The BIG Coverup - the training bra

Remember the first time you had to cover up?

Pre-teen, looking at my flat chest, I remember wishing I had something to cover up.  When they start to grow, my mother looked at my mosquito bites, worried I had cancer and took me to the doctor.  (I did tell you I was a devout Catholic growing up)  The doctor smiled at us and explained, "She's growing breasts."  Before I could understand the humiliation, she took me home and announced to the family, "It's time to go and buy some bras."

I felt like I was walking to my execution, the department store with my MOM, and into the lingerie department.

She starts embarrassing me the moment we hit the top of the escalator,
"Honey, where do you think the young girl, I mean lady bras are?"
"Mom!"  I watch a cute boy go by wishing he hadn't heard that exchange.

To make it better, she adds to the embarrassment:

"Excuse me?"
Cashier, "Yes."

"My daughter is buying her first bra.  Can you recommend something for her body type."
Cashier looks at my skin and bones, "Umm, you may want to hit the training bras in that corner, size extra small."
Extra small?  Training bras? Really?
I stand there feeling humiliated until my Mom returns with a handful of bras, "Honey, I found the extra smalls."  I watch other girls walk by with their Moms, they laugh overhearing then give me the look of, "just endure it and you'll get the bras."

"Look at these cute little puppies, and I really like the American Flag ones," she says holding them up high as other people walk by.  I grab then and turn toward the dressing room, wishing this experience over, silently thinking, I kind of like the american flag one too - makes me feel patriotic.

My mother is following me to the dressing room.
"What are you doing?"  I ask.
"I need to make sure they fit you, you'll need my expertise," she answers.
"Mom, they are bras.  I think I know what I am doing."  I ask, praying I can do this by myself.
She walks into the fitting room with me, and sits on the bench waiting for me to try them on.  Guess this will prepare me for when I end up in prison, my life in the gutter from this one bra experience.

"Honey, does it fit?"
"Mom!"
"Lemme see...."  She runs her finger along the side, snaps it.
"Mom!"
"I think it's perfect."

We go to the cashier, and I endure my mother tearing up as she explains to the cashier and the lady waiting in line behind us that her little girl is growing up, and wearing TRAINING bras.  Then she looks at both of them and winks.

The boys in the class run their fingers down my back to see if I are wearing a training bra, and even if it's simply mosquito bites, I've got the bra on.  I'll never thank her, but secretly glad we took that time to help me become a "woman."

Remember your first training bra?  Did you buy it or did your mom?

The Vortex that is our Home

There is this great sucking vortex that we call our home, and it keeps taking things that are near and dear to us and holding them hostage.  I am close to giving my soul to it....

It started small, I'd put socks in the dryer and only one would return, the other sucked into the great black hole.

I would put all the socks in a laundry bag, and still it would cackle because when I processed the bag, a stupid sock was STILL missing.

Then it moved to bigger things and it got crafty....

My favorite pen, and as a writer we all know how much we covet the right office supply, disappears from my desk, as I search frantically my son makes me feel better,

-Where did you put it last?

-If I knew that then I'd have it in my hand, now wouldn't I?

-Why do you need THAT pen?

-You wouldn't understand, your brain understands Math.

I give up on the pen, but it becomes more stealthy.  That little nut (no, not me) the little nut (no not my children) the little nut I found on the ground, sat on the counter for 3 months, because being organized, I realized it belonged to something, that item had not yet appeared.  So when my child asks, "My easel will not hold the paper," I stand up triumphantly, "That's because it is missing a nut, I know exactly where it is."

Gone.  I am left wandering around like a zombie, muttering, "It was right there.  I saw it every day.  The vortex has taken the only nut I ever wanted (well not the only one, and I am left with a few nuts.)


It taunts me, laughing maniacally as my husband asks, "Where is the directions that go with my new charger (top to my pen, notebook, headphones, cord)"

-I saw it over on the table in the dining room.

He wanders for a little bit then comes back, "It's not there."

"Try the kitchen pantry," I say.

My son tries to help, "If you put it in the same place every time, it will always be there."

Husband does not want his own words now repeated back to him as he is looking for stuff.

He wanders again and comes back, "You're just trying to get rid of me to read for a while by sending me on a wild goose chase, aren't you."

I look at him, thinking - shoot, why hadn't I thought of that sooner?

He gives up, "I'm getting older, spending all my time looking for shit."  I look at him, the Vortex is aging him, it is aging me, it is gaining on us, growing bigger, is that a sucking sound I hear?

Tonight, the Vortex is winning.  We've all turned into zombies..

My son wanders the living room mumbling, "has anyone seen my iPod?"

My other son wanders the kitchen, "I lost the markers, are they in the pantry?"  He goes there and disappears, the Vortex has some sort of entry door in the pantry and he is gone.  I hope it deposits him back in time to go to bed.

My husband wanders mumbling to himself, "a remote has to be somewhere near the television." As Nickelodeon plays very loudly in the backgound.

Me?  I stumbling around on one shoe, I've lost the mate to my favorite Dansko clog and I'm still convinced it may give me back my favorite Sharpie pen if I give up on the clogs.

But the Vortex, it is cruel, it simply laughs.....

How do you handle old girlfriends?

My children have the routing gene - passed down from me.  My grandmother used to call me her router, I loved to go through boxes in the attic, drawers of costume jewelry in her bedroom looking of treasures.  The boys know their treasure trove is in the boat garage, boxed up and waiting for them.  They pulled out old Piedmont Airlines memorabilia - note cubes, eye glass cleaners, T-shirts.  Then they found a box of letters,  yellowing papers, faded pen, judging from the neatness, from a girl.

"Dear Jeff:  Why haven't you called me?  You said our love would last forever, but now every time I see you with Tammy I can't stand it....."

The boys start laughing, I look over at Jeff and there's a hint of blush as he says, "What?  Where did they come from?"

"Jeff:  Ever since I started working at the Western Sizzling, I'm glad we've become friends, I hope we can be more than friends."

They are letters from girls from his teenage years, love letters replying to letters he wrote to them.

"Jeff, remember when it snowed?  I loved what we did out in the snow."

Jeff looks at me laughing, "Jeez!"

The boys keep reading and I smile.  The letters are funny (when did it really snow in Winston) and sad (why didn't he call her back) but they are "pre-me."  I look at the boys and say, "See, Daddy was one hot dude, all the girls loved him.  I was lucky enough to get him."

He smiles at me as they read the one passage that makes us all laugh, "Jeff remember when you wrote on a note to me, 'Do you have any love left?  Well heat it up because I LOVE leftovers."  I didn't get the leftovers, I got the main course!

What would you do if love letters from the past resurfaced?

Yeah, I remember

 Everyone remembers where they were when that first plane hit the World Trade Center 11 years ago.  On the anniversary, I won't tell you where I was but I will tell you why we remember.....

We remember because our lives changed.  We went from feeling safe and going about our business to looking over our shoulders and wondering "how did this happen."  We are good people, why would something so evil, so wrong happen to us.

We walked around in disbelief thinking that everything had changed, that the world really was an awful place and somehow we had to deal with the new normal.

Then our lives changed again:

As the story unfolded, we were constantly reminded that we as American people are the best....

We watched those firefighters rush into danger, not thinking of anything else but helping the people trapped in there.

We watched as people who didn't know each other in a city helped each other out simply because it was the right thing to do.

We heard the stories of the people fighting the terrorists not to save their lives but knowing that plane was going to take many more lives.

We heard the phone calls and learned what true love was in that moment of saying goodbye.

As we grieved for those lost, we celebrated what makes us unique in the world.

then

We got up, we dusted ourselves off and said that more important saying,

"I will not give up my dream, I will not let someone else take away who I am."


So we celebrated the birth of those children who wouldn't know their parents,

we supported our troops as they went to war,

we hung up the red, white and blue.

So this tragedy, this evil that had a plan to change who we were - well, it worked.

It made us better, stronger, and bolder - it made us all Americans.

How was your life changed?