The left shoe came out of Alfie's book bag on Tuesday night with a crease across the toe you could have posted a letter through. I held it under the big kitchen light while Rob waited for the kettle, and he said what I was thinking. "That's barely eight months old."
It was the pair I bought at the end of August, ready for Alfie starting Reception. They cost £34, and I bought them a full size up. The plan was room to grow: one pair, done until the summer.
I knew better
I should say that I spent two years of my life, 2006 to 2008, measuring feet in a shoe shop in Leeds city centre. We had a rule there about never selling more than half a size of growing room, and a good reason for it. But that Saturday was heaving, both children were hungry, Alfie had decided to lie flat on the shop floor, and my mum's voice was in my head saying "buy them big, he'll grow into them." So when the gauge said 10½ I asked for an 11½ and went to find a biscuit.
By the third week of term Alfie walked with a slap, slap, slap, the heel lifting out of the shoe at every step. By October half-term he had a blister on each heel and I was putting a plaster on before breakfast, £3.50 a box for the squishy ones. He never complained properly. He just said, "My shoes bite the backs of my feet," which I didn't understand until I looked.
Why the bigger shoe wore out first
This is the bit I'd forgotten, and I'd have told a customer in 2007. A shoe bends where a foot bends. Put a foot in a shoe that's too big and the shoe's bend sits a finger's width behind the foot's, so the leather folds on a line it was never made to fold on, a few hundred times a day. A Reception child runs, kneels, drags his toes on the scooter and sits cross-legged for story time. All that creasing landed in the empty space at the front of the toe, and the leather went there first.
By February half-term he had finally grown into them. For about six weeks, they fitted properly. Then the left toe split in the last week before Easter, and "Mum, my sock can see out" ended the pair.
I bought the replacement on the first Saturday of the Easter holidays, 12 April, in a sale, for £30. This time I had him measured standing up, both feet, and he came out at a 12. The assistant pressed down on the toe with her thumb, asked Alfie to walk to the door and back, and checked the heel. It took eleven minutes and Alfie stayed upright for all of them.
What we do now
- Both feet measured on the day, standing up, and the bigger foot wins.
- No more than half a size up, and only if the heel stays put when they walk across the shop.
- On the first Sunday of the month, the insole comes out and the child stands on it. If toes go over the edge, we're shopping; if there's a good thumb's width past them, we're not.
- School shoes bought new. Trainers, wellies and swimming sandals can come from Vinted or a charity shop, but I want the school pair fitted by someone with a gauge.
Isla's pair, bought on the same Saturday last August and only half a size up, are scuffed and in need of polish but nowhere near splitting. She walks differently, heel-first and flat, and she'd have told me within a day if they rubbed. Alfie just said "fine" for five weeks and quietly grew blisters.
Money-wise, the first pair cost £34 and did about 130 school days, which is 26p a day. If it had fitted from the start I think it would have done the whole year. Instead I've paid £30 for the last stretch of term and I'll be back in the summer holidays for another pair, measured again. I'm not saying nobody should ever buy a size up. I'm saying it didn't work for a five-year-old who scoots to school and sits on the floor all day.
The next foot check is the first Sunday in June, after camping. It's on the fridge whiteboard between "bin day" and "Isla's swimming bag", where I can't ignore it.
