Tradition

WARNING: this post may contain (at some point) some serious girl talk, so if you can't handle it you might want to click on a link- maybe the time out ones to the right. whatever you want.

Every General Conference my family has a giant Jeopardy tournament. It is the event of the 1/2 year. We look forward to it. We train for it. We take awesome notes on the Sunday sessions for it. And we have a trophy for the winning family that they may proudly display for 6 months until the next General Conference rolls around and the trophy is back up for grabs.

We gather exactly an hour after the second Sunday session has concluded. We eat a yummy dinner, visit, engage in a little cousin mayhem, and then begins the tourney. The husband has created a brilliant (I love that word, brilliant) computer-generated presentation that closely resembles the real Jeopardy game that he projects on the wall of our loft family room. Each family in turn chooses a category and point value and then answers the question, using their notes. It gets heated. We are a competitive family, what can I say. But I think we all love it. Oldest sister and her family were the victors. They took home the coveted trophy for the third time in a row.

However, this whole General Conference Jeopardy thing is not the point of my post. My point was that after dinner, my younger sister, my mom and myself were talking while the children played a rousing game of soccer in the backyard. Younger sister divulged that one of her two bras was damaged. The underwire had poked through. Now she must go bra shopping. Mom and I each gave opinions and strategies on how to work around this issue, including pulling out the wire for both cups. Then I shared that of my three bras (yeah, I only have three), the underwire has poked through on one, and another has been MIA for A LONG TIME, making it seem like i really only have one bra. Then I saw their faces fall and I could sense the concern they were feeling for me and my insufficient bra supply and the lost brassiere, I was able to relate the following happy news.

The husband, being the hero that he is, found my missing bra on Saturday. I was ecstatic. Then he told me where it had been. It had been prisoner in the toy box amidst the white high heel dress up shoes. Because that is where missing bras can usually be found. In the toy box, by the heels. I don't even want to know what the children were playing.

We had a good laugh. A girl laugh. Girls need those every now and then and there is no one better to share a good girl laugh with than your mom and sisters. I love these ladies.

Now, someday you may find yourself a bra short and I will offer you some invaluable advice: try looking in your toy box. Children like to play dress up and later you can have a good girl laugh about it with your mom or sister.