Nobody said anything about old bras and hairy legs. No, no you didn’t.

April 25, 2014 in Stuff I Should Think About Regretting Later

I do believe I’ve uttered the words, “I don’t ask for much…” no less than 17 times this week.

It’s not like I’m asking for an around the world cruise.

Or my own personal island.

(Which I would love because then I could boss and people would listen because it was MY personal island and what I say goes.)

(Or doesn’t.)

(Whatever.  I wouldn’t really care because I’d be on my own personal island.  So who cares if anyone did anything?!?)

No.  I ask for, what I do believe are, simple things.

Such as:

Dont Ask

Is no shoes at the office too much??

Apparently so.

(A boss actually saw this on Facebook and asked me personally, to please keep my heels on.  Because if I didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to see me.)

(Such a funny, funny man.)

(Apparently, I’m short.)


None of you mom’s of teenagers told me about the drama and the life-ending tragedies to expect.  None of you.  I thought we were all like a little gang.  I thought we all kinda stuck together.  I thought we all had each others backs?

It’s not like I birthed her and have had 15 years and 11 months of spanking her, reprimanding her and putting my good sense in to her.  No.  I got her at 14.

(And God just laughed and laughed and laughed.)

Before bed the other night, I said to Keith , “I don’t ask for much, but I have got to get some new bras this week.”

(He doesn’t care.)

(But yet, he knows it’s best to appear as if he does.)

15 minutes later, Cayla came to the bedroom while Keith was in the shower.  It was just me and her.

She showed me one of her bras.

Held together by a safety pin.

ME:  “Baby, why didn’t you tell me you needed another bra?”

HER:  “Because I forgot.  But I need two of them.  Pretty bad.”

ME:  “We’ll go Tuesday after I get off work.”

(I need bras, too.  When I was single, I bought pretty bras all the time.  Never didn’t have a pretty bra.  Never had a bra with a stretched out strap.  Never had a bra with a hook missing.)

(Now, I do.)

She now has two pretty bras to add to her collection of other pretty bras.  Which costs about the same as my car note.

HER:  I love these!  Thank you!  The sales girl told me to be sure and hand-wash them or use a net bag in the washer.  They’ll last longer and won’t get so old so quick.

ME:  Oh.  OK.  So you should use one of those little net bags?  Hmm…like that one I bought you when we bought your last set of over-priced bras?  That net bag that you never used because you said you knew how to take care of them and didn’t need the net bag?  That kind of bag?  Oh, OK.

HER:  I get it.  You were right.

I am now too broke for my own bras.

After we left the gym the other day, I said to Keith, “I don’t ask for much, but I have got to shave my stupid legs tonight.”

This getting up at 4:45ish and leaving at 6:00ish and not getting home till 6:00ish only to wash clothes, do dinner, take a 4 minute shower wasn’t cutting it anymore.  I wanted a bath.  I real live bath so I could shave my legs without taking off half the hide on my ankles.

That night I went to start my bath.  The bath I had been waiting on for days.

No hot water.

I knocked on Cayla’s bathroom door.

ME:  “Baby, are you about done?  You’ve been in the shower for almost an hour!”

HER:  “Almost…I gotta shave my legs then I’ll be done!”

I froze at the closed bathroom door.  Just looking at it.

I still have hairy legs.

I love her.  I do.  With all my heart.  But I want new bras.  And I want hairless legs.

I don’t ask for much.

Or do I?

All I heard when I got married and acquired a teenager was how much fun I was going to have and all the shopping we’d do and all the long talks we’d have and all the secrets we’d keep.

And all of that is true.  More truer than I can even put into words.

But nobody…nobody…once told me about all the being broke I’d be and the crying fits I’d have to shuffle through and the long glares I’d get because I added mushrooms to the pasta.


Nobody ever said this motherhood stuff consisted of old bras and hairy legs.


Is she worth old bras and hairy legs?  Absolutely.

Does that personal island I’ve never asked for occasionally cross my mind?  Absolutely.

Would I take her with me?  Abso-friggin-lutely.

But she’d have her side of my personal island and I’d have mine.

And on my side of my personal island, old bras and hairy legs would be the hip thing.

‘Cause it’d be MY personal island.

And I’m hip.

If only in my mind.  On my personal island.


L. Hewitt April 25, 2014 at 10:35 am

We didn’t tell you because we were just so used to it. AND – I found a private island – not even kidding, and it is only 8 million dollars, but, it turns out, it is way more complicated than old bras, hairy legs, no hot water, glares, and door staring. Door staring is one of my personal favorites. Shoes should always be optional. I’ll talk to your boss if you would like.

Carrie April 25, 2014 at 10:49 am

Only 8 million? (I don’t even know how many zeros that is.)

I’ll write a check.

Please. Talk to the boss. I need some help here.

Caroline ( April 25, 2014 at 11:58 am

Oh my gosh! My teen will drop $80 on a Victoria’s Not Secret like its no big deal. And the thongs! Oh my ga, the thongs!!!

Sorry Carrie, my boss and I both take our shoes off pretty much the second we walk in the door. Countless clients have caught us shoeless. I know. It s scandalous.
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Carrie April 25, 2014 at 4:17 pm

Well, I failed to say she whipped out a $50 Victoria Secret gift card she forgot she had. That helped…but still. Why should young boobs cost so much more than, well…not so young boobs??

(SOOOOO glad you stopped by!!! YAY ME!)

Michelle April 25, 2014 at 1:42 pm

I love this! I LOVE it.

And I want my own island,too..and I wouldn’t care about hairy legs at all. Come to think of it, I mostly don’t care about that anyway.
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Carrie April 25, 2014 at 4:18 pm

I’m slowly learning…slooooowly.

And you’re right. If I’m completely honest, I don’t give a rats ass about the hairy legs. I got enough crap to do as it is.


Amber April 25, 2014 at 2:41 pm

I think you should be able to take your shoes off. Why not? 😉

I’m pretty short too. Oh well.

And my legs are hairy. I should probably do something about that.
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Carrie April 25, 2014 at 4:19 pm

Well, when no one is around….I take’em off.

It’s the rebel in me.


Darcy Perdu (So Then Stories) April 25, 2014 at 10:38 pm

Ha! You poor hairy boob-saggin’ mama! I can relate! My darling teen just discovered Victoria’s Secret bras fit so much better and look so much cooler than the Target bras…uh-oh! :o)
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Carrie April 26, 2014 at 9:25 pm

You nailed it on that description, sister!

And she used to loooove Target. Now when I mention it? Uh, no. Target is ok for sports bras, but that’s it.


katie metzroth April 29, 2014 at 11:17 am

The really important thing is to hang dry your bras cause the dryer bends the underwire and when you go through the x-ray machine in the airports, they can tell how you launder your bras (don’t ask how I know)…..I hang dry my bras right next to my hand washed hand knit socks…. and I use a net bag in the washer too. My bras look new forever. They’re like the Highlander or something.
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Carrie April 30, 2014 at 3:33 pm

Highlander?!? HAHAHAH!!! You so cray cray.

Adelyn April 29, 2014 at 9:29 pm

Ok, so I am late to this…but there is a TON the other mothers never tell us. And I do think it has to do with the PTSD that they have over how things used to be. Or they have totally forgotten that there is a world where legs are shaved, bras are new, money almost grows on trees, and there is SILENCE once and awhile.

Problem is…I lived in that private island until I was 36 hoping, praying that one day I would be able to have children.

and then she came along. And my legs are not shaved…bras are old…and there is never silence. AND she doesn’t like to shop!!!

And I will never go back.

Just look back once and awhile. sniff.
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Carrie April 30, 2014 at 3:43 pm

Silence is right. Well, it’s on her terms. She’s very, very silent while she’s sleeping. And as long as she’s sleeping…silence. But if we wake her up before she’s ready…not so much silence.

Actually, she’s still silent, but it’s that loud kind of silence.

The same kind of loud silence I make when I’m ticked. =)

Maggie S. May 1, 2014 at 1:25 am

You’ve been a fantastic mom from the start. If you are foregoing the basics, you have arrived (I actually shopped tonight for underwear I won’t purchase, so they can have the good stuff to go under prom dresses. Teaching girls to always wear pretty underwear for themselves even though no one else will ever know like superman. Best mom thing ever. Some grown girls don’t know.).

Love you.
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Carrie May 1, 2014 at 9:51 am

Precisely. I can look like a slob but if I have on pretty stuff underneath, I can tolerate me a little better.

It’s always been me…me…me. For nine single years, then BOOM: You’re a mom or stepmom or chauffeur (or whatever this gig is) of a teenager.

Talk about a wake-up call.

Love you more. Way more.

A Morning Grouch May 2, 2014 at 9:10 pm

hahah aooooh i love this post. You so deserve hot tea, and free feet, and hairless legs and pretty bras. Even though you didn’t get them today…don’t give up hope! You’ll get them!
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Carrie May 5, 2014 at 10:38 am

Oh, it’s a waiting game. I know it’s coming and I can see the light then…BOOM. Darkness again.

Then the light gets a little closer and I run towards it and slam the bathroom door behind me and lock it. Just me, the big bathtub and a razor.

Doesn’t take much more than that. =)

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