My First Apron Story

I don’t always do a blog-along (or whatever these things are called when you jump on board another person’s blog topic), but when I do it’s because my friend Adriane started gushing about aprons and then asked other people to share their apron stories too.  One a week.  How many weeks in a year? How many years will I be at this?!


By no fault of its own my kitchen pantry door does not shut easily; the aprons are to blame (the apron hoarder may take her fair share of blame too).  On the inside of this door aprons overflow a solitary hardworking hook, drape over the towel rack, spill out into my closet (I switch out the seasonal ones, of course!), and are even found on a hook in the playroom specifically placed there to hold dress up aprons.

So which one to share first?

Why not my own first apron, a sweet memory from my childhood which is now getting a second lease on life as my daughter’s apron.


Growing up there were two of these little lovelies.  I think the other one may have been red? Anyway, my sister and I always fought over one of them, though for the life of me I can’t recall if we coveted the red one or the green one; it probably varied.  Then my mother, in her wisdom, wrote our names on them which may have stopped a couple squabbles.  If you look closely you can still see the faded sharpie marks.


It has stains, blobs, a bit of fray, and much like the velveteen rabbit, it is no longer only a toy.  On no indeed! This little scrap of an apron has lived the GLORY of cookie making for two generations and has lived to tell the tale!


It has wiped up tears, soaked up spilled milk, stored chocolate chips in the front pocket, and made more imaginary feasts than you can shake a wooden spoon at.  Why, just last night it was the accomplice to Dellabug’s master creation – wooden cookie soup!



There.  That was unexpectedly epic for such a humble unassuming kitchen tool, but I’m not surprised.  Aprons are important and I’ve always known that to be true.  Dellabug knows it too.



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