The Bra

The August air was humid. My clothing stuck to me like the skin of a grape-filmy and sticky.
It was my 13th Michigan summer, so the weather wasn’t unusual but always uncomfortable. I’d spent my days in between junior high grades hanging out with my friends trying to discover the newest nail polish shade or the exact amount of spray highlighter to turn my dark brown hair to a light shade of caramel. And wishing for boobs. My best friend Kim had just gotten a training bra and I desperately wanted a reason to wear a bra too. Until that point we’d done everything together, and suddenly she was taking off without me.

On one particularly quiet afternoon, where there were no invites to go to a neighbor’s pool or new books I was dying to read, Dad had called and invited me to come along while he looked at tree jobs. He picked me up as I sat on the front porch in my lavender Espirit tee shirt and matching shorts.

My dad was a tree-trimmer who owned his own business so he spent a great deal of time driving around looking at trees as free estimates had been part of his business he’d started before I was born. Riding shotgun was always a given with the big bench seat of the truck, but usually I had to share the real estate with my two brothers, but this particular Friday I had the seat all to myself.

But after sitting in the old green Chevy, for a few estimates while the smell of motor oil mixing with sawdust and stale summer air. I was antsy and wanted to go home. Dad relented and started the drive back to Milford where I lived with my mom and two brothers. Our conversation seemed to be filler at best, nothing of note comes to mind until he pulled into our cracked driveway and turned off the truck. Into the silence of the cab, he announced in a voice I was sure the next-door neighbor could hear:

“You need to get a bra.”

My cheeks got hot, and I suddenly needed a glass of water. The cab felt like a dollhouse, and I was a giant. It got even hotter in the truck and I started feeling like I was going to suffocate. I mumbled something about my mom taking me shopping soon, when I knew no such thing and began frantically shoving the manual metal door handle with the heel of my hand, it slipped a little from the sweat on my palms, but I quickly scrambled out of the Chevy and jumped to the ground with the agility of a gymnast, as opposed to my usual clumsiness that had caused me to bang my head against a closed door on more than one occasion.

My dad always called me his” little Goil.” I couldn’t believe he was telling me to get a bra. And as much as I wanted to embrace the idea that I was finally catching up to the popular cheerleader types, who had all worn bras for over a year and 7th grade would be something special because I thought maybe I’d become popular too, I’d wanted to wear a bra, but I wasn’t prepared for the rest of my life to be different. I was used to being one of the guys growing up and suddenly I was a girl?


When I woke Saturday morning, I stumbled into the living room to find my mom drinking coffee.
When she saw me, she fixed her gaze on me and announced:

“I need to measure you for a bra.”

My face got hot and I was having trouble swallowing. I thought I'd reached my embarrassment threshold the day before with my dad, but as my mom wrapped the yellow measuring tape I’d normally used as a weapon during sword fights with my brothers, the metal tape once again was unforgiving as she pressed it under the two tiny bumps that suddenly warranted everyone’s attention. Not quite sure where to look, I’d settled for straight ahead at my mom’s chest. It looked like two giant cantaloupes had landed on her front side.

That afternoon we headed off to TJ Maxx to go bra hunting, which had no glamour, no special racks. Just a huge bin full of discarded undergarments that no one wanted, A Land of Misfit Bras. After pawing through pile after pile, I settled on two-nylon bras, no bigger than a handkerchief and no wires.
One was pink and the other was beige because my mom said that beige was pracitical because it wouldn’t show through my shirt but if you couldn’t see it, why wear it?

As I modeled my new bra in the dressing room, I felt disappointed. How come I didn’t have that fold between my boobs like the women in magazines and on TV? And as soon as I put the thing on it didn’t look as if I even had any boobs so why did I need to wear this contraption?

My bra was an exciting pain in the ass. I was very aware of it rubbing, scratching and binding. It felt as if some foreign entity had landed on my chest. Much like the boobs themselves. I didn’t yet know how we fit together. After a few days, my fashion accessories were dirty. I was going to have to wash them without my brothers finding out.

I hid my new bras in a pile of dirty towels and sat watch over the washing machine like a rabid watch dog. I was afraid that if my brothers discovered them, they’d have the following conversation.

Shane: What’s this doing in here?

BJ: Want to play Mario Brothers?

Shane: Is this Kelly’s bra?

BJ: What?

Shane: Kelly. She thinks she needs a bra.

BJ: Who needs a bra?

Shane: You’re a dumb-ass BJ.


That fall I started 7th grade with the shaky adolescence confidence that I was part of something bigger. I was finally a bra wearer. Could head cheerleader be far behind? I secretly wished a boy would snap my bra. After all, handholding and bra snapping was considered a relationship in 7th grade.
If I could feel that sting from a snapped bra, I’d be a worthy girlfriend.

Turns out, my bra strap remained quiet for all of 7th grade.

In the end the huge ordeal was a very small A cup.

And it didn’t matter to anybody but me.

My first 100 days with Thump and Bump on an every day basis.

Our family is really enjoying my newly found retirement. I have adjusted well but not sure when those pension checks will be rolling in….small glitch in the plan.

I would like to share with you the top 5 things I have learned from Karly and Jack during this time we have been hanging out…..

1. Poop, pee and butt are always added and perfectly acceptable in every single conversation.
2. As I explained to my kids that ordering a happy meal every time is a waste of money and only a marketing scheme to get more money from you for a silly toy, Karly pointed out to me……Mom, the toy is FREE if you would just order the right meal.
3. Grandpa is the coolest guy around because he has a “pretend” leg. It is also a super fun game to get a cane and play amputee….who know.
4. We can figure out how to do anything as long as we read the “Burr-ections” located inside any package or product.
5. Apparently it is ok in public to let people know when they are stinky and when their teeth are dirty.
6. It is also ok to point out to boys that they should not wear pony tails or earrings (even when you yell this out across a restaurant.

Just thought I should fill you in on what I have learned. All these years I have had it way wrong!

4th Daughter

I'm not sure when Tony's going to tell us about this other child of his, but hopefully she has some great cds to add to our collection.

A separate note: Casey's in Paris!

Invisible Friends for us all

Invisible friends

I have the joy of watching Kylan my grand son twice a week. He is truly a funny kid. The other day I gave him an old pad of paper that I had given Morgan years ago; it was a Winnie the Pooh small tablet. (With Pooh and the gang photo's on the bottom.

I was making lunch and looked over at the pad, he was drawing on. I said," Oh, too bad Piglet in on the paper, I don't like him." Kylan said," Na Na, You gotta like Piglet? No, I don't Kylan I am sorry but Na Na just doesn't like him. Kylan got up set, Na Na don't say that, you gotta (Yove) Piglet. This when one for a few min then he looked me square in my eyes, with his young clear blue eyes looking just like McKenzie.
Na Na he said, " You were just sitting outside with Piglet a little while ago!"

I had no idea I had spend the afternoon with piglet, I guess, you got to watch your friends closer.

Bryanne had invisible friends also, Pumpkin, and Banana they only came out of the linen closet when she was going to the bathroom. Often they would pull her hair also, but they stayed tight for about 2 years. I have the opportunity to visit the world of make believe once again.
Perhaps there is a little invisible friends in us all.. I am sure Hope has a few friends like that, we know Brian did on his last day.. this might all just be a gift that God gives us to keep us not feeling alone.. just a thought?

Bye, honey!

One of my aunts* once told Tony that he should always tell people he loved them, in case something were to happen and they died without knowing. This, of course, would lead to many awkward pauses at the end of an otherwise great conversation (should I say it first? Will that cause him to stutter? What if we say it at the same time? Do we skip it? Does it mean less if you say it out of habit or all the time?). I, on the other hand, have a keen sense of awareness when someone loves me, without necessarily feeling a need to articulate it.

*'Ricia, I'm thinking. She has philosophical conversations like a beer drinker, minus the beer.

Bill used to call his kids "honey" to show affection, which is our new code for that old cliche'. The new order ends phone calls and emails with a "bye, honey!", which is a perfect way to tell someone you love them.