It Was Never About The Cookie

When I was 8 years old, I was playing hide ‘n’ seek in the backyard. I was watching “Little House on the Prairie”. I was trying to perfect my back handspring.

What I was NOT doing (yet) was being a bad-ass feminist.

And that is why I was so happy when I saw this post last month:

“Don’t forget to stop by and support this bake sale fundraiser held by two sweet and amazingly bad-ass 8-year old besties right here in Fairlington!
Don’t live nearby, but still want to contribute? Feel free to Venmo some funds to @Shineca-Solomon for the cause!
All proceeds will go to women's rights/protection groups in honor of the late and great RBG (futureswithoutviolence.org and nwlc.org). Both organizations have incredible track records and are rated 4 stars on charity navigator.
There will be lots of fall flavors (pumpkin, pecan, apple, and real masala chai to drink!) and DOG TREATS!! They are a little over halfway to their goal of giving each organization $1,000! Please support these awesome girls!”

Get. Out.

This was not some rinky dink lemonade stand – these girls were serious. They had selected worthwhile organizations that matched their values and they had set a goal – to donate $1000 to each group.

Seriously, when I was like 5, I once sold rocks that I found on the side of the street. My mom was taking a nap, and I was playing outdoors. And the rocks looked SO PRETTY when they were WET – water was running down the side of the road from a neighbor washing his car. So I gathered the “prettiest” ones (not understanding that as soon as they dried they would be as dull as the concrete I found them on…), balanced them on the back bar of my tricycle (don’t judge, I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was 21…) and went to neighbors and successfully SOLD THEM. Rocks. Mom was a little shocked when she woke up and realized I was out there fleecing the neighbors…

But I digress. I tell that story to show you that while I WAS a young entrepreneur and salesperson, I was not wise enough to donate the proceeds to anywhere buy my own piggy bank. And oh, check out their flyer – while I accepted random change, these girls were hip to Venmo and PayPal!!!

I did not get it together to make it to the bake sale ☹. But it ended up that was ok, because a Facebook friend was reppin’ the girls and started an online auction for a special cookie they were selling!!

A Ruth. Bader. Ginsburg. Cookie!

This LOOKS like ART, and it is. But it is also a COOKIE.

I put in my bid. A woman outbid me. I countered. She countered.

And it became clear really quickly that for both of us, it was not about the cookie.

It was about THESE GIRLS.

I have never met them. But damn am I IMPRESSED by them. Their drive. Their wisdom. Their forward thinking attitudes.

It is girls like them. And Emma Gonzalez. And Greta Thunberg. And Malala Yousafzai. STRONG GIRLS who will grow to be even STRONGER WOMEN. Who will fight for equality. And who will change the world.

So, it was never about the cookie. Even though I have eaten cookies from this baker (Almost Too Adorable Custom Cookies) and I KNOW they are delicious. And it wasn’t even about RBG (one of my heroes). It was about those girls.

Instead of eating my cookie – I framed it.

Yup. Framed it.

I know, I know. Cookies are made to be eaten. And it will mold or rot or fall apart eventually.

And I am ok with that. Because remember, it was never about the cookie. And while it hangs on my wall, when I walk by I will be reminded that today’s strong girls will be tomorrow’s amazing women. And the world will be better because of them.

Oh – and that cookie? I paid $75 for it. As did the woman I was bidding against. In the middle of the back and forth bidding, I suggested the baker make another cookie so the girls could earn even more. Those girls ended up making $250 off of 4 RBG cookies. And over $2500 to split between the organizations.

You. Go. Girls.

We are counting on you.

* Info on cookie: Almost Too Adorable Cookies can be emailed at: AlmostTooAdorableCookiesCo@Gmail.com and found on Facebook and Instagram

We are counting on you.

The Presents

We are old. Giving gifts has always meant a lot to me. I was raised in a household that valued gifts, valued “things” actually. At Christmas time, the base of our tree would be piled hiiiigh with presents wrapped in brightly colored paper tied with neatly curled ribbons. Birthdays would mean being spoiled by more gifts. Even Valentine’s Day came with a present. So, without being overtly taught, I learned that love was shown by giving something tangible. As I became an adult, I noticed people older than me asking for things for the holidays that I thought were silly – cheese, wine, nuts… “Those aren’t PRESENTS,” I remember thinking. “Presents are touchable, physical things – things to be KEPT, not to be consumed.” So, when I found my life partner, I showered him with GIFTS. Gifts wrapped just as I had been subconsciously taught must be wrapped in beautiful paper, tied tight with a bow. But it didn’t take long for me to notice that my love and

We Ride At Dawn

I can’t be the only one feeling down. And stressed. And nervous. And angry. And confused. And just about every other negative emotion that could be listed. There is just so much ANGST in the world right now, especially with the upcoming elections in the US. And sometimes (at least for deep feelers like myself) it just feels like a little too much to bear. But then I get a reminder. A reminder that even in the midst of all of these sleepless nights and fret – there IS good in the world. I got 2 reminders recently, and I thought I should share them in case you haven’t had any. I don’t know, I guess with the hopes that the reminders I came across will help boost your spirits a bit, too. Here’s the first one. This hat. We came home the other day and this was hanging on our front doorknob. Now, we have had a LOT of things left on our porch over the years – rusty cans of soup, brand new snow boots, and everything in between – but this was t

The Girl Who Can't Ride a Bike

I am “the girl who can’t ride a bike”. I guess to be accurate, I should say that I WAS “the girl who can’t ride a bike”. But it was such a big part of my identity growing up, that the never formalized (but often teased about) nickname stuck in my psyche. You know how most kids love to jump on their bikes and pedal around the neighborhood once they have figured out how to balance, brake, and GO? Yeah, that wasn’t me. I wasn’t that kid. I am not sure WHAT really happened. The one thing I do remember is being on a bike in my family’s garage in Omaha, Nebraska trying to ride my bike. It must’ve been winter, otherwise, why wouldn’t I have been outdoors?? But I think my foot slipped off the pedal and I know for sure my knee hit the handlebar. It hurt. I remember crying. But I am guessing that it hurt my pride more than it hurt my knee. I think I was already past the age where kids were “supposed” to ride a bike. But then and there I must’ve secretly made

Random Thoughts

Search This Blog