Dear Diary – Youngest Son announced one year, as Mother’s Day approached, that I shouldn’t expect to get a Mother-Of-The-Year Award. His reason? I told gross stories. Not all boys like stories with bathroom references, fart noises, and vomit jokes. Noted.
But I still tell them.
I may never deserve a Mother of the Year Award, but this past Friday deserved a nomination. I braved heavy-ish snow and slippery, snow-covered roads to get Youngest Son to Youth in a neighbouring town.
He was the only kid to show up.
Most of the kids can walk to the church.
As I mom, I constantly worry about the safety of my children.Unknown
Especially the one who grunts and rolls his eyes at me.
Dear Diary – A friend solved the problem of Angus peeing when he gets cozy in my lap: doggy pee pads! We enjoyed a long Sunday afternoon cuddle.
We’ve discussed making this a daily thing.
Dear Diary – I ran away from home, but this year it’s not because I was having a mental breakdown. It’s March Break!
On Monday afternoon, Mom and I scraped the mud off our boots and “headed to town”. My sewing machine needed a tune-up because it has been skipping stitches. Of course we took advantage of the opportunity to shop!
It’s time to end the bi-monthly Saturday night “walk of shame” as I struggle to find a respectable and flattering outfit fit for Sunday morning at the front. I didn’t purchase clothes online during the shutdown, with the exception of my k’nix bra, which proved to be a disaster. And the clothes I do own shrunk in the closet!
I tried, dear diary. Truly. But came home empty-handed. We’ll…not entirely. I bought another pair of leggings, navy with elephants, to wear at home! They’re comfy.
I tried on several tops and dresses but most of them were too big, too small, or too wrong on so many levels.
I almost needed the sales clerk to cut me out!
I found one blouse I really liked but it blended with my skin and from a distance, I looked naked. It might be a popular look at the Oscars, but it’s not the look for me.
You’re welcome, world.
I drowned my sorrows in tea and split a sticky doughnut with Mom before driving home in the snow. Snow again.
It snowed during an afternoon game of Ticket to Ride. I lost.
It snowed during a McDonald’s run.
Despite the constant snow, there are no birds at Dad’s feeder. We thought it was because it’s a new feeder and fire engine red. An appropriate colour for a former fire fighter! Or maybe the birds are snubbing him because he cut down the adjacent, dead evergreen tree.
But I spotted the real culprit this week and I stalked him with Dad’s camera.
Once he realized I had spotted him, he took off, but like the birds, I’m not fooled. He’s out there, waiting to strike.
If he poops on my car, will all this snow wash it off?
Dear Diary – Family games night took a dark turn while dealing the cards. A rouge card sliced and blood splattered the walls! Just kidding! We had Auntie M over for homemade pizza and quesadillas, and to play games. Mom and I got pretty silly (although it doesn’t take much).
Dear Diary – Wednesday, the sun shone and if you stood in a sunny spot protected from the wind, it was dreamy! What wasn’t dreamy was facing my Wednesday errand: bra shopping!
In this world, not all women are created equal. In fact, over 90% of women report asymmetrical breasts. The other challenge arises when a woman doesn’t fit standard industry sizing. For example, my rib cage measurement is 4-6 inches smaller than where my cup size typically starts. Or as you age, a small-cupped lady will struggle to find an off-the-rack bra with a large rib band. Specialty shops provide “support” for the teeny or top-heavy, but isn’t readily affordable for all women.
Which is why I shop savvy (so I don’t have to sell a kidney on the black market), and take great care of my brassieres.
The nightmare started in Grade 4 and for years, I wore the wrong size. It meant decades of shallow breathing and constant adjusting as wires poked and elastic dug in. My shoulders bear permanent ridges where all the padding has worn away. As a kid, I wanted the same pretty, coloured, lacy confectionaries that my peers were wearing. I resented being strapped into white cotton, utilitarian over-the-shoulder-boulder holders that looked like torture instruments from the 1950’s. Just because I had curves! I was in my 30’s when a friend took me to a “proper place” for a fitting. There I purchased a bra that not only didn’t feel like a lead vest, but was pretty. I still went with practical white, but it had lace and satin. I felt like the Queen of Sheba!
Covid has not been kind to many of us. All those weeks humped up on the couch bingeing and binge-watching left its mark around my middle. Plus the elastic continued to stretch with each passing month. So it was time to bare all and have a proper fitting. The lady at the store was fantastic, putting me at ease and laughing with me, not at me. As a professional should.
I came away from the experience with my dignity still intact and excited to be swathed in fresh peach lace and checkered satin. I even splurged and bought one in navy too. My bank account took a slight dip, but once again, everything is up where it belongs. I can see my waist again. If I could jog, I would do so without worrying about giving myself a black eye.
Life is good!
Bra Size Fitting Chart
A = Almost Boobs
B = Barely Boobs
C = Can’t Complain
D = Dang
DD = Double Dang
E = Enormous
F = Fake
G = Get a Reduction
H = Help! I’ve fallen and can’t get up!