How Much Is Mommy's Cell Phone Really Worth?

First of all, I’m going to have to start by blaming this entire incident on my friend, Dominique.  If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have been at Target in the first place.

I’ve come to the realization that I have never had any idea what size bra I’m supposed to be wearing.  In college, I wore a 34D until my roommate, Laura, finally busted out laughing one night after quarter beers at the frat bar and asked me why all of my bras were so baggy.   Being from a family of women with Guinness book worthy breasts, I just couldn’t imagine buying anything smaller than a D.  I honestly hadn’t ever realized I just wasn’t as “blessed” as the rest of my clan.  So, that sent me back to Vicky’s Secret and a C and finally (in my late 20’s finally figuring it out) to a B.  Well, once I nursed babies, I ended up in a 34A, to which my grandmother asked, “Why do you even bother with a bra?  I stopped wearing mine once the dents in my shoulders were 2 inches deep and haven’t looked back since.” I think she and I are having slightly different experiences.  But anyway, I thought, “What the heck?  She’s so right.  Why bother?”  Then my oh-so-subtle girlfriend, Elizabeth, asked me one day, “Heather, are you wearing a bra?” “Nope.”  “Um, are you over the age of 22?”  I’m 39.  I wish a was a strong, feminist hippy, but I guess (in the boob department anyway) I’m still an insecure sorority girl.   

So did I head straight to the store?  Nope, I figured if I’m gonna go, I’m gonna go big!  This is, Texas, isn’t it??  So, I went to the plastic surgeon instead.   I figured I’d have to drop $5k, but I’d have moderate sized boobs just under my chin and warrant a solid sized B bra if, and only if, I chose to wear one for decorative purposes.  Well, it turns out when you start with banana boobs to begin with (thank you College Boyfriend, for the nomenclature), and then shrink from a pretend D all the way down to a real-life A, you are stuck with not the $5k perky package, but instead the $11k lift and “lollipop” scar.  If you don’t know, don’t Google it.  There’s only so much a girl can wrap her head around.  Shnikees.  Anyway, I went straight to the lingerie store and bought the 34 A’s with 8 inches of padding and was feeling pretty proud of myself for the $10,952.87 I had saved until Dominique created that fated post on our local women’s fb page. 

            In the words of Dominique, “The best place to be ‘professionally’ measured for a bra?”  After 27 responses and an informative, yet highly disheartening, blog post, I determined that I am definitely not a 34 A and quite likely a 28D.  The definitive answer could only be found at Petticoat Fair, which is located approximately 42 miles from my house and quite possibly the only store to sell such an absurd size.  Now, this may not sound like a big deal if you don’t have at least two toddlers.  I do.  I have only two, so I hate to complain, but I don’t have any idea how you supermoms with herds even go pee, let alone lingerie shop.  Did I go?  Did I brave it with the boys?  Did I get a sitter to go on this oh-so-vital expedition?  (You’re holding your breath, right?)  Nope.  But I did make a FIRM commitment to make it to Target within the week.  Man, that sounds weak .  It really does.  But I haven’t told you about my 3 year-old cracking his head open, my romantic get-away with the hubby, or all of the crayon I scrubbed off the walls this week.  (Yep, still sounds really pathetic to me too.  Let’s just move on.)

            Let’s get to the day of the disaster.  I teach a 45 minute baby and toddler music class twice a week.  My little guy absolutely loves it, but my big ‘un (3 and  a half) usually needs a good bribe to keep him from throwing himself on the floor in the middle of class and screaming for the ENTIRE 45 minutes.  This may sound shocking, but some mothers aren’t too keen on paying $16 to hear someone else’s toddler scream, “I don’t liiiiiike music class!!!!” for just under an hour.  I know, weird right?  Some people…

            I’ve read the books.  Heck, I was a public school teacher for 9 years.  I know all about positive reinforcement, intrinsic rewards, self-motivation, etc.  So important.  So valuable.  I am a mother now, and I need two 45 minute periods of peace each week.  What does that look like in my new world?  BRIBERY! 

            Well, this week I thought I had it figured out.  I knew I wanted to go to Target.  I also knew that, thanks to Aunt Heather, Big Boy had a new found love (nay, obsession) with fruit roll-ups.  Yes, I bribed my boy to behave during our class so that he would earn some food coloring and high fructose corn syrup.  Did we make it through class without wails of disapproval and screams of torture?  Yes!!!  Yes, we did!  Success!

            You know that, after that enthusiasm and all of those exclamation points, we’re about to head to a dark, dark place, right?  Well, here it goes.

            What did I really want to shop for?  Yep, bras.  Who sells bras AND toddler-bribery-items?  Of course, Target!  I have a couple of more questions for you.  How may fruit roll-ups come in a box?  One?   Nope.  Two?  Not even close.  How many fruit roll-ups do I want my 3 year-old to eat at once?  You know where we’re going here.  Well, first of all, it turns out Target only goes down to a 32.  What’s the biggest cup size they provide for that 32?  B.  That’s right.  I’m looking for a 28D, but I’m in an American big box store, so I’m in the dressing room rocking the only two 32 B bras I can find, when all of the sudden Big Boy finishes his second rainbow striped fruit roll-up and ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE!  If you’re a parent, you know what this looks like.  He is out of the cart, on the ground, arms and legs flailing, screaming at the top of his lungs, “I want another fruit roll-up!!!” louder than you ever thought was possible.  I put back on my formerly new, but now embarrassingly inappropriately sized 34A and the rest of my clothes, throw Big Boy over my shoulder, push the cart (containing the fruit roll-ups, some peanut butter crackers, 2 squirt guns, and my 18 month-old) with my other arm, and head to the check out.  Obviously the screaming stops immediately.  (If you’re a parent, you realize the gravity of that lie and are snickering as you read).   As Big Boy is screaming for more rainbow-striped HFCS and I am struggling for my credit card while tightening my straight jacket hold on him, I’m putting the roll-up box on the conveyor belt and smiling at the 20 year-old check-out girl who is reminding herself to refill her birth control ASAP.  By the time we make it to the car and I get everyone strapped in, I am black and blue from knees to neck.

            Then what do I notice?  My phone is gone.  I left it somewhere inside the store.  This is when I ask myself the question.  “How much will it cost to replace my phone?”  Because at this point, I don’t think there’s any way I can get myself to unstrap everyone and venture back  into the store.   And the calculations begin.  I’m pretty sure it’s about $700.  Yep, $700 and I’m still sitting in my car debating.  I can drive home right now and they will both be asleep once we get home. Sweet little peaceful angels to gently transfer from car to bed.  Ahhhhhh.  And it will only cost me $700.  Or, I can get them both out again, search the entire Target………..  Big Boy had rolled down his window once I got him into the car and just then my phone starts ringing from inside my empty cart, which is in the cart corral right next to my parking space…..  Save of the century.