The Shirt Off My Back

I am willing to do almost anything for my children. Yeah, I bluster about making them face the consequences of their own actions and promoting their independence...but when it comes right down to it, I'm willing to give them the shirt off my back. Case in point.........
Last Friday evening Hillary was in a choir show featuring songs from Broadway plays. But that makes it sound too easy. You see, she went straight from school to track practice to home (just long enough to grab a snack) to the school for the performance. As she was flying out the door I asked, "Do you have everything? All your costume pieces?" Yeah, yeah, yeah....
Fifteen minutes later, as Yancy, Parker and I sat in the Mexican restaurant (one block from the school) having dinner before the show, Hillary calls my cell phone. "Mom, can you bring me a black t-shirt?" Well, I would...if I could warp time and actually make it to the house and back before the show started. Nevermind the hypoglycemic attack I might have from not eating til after the show. So I did the only thing I could. I offered her mine.
We're close enough to the same size to share things like shirts, socks, shoes and underwear. Yes...there was that one extreme occasion. It was after a cross country race. Hillary had run 1.6 miles and given it her all. When she finished the race, she was so exhausted (and had been "holding it" for the last mile) that she wet her pants a little. Unfortunately, we had to go straight from the meet to a parade in another town, where she was to march and play her saxophone. She had brought clothes to change into - but no extra underwear. She said she'd be fine and she'd just wear her wet undies under her clean clothes...but by the time we got to the parade, she'd changed her mind. So I discreetly wiggled out of my jeans (right there in the front seat) and gave her my unmentionables. My husband said dryly, "Are you almost done?" "Why?" I asked. "Because there's Pastor..and he's heading this way." You never saw someone move so fast! In the end, Hillary marched down the street with musical abandon while I went (uncomfortably) commando til we got home.
What's a shirt when you've already surrendered your underwear.
We get to the school and I race back to the choir room. As I'm asking where we can go to change, one of the other girls says, "What do you need Hillary? Oh, I've got an extra shirt you can borrow." I could have hugged her. This girl just saved me from sitting in the audience with my coat zipped all the way up, wearing nothing but my bra underneath like some kind of sicko flasher. (Afterthought - why didn't Hillary ask around before I resorted to stripping?)
So the crisis was averted and I sat with the other (normal) parents and enjoyed the show. I guess I should be flattered that Hillary is willing to wear anything her mom would wear. That's it! I should start wearing 'granny panties'!