Sometimes in life, it really is about the little things.
The other day I invested $4.98 on an egg bowl.
You heard it right. An EGG BOWL.
Let me explain. I buy organic brown eggs at Costco (the 24 pack). And being that everyone is now some kind of granola hippy-lover (myself included) the plastic container they come in is that super thin save-the-earth plastic crap.
I get it…but it could be biodegradable cardboard…is fine…but not too practical for 24 eggs. I mean, 24 eggs are pretty heavy.
SOOO, I’ve lost more than my fair share of eggs over the last couple of weeks because of this (which I initially blamed faulty thinking…but now I actually think it may be part of some brilliant scheme to get people to have to buy more eggs) and was sick of having to juggle child and this crap-tastic carton (and ultimately fail…only to have to chase Ellie away from broken eggs and egg-goo on the floor while I clean everything up) every morning I make breakfast.
Cooking in this household is not a dainty feat. As much as I would like to claim I have some sort of June Cleaver gift of being able make a perfect quiche while wearing kitten heals and pearls, cooking in my house looks more like an escapade of whirling dervishes topped off with an 18 month-old eating random Cheerios
from God knows when off the floor (I swear this child is like a bloodhound for random shit I manage to miss when cleaning).
Regardless. I know my limitations…and the plain and simple truth was that I needed to change the eggs over to a different container because I was very quickly loosing the cost advantage of buying in a bigger size.
So that was my big goal…to find a bowl that was big enough to accommodate 24 eggs, but small enough to fit back in my fridge.
It really didn’t take me all that long…(a trip to Marshall’s one night after picking Ellie up from daycare).
It’s this perfect teal ceramic bowl…and the colors against the brown of the eggs make me happy. And nostalgic.
Because as soon as I got home from shopping and filled the bowl with the eggs, I was taken back to my Gram’s house in the summer. Not that she ever had a teal bowl that I can specifically remember…or that she stored her eggs in anything but the fridge door…but it seemed like something she would do. Something very practical and farm-like (eggs straight from the barn to the fridge). And suddenly I found myself wanting to shuck (sp?) corn, smother my toast with freezer jam, spend all day gathering layers of dirt on the bottom of my feet, and fall asleep between linens line-dried by the sun.
And then it got me thinking. It’s been almost 5 years since I’ve been to my Gram’s house. I’ve seen them, but it’s been forever since I’ve been to their home. And that realization made me very very sad.
The last few days have been warm and breezy…much like the nights on Bass lake. And I’m in the mood for late nights around the fire, rocking with my grandfather on the swing, cozy quilts, drinking out of mason jars, and waking up to bacon frying in the skillet.
Mostly, I’m resolved to bring cozy comforts to my child…so that she will grow to know the joy of running bare-foot through grass, gathering layers of dirt on the bottoms of her baby toes, watching the field line (where the yard meets the “tall grass”) light up with the glow of fireflies at dusk, and drifting to dreamland to the sound of crickets as your body warms the cool, crisp sheets just fresh off the line.
It’s almost spring-time in New England. And I want to go home.