I’m brilliant. I’m brilliant but I cannot believe it has
taken me this long to come to this conclusion.
It gives me a warm feeling right into my heart just how brilliant I
am. A really warm feeling. To my heart.
Straight to my heart.
Let me backtrack.
I go to a college-level
soccer tournament today, and I sit outside at Endicott College in the breezy,
thirty-plus degree weather to watch a team with whom I am not especially
familiar. I know two kids on the team,
both of whom have been playing soccer with my youngest since they were all six
years old. Even though my son gave up competitive
soccer in favor of lacrosse at the college level, I still feel like this is the
end of a decades-long chapter in my life as a soccer mom.
In my sports-mom career, I’ve
spent about twenty-five years attending and coaching outdoor sporting events in
various kinds of weather. I am a pro at
packing for all types of conditions and am so savvy that I know sunscreen is
for all year round, even if it’s rainy and overcast. Of course, sunscreen and my hat are the two
items I forget to pack today, but no matter.
My face is protected from the sun by the scarf I wrap over my cheeks and
the hood I tug down to my nostrils. I
do, however, know enough to pack a light fleece blanket to sit on, a thick
fleece blanket to hide under, multiple gloves, extra socks, a convertible
jacket that can double as a lighter coat should the shell be unzipped, and
tissues (because everyone knows cold weather = snotty nose no matter how hard
you try to convince yourself otherwise).
I also remember to pack
the world’s greatest invention: heat packets that can go in my gloves and in my
socks. I love those freaking things, and
I want to marry the person who invented them.
As a matter of fact, I want clothes made out of that stuff.
I manage to stay warmish
to chilly, only truly feeling cold as we all wait along the bleacher railing
for the team to finish their final on-field meeting for the 2014 season. For my friend’s son, this is his final
academic soccer career game and after-game meeting, so hugs and handshakes
prevent a hasty exit. Although my hand
warmer packets and toe warmer packets are still toasty, my legs and core are
starting to get cold while the wind saps the strength out of me. How those boys played with the on-field wind
chill is unfathomable to me.
After the game, I remove
the warm packets with my extra socks, and I remove my gloves with the warm
packets still inside, throw everything into my travel bag, and stop to eat a
barbecue pork sandwich on the way home.
By the time I unpack in my own kitchen, the warm packets have been
working steadily for about five hours. I
notice the foot ones are hard as rocks and the warmth is starting to wane. The hand ones, however, have kept the gloves
warm and are still hot enough to thaw my still-chilled fingers.
I putter around the house,
waiting for the temperamental heat to restore my home to a livable temperature. Every so often I get a terrible chill, and I
cannot seem to warm up, so I stick the hand warmers into the back pockets of my
jeans. I have done this many times after
lacrosse games to try and bring my body temperature back into normal
ranges. I also know that if I wrap
myself up in a blanket now (mid-afternoon), I will be out cold in no time, and
my entire evening will consist of waking up around 10:00 p.m. on the couch and
dragging myself to bed for the night.
Suddenly I remember the
hand-warmers that are still roasty-toasty.
Now, here’s the part where
I am equally ashamed and amazed at myself for my brilliance. I cannot even believe I am about to admit
this, but after some of my other blog topics, I guess this one won’t surprise
anyone.
I take those still heated
warming packets and I shove them into my bra.
Not all the way in, just under the straps, resting comfortably at the
top of my chest where upper breast meets rib cage. Slowly but surely, my entire core starts to
warm up, and a glowing heat spreads to my chilled insides.
This is when I start to
wonder why on earth I haven’t thought of this before. Why has it never dawned on me to warm my cold
core section with the same little bundles of chemicals that keep my fingers and
toes from hypothermia? I mean, these
little babies stay toasty for hours and hours and hours. If I don’t need them for my fingers anymore,
why should the heat be wasted on my kitchen counter?
Yes, yes I really am sitting
here typing my blog with two little warming packets in the top of each bra cup,
and yes, yes I really am telling this to anyone who reads it.
I don’t even care. You know why?
I don’t even care because
I am finally warm, truly warm, deeply warm to my frozen Grinch-like heart. Good lord, I’m roasting my chest-nuts, and I
don’t even care if the whole world knows.
My only regret is that I didn’t think of this sooner… and that I just
wrote a blog about it.
Oh well, at least this way
if anyone tells me my boobs are hot, I can totally own it.
