Lisa Carnley is managing editor of the Lampasas Dispatch Record. All this talk about germs. I know they aren’t something to be taken lightly, but I think people can go to extremes in their attempt to be germ-free.

How many kids do you know who are germ-free? Mine certainly weren’t. They put all manner of items in their mouths when they were little.

But they never got sick from anything they touched with their hands or their tongues, even though it wasn’t always pleasant to those of us who witnessed the “end” result of what they ate.

As an example, my elder son Jason and my niece Summer, who are the same age, always got into trouble when they were together. From shredding Grandpa’s car upholstery (“because it was already ripped,” they said) to carving their names on the driver’s door of Summer’s mother’s car with a rock, it never failed; when they were together, trouble was not far behind.

Visiting at Jason’s grandmother’s house when the kids were about 6, Grandma and I were having a nice conversation on the couch. We should have known something was wrong when it got real quiet.

But it wasn’t the lack of sound that caught our attention -- it was the smell. And boy, was it strong.

The odor emanated not too far from where we were seated. The kids had gotten into the cabinet under the sink and had drenched each other with a spray bottle of Mr. Scott’s bug killer.

We panicked, as any adult would, I suppose. A call to the poison control center directed us to our physician. After sniffing their insecticide-laden breath, the doctor assured us they hadn’t ingested any but told us to get rid of their clothes.

We took them home, stripped off their clothing, threw it away and hosed down the kids in the backyard.

To the little rascals, it was an adventure. They were very proud that they had managed to cause such a stir -- until they were punished appropriately.

We are fortunate it wasn’t more serious. But I don’t believe that’s the worst thing my children ever put in (or even near) their mouths.

My younger son Zach (who literally ate anything, and I mean anything), approached me in the garage with half a beetle hanging out of his mouth. I believe it was the back half, but I couldn’t really be sure. My biggest concern wasn’t how to get him to cough it up but rather what had happened to the other half.

I finally talked Zach out of it after promising him a candy bar, an Oreo cookie and whatever else I thought might make him trade me for his “treat.”

I could go on about the variety of things my children decided they had to taste to see if they were as palatable as they looked. And I’m sure many other mothers have found themselves in similar situations -- including my own mom.

She indicates that when I was a tot, I regularly consumed rolypoly bugs -- the kind that curl up when you touch them. In a panic, she phoned the doctor. The physician wasn’t too impressed with my eating habits, nor was he overly concerned. “It’s extra protein,” he assured my mother.

That didn’t seem to faze me -- and look how I turned out. But then again, maybe that’s why I’m not overly fond of meat to this day.