My daughters call it the Mom coat. It’s an L.L. Bean design that is so well made it will probably last forever. I may even leave it to one of them in my will. Most likely, that would be our youngest as she is the one most in awe of it, although she hides that fact well.
It’s a dull red, sort of oversized down-stuffed contraption, with four large Velcro patch pockets on the front, along with a slit pocket on each side. A sad little detachable hood dangles off the back so that I don’t even need an umbrella on rainy days, bringing to mind a very cheerful Grim Reaper’s mom when I choose to pull it up. For items that shouldn’t get away from me, like a debit card or a grocery list, those front Velcro pockets are a must. This morning, as I stepped outside to feed the four dogs currently in residence, I slipped my hands in the side pockets only to find a can of cat food in one and a lawn-sized garbage bag in the other. And there was still plenty of room for my gloved hands. I have no idea how or why those items got in the pockets, but if I’m ever in need of either, I’ll know where to look. That is, until they’re replaced by some other easily forgotten necessity.
Metal riveted snaps, strong enough to secure the ropes of a parachute in flight, adorn the front, along with a thick heavy-duty zipper in case I want to zip instead of snap. Or I could do both if I feel like it. L.L. Bean knows coats.
I’m not really sure when I came into possession of it, but from early photos, I know I’ve had it since our girls were very small. At that time, the pockets served as containers for just about anything of value to any of us. It was perfect, as nothing could escape the Velcro pocket closures and all our treasures were close at hand. Those pockets have held seashells collected on winter beach trips, zip-loc snack bags, dog collars, paintbrushes, loose change, and leftover Halloween candy. If pressed, I could probably fit a hot air balloon in just one of them.
And to top it all off, I could easily be spotted in a crowd, red Mom beacon that I was. I’m thinking the security of having an easily locatable mother to whom you could toss just about anything for secure storage more than made up for the fashion faux pas of it all. We could even pack a lunch in there if needed. Before it morphed into a travesty, it was quite the source of security for the family. But years and experience tend to lessen the immediate necessity of both moms and red coats, at least temporarily, which is why my beloved coat collected a bit of dust in a closet filled with more fashionable and acceptable alternatives for a while. They were the more muted choices with inconspicuous pockets and very little utility. But at least they weren’t embarrassing.
And yet, to the dismay of all involved except me, the red coat never made the final trip to the Salvation Army bin. I just knew the time would come when it would be needed, which is why I recently retrieved it from obscurity. Some items I could easily part with, some I’ve even taken to dry cleaning and forgotten for a year or two, but the Mom coat is irreplaceable.
I don’t keep everything, nor am I necessarily a follower. After a season of Mom jeans, I swore off that trend, and I never fell prey to the requirement that all moms have to drive a minivan while the kids are in grade school. I came close, with a sporty little SUV, but I could still apologetically offer space to only one additional child when a field trip came up, significantly lessening my popularity as a class transport.
And now, since the Mom coat has made its second debut, it has become the farm coat. The yard coat. The dog coat. The grocery store coat. Its sturdy construction and oversized bulk let just the right amount of air in under the hem to build heat that could probably bake a meal. It is very much the outerwear equivalent of comfort food. Except for the bothersome fashion thing, it’s quite the bomb.
Before it became so fashion-challenged, it traveled with us everywhere. It’s in early photos of rainy days spent in Gatlinburg doing a bit of Christmas shopping and marveling at the horseshoe crabs at the Ripley’s Aquarium. It kept me warm while we shoved a four-year-old and her younger sister down a snowy slope on a kitchen baking sheet and a makeshift metal sled. It’s evident in photo ops featuring a background of the frigid Grand Tetons and others fronting the deserted Alabama Gulf beach in January. It was, and is, a real trooper.
And it’s even made in China, which is just weird. Nothing made in China should last this long. It must be the care I’ve given it.
This past Christmas season, I saw a coat almost identical to mine, being modeled by a most-likely homeless woman on River Street in Savannah. She might have been very needy, or perhaps she was just a hustler, but her coat is what caught my eye. We almost passed by her before my conscience and peripheral vision got the better of me. She was sitting on a low set of concrete steps just off the walkway, flanked by a couple of gray cats who appeared to be hers. She held some sort of cardboard sign with print that was impossible to read at more than a few feet away, but that really didn’t matter. It was the cats and the coat that got me. I would never miss the few bills I was about to give her. Even if it was a gimmick. Even if she really didn’t intend to feed herself or her cats with my money, what mattered is what I did, not what she might choose to do with my good intentions.
“Take care of yourself and those cats, too,” I said as I handed her the cash.
“Oh, they take pretty good care of me,” she replied with a grin that was missing more than a few teeth. “I keep ‘em fed, and they keep me sober.”
She managed a chuckle before stuffing the cash into one of those massive Velcro pockets and turning her attention to others who might also contribute to her maybe worthwhile cause. Regardless of economic standing, we were sisters in coats.
So now I’m cleaning up the Mom coat. That’s because I’m so excited to learn that it’s about to be the rage. A true original. A 1960 VW in a world of VW-wannabes. Amazon has recognized its style and devoted an entire Instagram page to trendy wearers of the Mom fashion. Simply called The Amazon Coat, Oprah is even endorsing it. And that’s as good as it gets.
It’s available in four new metallic shades and is apparently the reason Amazon will earn fashion cred in the upcoming year. Photographed on happy young “weekend warriors,” the coat can be found everywhere from Lake Louise to the Brooklyn Bridge. Several generations of the same family are shown happily shopping and strolling and stuffing treasures into those massive Velcro pockets.
“Power momming at its best.”
“Into the woods.”
“Comin’ in hot.”
Who knew? Actually, I think I did. That’s because I’m apparently a power mom who’s comin’ in hot. But no one has a coat with as much scuffed, stained, timeworn character and elegance as mine. Well, maybe the homeless hustler on River Street does. But this is MY coat. And finally, the world, and Amazon, agrees with me. I KNEW it.
