Trouble A-Foot

I am a mostly barefoot mom; my kids run around the house barefoot during the summer and winter, even when it's so cold outside that their thin-blooded mother is wearing two pairs of socks and fuzzy slippers from LandsEnd.

When they were younger and learning to walk, I made sure their feet were protected outside on the sidewalk. But other than that, I let them toddle around with their piggies au naturel. A friend of mine who had been a physical therapist in her life before mom told me once she wished more parents would let their kids walk barefoot as toddlers since it aided in the development of their muscle tone.

I shrugged and laughed in reply. I wasn't trying out for superstar mom status, I was just a former barefoot girl myself, much to the consternation of my parents. Despite their demands pleas (mostly my dad) for me to put on some socks already, I never once got pneumonia via barefoot exposure.

So barefoot is how we roll here, mostly indoors but sometimes outside, too. Yes, because I can hear my dad sighing somewhere in the future when he reads this, I do remember the time I ripped my big toenail off when I was seven and climbed the back fence barefoot, snagging it on a jutting nail. The problem is that while I send them out in Crocs or flip-flops to play in the summer, I look out the windows a few minutes later to see them running around on the grass barefoot. I don't think it would go over well with the neighbors if I started duct-taping their footwear on their feet.

But all this naked foot time has led to some issues. Specifically three little plantars warts, one for each of my kids. How perfectly fair and just is that?

Of course, little Tom no longer has his wart; his appeared this spring. Knute and I tried the duct tape method of removal (it actually works) but he refused to keep it on. Then, I took a wart removal disk and bandaged it to his affected toe, putting a sock over the whole she-bang-bang. Within minutes, I found the sock and the bandage discarded in the office...but no little disk.

Upon being asked where, oh where, the little disk was, little Tom smiled.

"I ate it."

Two phone calls later, one to Knute at a Wright State Basketball game and the other to Poison Control, I was headed to the emergency room with all three kids in tow. After being poked and prodded, little Tom turned out to be a-ok. Me? I'm not willing to risk a second trip to the ER for the exact same scenario.

Little Tom's wart disappeared with a little help* after a while, but now the big kids are dealing with them and I have to decide how to attack the pesky little buggers.

I'm sure we'll succeed.

Just as I'm sure my kids will still ignore my demands pleas that they wear some shoes already.

*Do you really want to know this? Ask yourself before continuing. The little bugger chewed - CHEWED - the damn wart off one day while watching TV. Yet another "Mom of the Year" moment for yours truly.

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