Thank you to all the Dads who make their daughters feel like they’re the most beautiful, smartest and best little girls in the world.
And since I’m not a guy, I can only hope that father’s make their sons feel competent and confident in being a man.
Happy Father’s day to my brothers and brothers in law, who do that very thing every day.
Happy Father’s day to David, who takes care of everyone in his life. I don’t think our father taught him that. I think our mother taught him that trick. By the time my sister was 11 and my brothers were in their late teens, our father had died. My brothers are smart men and somehow they’ve figured it out without Daddy to guide them directly.
My brother in law Bob didn’t have a sister. He had to learn to parent a girl. And Allison is confident and smart and gorgeous and I think she knows it yet doesn’t flaunt it. My nephew Kegan is confident and smart and handsome and an individualist. They’re well-adjusted kids thanks to the parenting both my sister and Bob have done. Kudos to Bob on Father’s Day.
Happy Father’s Day to my children’s father, Jeff. Our daughter is comfortable in her skin because Jeff treated her like a princess. Patrick is the McGyver of James Island…because his father taught him in a million little ways how to rely on himself and how to figure out ANYTHING. Katie is a wonderful woman and Patrick a wonderful man because Jeff was their father.
And a huge Happy Father’s Day to Michael. Marrying into a family of grown children and being patient and strong and steadfast for them always. Thank you, Mike, for always being there for them and for me.
Daddy, I hope you can see how well we all turned out. So Happy Daddy Day to all the great men in my life.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Granny Panties
When did you start wearing underwear?
And stop wearing panties?
For most of us I suspect it’s a gradual thing. We’re 3 year olds wearing easy-to-wash cotton panties. Then about middle school or high school we start off wearing bikini bottoms, or even thongs. After college, we might advance to low slung, high cut legs. We probably move on to a slightly higher waisted model, perhaps after having children and sporting a little muffin top. Next we move one size up. We hang out with these panties for several years. But we buy pretty lacy one.. Black ones. Silky ones. And maybe matching bras.
At this stage we’re still going to Victoria’s Secret. Our significant other is still buying lacy things for us.
When we’re not nude we’re sleeping in teddies on our anniversaries and maybe our Sig O’s birthday. A little sumthin sumthin. But children come along, and they’re climbing into bed with us. They’re puking and peeing and generally being little people. We put clothes on to sleep. A big tee shirt. A cotton nightgown.
And some time between 40 and 50, we find ourselves at Wal Mart, in the cotton underwear aisle, buying 6/pk Hanes for Her. Two sizes larger than when we were 18, if we’re lucky.
We’re buying granny panties. The kind you can hoist up a make shift mast on your home made raft when you need a sail to get you off the deserted island Gilligan landed you on.
Maybe we’ve left a husband and THANK the GODDESS we can wear something comfortable again! He might be out there with a thong-clad 24 year old, but at least we can be comfortable in our great big undies while we eat Turtle Tracks right out of the carton, over the sink.
Maybe we’ve reached that absolute time in our lives when we give up uncomfortable clothes that ride up on us and lodge in the very places we’re trying to cover.
For me, it was when my aunt died, and I flew home without packing undies. My sister and I went to the mall and I went to Belk’s and I bought white cotton underwear. The kind my aunt used to wear. The kind I caught my grandmother in. Comfortable, dependable, breatheable cotton underwear. No one to impress. No one to worry about whether they thought I was getting old. Just comforting. Comfort-ing. Simple times. Simple underwear.
We come full circle. Cotton to cotton. Comfort to comfort.
Kiddie. To Granny.
Panties to…underwear.
And stop wearing panties?
For most of us I suspect it’s a gradual thing. We’re 3 year olds wearing easy-to-wash cotton panties. Then about middle school or high school we start off wearing bikini bottoms, or even thongs. After college, we might advance to low slung, high cut legs. We probably move on to a slightly higher waisted model, perhaps after having children and sporting a little muffin top. Next we move one size up. We hang out with these panties for several years. But we buy pretty lacy one.. Black ones. Silky ones. And maybe matching bras.
At this stage we’re still going to Victoria’s Secret. Our significant other is still buying lacy things for us.
When we’re not nude we’re sleeping in teddies on our anniversaries and maybe our Sig O’s birthday. A little sumthin sumthin. But children come along, and they’re climbing into bed with us. They’re puking and peeing and generally being little people. We put clothes on to sleep. A big tee shirt. A cotton nightgown.
And some time between 40 and 50, we find ourselves at Wal Mart, in the cotton underwear aisle, buying 6/pk Hanes for Her. Two sizes larger than when we were 18, if we’re lucky.
We’re buying granny panties. The kind you can hoist up a make shift mast on your home made raft when you need a sail to get you off the deserted island Gilligan landed you on.
Maybe we’ve left a husband and THANK the GODDESS we can wear something comfortable again! He might be out there with a thong-clad 24 year old, but at least we can be comfortable in our great big undies while we eat Turtle Tracks right out of the carton, over the sink.
Maybe we’ve reached that absolute time in our lives when we give up uncomfortable clothes that ride up on us and lodge in the very places we’re trying to cover.
For me, it was when my aunt died, and I flew home without packing undies. My sister and I went to the mall and I went to Belk’s and I bought white cotton underwear. The kind my aunt used to wear. The kind I caught my grandmother in. Comfortable, dependable, breatheable cotton underwear. No one to impress. No one to worry about whether they thought I was getting old. Just comforting. Comfort-ing. Simple times. Simple underwear.
We come full circle. Cotton to cotton. Comfort to comfort.
Kiddie. To Granny.
Panties to…underwear.
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