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?!

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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.

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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.

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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!

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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!

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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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