I’m a woman raising girls who remembers what is was like to be a girl. In a word: awesome. Awesome because I liked girl-stuff, girl-talk, and girl-power (don’t hate on my clichés, ’cause they are girl-tastic). Here’s a partial list of reasons being a girl was Da Bomb back in the day:
- Writing in chunky cursive and dotting my i’s with hearts and circles
- Being able to sit quietly in class without hitting anybody or farting
- White roller skates with pink wheels
- Having your mom take you to the mall with a group of your friends to get your ears pierced
- Saddle shoes
- Easy-bake Oven
- Jordache Jeans
Obviously, “the day” was some time during the Reagan administration. Here are my girls and I don’t mind telling you that I find them rather charming. By the way, they made these photo collages themselves using Instaframe, a kid-friendly photo editor that they both love to use.
They like being girls too, and here’s some things they think are awesome here in “modern times” (as they referred to it after I shared my list). Maybe you know some girls who’ll think these things are awesome too.
Phylo Trading Cards
Bailey’s Flower Press
“Because it’s good to remember this about me when something’s scary, Mommy”, Strong, Beautiful, Brave Art Print
A pal (or several) from Coral and Tusk
Wood-handled slingshot with pom poms
The photos of my daughters were taken by me with my Iphone.
So my husband, Mike, is a real sweetheart. He managed to solve two very real problems for me in one move. Problem one started when I realized that I cannot finish a carafe of coffee by myself. See, I’m the only coffee drinker in the house. Which, while making me a unique and brilliant snowflake among mere mortals, means I was routinely having to throw away a least one cup from the carafe because I can’t finish it before it loses it’s bloom. I was raised by southern people who remember the Great Depression. Throwing away “perfectly good food” is literally against my very genetic makeup.
Problem two started when I broke my coffee carafe. What was I going to do? Buy a replacement carafe and continue my shameful dumping of leftover coffee day after day? Well, Mike found one of these babies (pictured above) at our local Woodman’s and changed my life. It’s a one cup coffee brewer. Unlike my French press, which is hard to keep hot, this contraption brews a single, steaming serving into the included (very bistro looking) footed, black ceramic cup.
It’s mindlessly easy, neat and tidy. My grandmother would surely approve this message. I’d ask her personally if I wouldn’t then be forced to have a fifteen minute conversation in which I try to explain what a “blog” is. So you’ll just have to take my word for it.
PS. I’m planning to pair tomorrow morning’s cuppa with this blueberry coffee cake. Yum!