Dirty Feet

Preface~

My daughter wanted to have a sleepover for her birthday—granted it was a month after her 'birth' day but that’s beside the point. Late last year, I had given my son the option of birthday cash or birthday party. He chose the money without any hesitation—$100.00. My daughter did the same but with some reservation. Later in the month, she expressed that she kind of wanted a party after all. Not too late, I offered, especially because I hadn't been able to afford the $100.00 until my taxes came anyway. So I presented her with a compromise of sorts sensing that she was on the fence. We could have the party and I would just deduct whatever I spent on party stuff (food, drinks, etc.) from her $100.00 and she could pocket the rest.

We set the date and began planning our very frugal birthday bash. The goal was to spend as little as possible, we were thinking $40.00, on food and drinks so she could still pocket $60.00. An arrangement she was happy with.

Enter Dirty Feet~

Including my children, there were 14 kids in my house--in and out of my house to be exact. This was hard for me--we have a 'no shoes' policy in our home and further, an implied 'no dirty feet' policy. Try telling a nine-year old, "yes sweetie your toes are quite black--were you kicking an ant hill?"

The traditional Japanese custom of removing shoes indoors has always resonated with me--I get that. Perhaps it's my inner Japanese struggling to surface or, because I'm a white cracker with no sign of an eastern lineage, perhaps it's that I treasure the sanctity of my home.

In preparation for the party and the impending dirty feet, I placed a tin pail of socks inside the front door and a few wet rags outside the front door, for cleaning the rock-kickers. I also instructed my children to "guide" their friends, to be good examples for how we 'roll' in our house.

Needless to say, the "plan" was ill-planned. I mean, really? But, I survived. I stole glances at a lot of feet in my attempts to be nonchalant and llaaiidd back. It would begin with the black outline around their toes that I noticed the second they walked in and as they walked past me toward the rest of the house, I would look toward their heels as they picked up their feet to step and notice how the black had found it's way into the lines of their skin *ugh--cringe*. And then, of course, I just had to yogi-up as I endured their stubby little five-toed vessels of filth contaminate my virgin floors--the cherry has officially been popped.

Most importantly of all, I said it out loud to some mom friends of mine--I had to come clean or risk the cat freaking it's way out of the bag and the skeleton bitch-slapping it's way out of the closet. It was such a relief to share my "dirty" little secret. And cooler still? They accept it and now, they get me c-o-m-p-l-e-t-e-l-y.