importance of not having everything everybody else has. We buy for them the shoes and clothes we can afford, and all that blah, blah, blah. We have to remember to be ourselves. We need to live within our means. Even if that means we don't have all the cool stuff. Stuff does not make the person. Our actions do, and all that yada yada yada.

Kids don't need cool popular shoes anyway.