Strawberries were bonkers this year. We harvested so many that they could probably be counted in bushels, I kid you not (and then my parents off-loaded a few bowls of berries from their patch, too). I’ve spent hours at the kitchen sink, topping and slicing berries until my fingers shriveled. A couple different times, guests showed up on a berry day and we put them all to work — which made my job infinitely easier (and makes me think I should always have company over on berry days).

Now I have over fifty quarts of sliced, sugared berries in the freezer, plus another ten or so quarts of frozen whole berries for smoothies and several batches of jam. In fact, we have so many berries in the freezer that we plugged in our smallest little freezer and then filled it to the brim. In other words, we have an entire freezer dedicated to strawberries, o the wealth!

And that’s not counting all the berries we ate fresh, in strawberry cream pies, strawberry rhubarb pies, fruit smoothies, berries on ice cream, berries on granola, strawberry shortcake.

I made a double batch of the shortcake for our supper on Memorial Day when my husband’s sister’s family came for the night. Along with the enormous bowl of berries (that they all helped to top and slice, of course), there was whipped cream. I had some of shortcake with whipped cream, but then I tried some with milk, which I actually preferred. With milk, the cake and berries felt more substantial, more slurpily delicious.

I made another shortcake a few nights ago. We devoured it, again — there’s something deliciously quaint and wholesome about an entire dinner consisting of berries, cake, and milk — and it got me wondering: why do I ever bother with biscuit shortcake? A sheetcake is so much easier than individually dolloped biscuits, and the leftovers hold up better, too.

Now, off to the kitchen where a big bowl of — you guessed it! — strawberries is waiting to be turned into something or other.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (6.4.18), a better grilled cheese sandwich, on pins and needles, the quotidian (6.3.13), the best chocolate ice cream ever.

This same time, years previous: mama said, this is us, brown sugar rhubarb muffins, the quotidian (6.1.15), the quotidian (6.2.14), small pasta with spinach and bacon.

I heard about the DivaCup years ago, but I always thought it sounded a bit too much: too messy, too unreliable, too risky. But then a few weeks back when I was talking to a friend about the Period documentary I’d just watched with my girls, she mentioned that she used the DivaCup. Actually, she’d been using it for years, she said, and she loved it.

Curious, I did a little research. I read up on different menstrual cups (my friend sent me a great article detailing a variety of options), and then I turned to the Amazon reviews. So many reviews; so much enthusiasm. I had no idea.

I paid particularly close attention to the question and answer sections: sizing, how to know when to change it, how to change it, etc. The answers (and all the comments) were enlightening and encouraging. The whole DivaCup thing suddenly seemed realistic. Easy, even.

So I bought one.

When I told my husband, he looked a little worried in a “sounds kind of messy” way. My girls, though, didn’t bat an eye. They were like, “Awesome,” and “Heck yeah!”

“I’ll try it first,” I said. “If it works, then I’ll get one for each of you.”

Because, like my husband, I was a little apprehensive. I had visions of ruined clothes, public mortification, and a crime-scene-esque bathroom, but guess what. No ruined clothes (I used back-up pads during my heaviest days), zero public mortification (and I even changed it in public restrooms, hear me roar), and nobody ever wondered if someone got murdered in my bathroom.

Actually, that last point is the most surprising: I find that the DivaCup is actually less messy than tampons. Because the blood flows and collects naturally, more cleanly, without any, um, how shall we say, backlog, the whole process is amazingly tidy.

The first day I used it, I couldn’t stop raving. I couldn’t get over how streamlined it was — there’s not even a tampon string to get in the way — and I loved being able to measure my blood flow. Think about it: I’ve had my period since I was ten, and yet I’ve never known, until now, how many ounces of blood I actually lose. The knowledge made me feel empowered and in control of my body.

So giddy was I about the whole thing that I called my husband into the bathroom so he could witness the marvels for himself. He wasn’t as enthusiastic as I was (that would be weird, I suppose), but he was politely tolerant. Appreciative even. He knows full well that menstruation is a part of life — no: it is life — so he’s cool with it. Women bleed, period.

Regarding the DivaCup, I’m still on a learning curve (the pamphlet said that it takes several menstrual cycles to get completely comfortable with it), but I’m proud to report that I did a couple days of kickboxing (squats! sit-ups! roundhouse kicks!) with no extra protection and zero problems.

Guess it’s time to buy DivaCups for my girls!

Do you use the Diva Cup? Would you use it?

 Or maybe everyone is already DivaEnlightened and I’m the last one to the party?

Oh, and what about cloth pads and period panties — have you tried those? (I haven’t; should I?)

P.S. Now that we’ve watched the Period documentary, my younger brother and his wife recommended that we watch Padman. Sounds like a perfect family night movie to me!

This same time, years previous: about that house, snake charmer, in which we didn’t need the gun, ice cream supper, the quotidian (5.26.14), rosa de jamaica tea, the quotidian (5.28.12), through my daughter’s eyes, the boring blues.