Things dead mom did for us

Most people have a (almost) lifelong relationship with their mothers. They can recount (almost) everything their mother has done to or did for them. Our mom became our dead mom when we were 11 (Laura) and 8 (Mele) years old. So our list is pretty short.

Tonight, over margaritas, I talked about training bras with some friends. I started to grow breasts around the age of 8 almost 9 (and armpit hair too - thanks Mels for trying to pluck my armpit hair with your fingernails). Mom decided I needed a "training bra" - only by about 1988-1989, the department store people didn't really sell "training bras." However, Mom managed to acquire this white, lacy, foam-padded thing with a blue flower in the middle. I refused to wear it. No one else in my class wore a bra. The one time I did wear a bra to school, I layered it under 2 t-shirts, a long-sleeved shirt, a sweatshirt, and a jacket. Yet, somehow, the 5th grade boys managed to spy the straps of my bra under all those layers.* Our sweet, misguided dead mom thought maybe the problem was the bra (not even guessing it was the early, confused acquisition of breasts in a hostile environment) that was the problem. So she enlisted our sweet fake-Chanel, real-fur wearing grandmother, who promptly bought me a very small pink Calvin Klein matching bra-and-panties set. If you were going to train your breasts, she thought, at least you could train them in Calvin Klein. [Bless her. I haven't had Calvin Klein panties since. Not even from Filene's Basement.]

It's funny the things your mom wants to prepare you for before she dies. She parcelled out her furniture, her jewelry, her clothing, everything, so meticulously most of it is still stowed in trunks labeled for each of us, somewhere in storage. But it was that pink Calvin Klein bra that got me through 6th grade, the first year after she died when (finally!) the other girls said it was ok to wear bras. I was so embarrassed that she had told my grandmother that I had breasts, but it was so much better to wear that almost-too-small, overpriced piece of pink cotton than to ask my stepmother to buy me a new bra.

When I grew breasts, our dead mom also bought me some Kotex, just in case. Three years later, and one year after her death, I used that Kotex during my first period. It was so nice to have. Our mom was dead, but at least she had managed to save me some of the embarrassment of having to ask for the things I never wanted to have.

*Now my rack is fucking gorgeous. Screw you 5th grade, you're totes jealous now, beeyatches!

Next time : How I kind-of learned to shave my legs from our cancer-ridden Ma and why my legs remain kind-of shaven to this day.

What did we do for Dead Mom Day?

Mele was on a hike with my dad, our dead mom's ex-husband. I got a massage and a mani-pedi. I think we did all right.