There were shoe rules for my generation and certainly for my generation as mothers.
We enforced these rules because we were the end product of a great parenting system:
Guilt and Unforseen Future Catastrophe.
Those were the good old days, and I mean that.
I spent many mornings trying to JAM my precious baby girls' chubby, puffy feet into
white leather StrideRite shoes-
after the seam on their socks was straight, PERFECTLY straight. I bore three adorable
princesses bothered by the pea.
The consequence of not doing this was something both horrible and unimaginable.
Why unimaginable? Because no one ever really told me exactly what would happen if I didn't.
I just knew it could be bad- really, really bad.
How? Because my mother's expression told me so.
(Bravo to today's young mothers for figuring out what works for them.)