I'm just not that cute anymore

These days, bloggers have so many options to help their sites look cute

I keep finding very cute-looking blogs designed with curlicues and spiffy buttons and whoknowswhatall. My blog, as you can see, is just not that cute. It’s . . . well, utilitarian. I mean, it gets the job done, but it lacks the fun, and foo-foo young’uns these days seem to pull it off with ease. I got to hand it to them, though. Their blogs are delightful and they’re designed to last.

That permanence is more than I can say for some of the very cute food items people keep trying to teach me to make. Not long ago, I was in a class where we learned to make not one but three types of adorable little cupcakes—all with a summer theme: fireworks, a campfire, and a bear chillin’ in water on a swimming ring. I actually loved putting them together and using the decorations and frosting someone else had bought and prepared, then bringing them home to show them off to my family. I knew darn well those were cute cupcakes, but the edible kind of cute just isn’t very appreciated around here. I suppose that’s one of the reasons I’m just not that cute anymore.

That experience reminded me of one fall season years ago when I was inspired by some sleek photographs in a holiday-cookie recipe book. The Halloween cookies seemed particularly cute and doable. So, after hosting a book discussion, I treated my book-loving friends to some edible pumpkin, ghost, and spider creations. Those cookies were definitely cute, but I was slightly disappointed the group didn’t spend a little more time ooh-ing and ahh-ing over them. After all, I had spent hours trying to do cute.  

When decorating our first couple of homes, I tried to do lots of cute. For instance, I went through a tole-painting phase, making seasonal knickknacks and other trendy, painted plaques. I also used bright wallpapers and paints, splashing primary colors throughout the rooms. But my house is just not that cute anymore. Oh, every once in a while I remember to pull out some decorations to give a nod to one holiday or another, which helps break up my decorative monotony. But nowadays I find it hard to find the zip to do much cute. So, instead, I shoot for a house that’s presentable if not clean.

Then there’s the personal kind of cute that’s also elusive. Geraldine Edwards, mother of 12 children, wrote an essay called, “I Think I Missed My Prime,” in which she described dropping off one of her youngest children at school. After years of doing that same drill, she was kind of on autopilot until she suddenly realized that all the other moms were much younger, dressed much more hip, and were driving much cooler cars. If I remember correctly, she thought to herself that she just wasn’t that cute anymore.

Edwards’s essay is a fair warning that, sooner or later, cute begins to slip away from all of us. When I was 30, I had a little foreshadowing moment when I tried on a pair of too-large, ill-fitting jeans, and my toddler Craig said to me kindly but prophetically, “Don’t worry, Mom. You’ll grow into them.” Even years before that incident, when I was in my early 20s, my niece said to me bluntly, “You need to wear lipstick, Aunt Janet.” Evidently, my youth had already begun to fade and I just wasn’t that cute anymore.

For better or for worse, I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about my next cute project or delicacy or outfit, and I’m OK with that. I’m just not that cute anymore.