Goddess of the Non-Domestic Variety

I admit that when it comes to domesticity I am as far from goddess-like as one can get.  I did skirt through Home Economics class back in junior high school thanks to the skills of the unfortunate souls who were paired with me.  Whatever homemaking knowledge I managed to pick up, though, was left behind as soon as I made my way to high school.  I wish I had retained a tidbit or two as now that I have a home of my own I manage to fail the basics of the Family and Consumer Sciences on a daily basis.

My cooking “talent” runs to things that can be tossed in a crockpot, thrown on the George Foreman grill, or purchased at the local grocery’s deli.  (My oven actually coughed at me indignantly the last time I opened its door and stirred up the dust.)  I would not have a clue how to steam vegetables, and I only learned how to make decent scrambled eggs when I hit my 40s.  As I scroll through Facebook and scan the recipes shared by friends I find myself intrigued by the possibilities.  However, if a recipe calls for sautéing, sweating, or separating anything I move on in search of the “four ingredients or less” meal.

We have hosted exactly zero holiday meals in our married lifetime.  We do not own a tablecloth, candlesticks, or anything that could pass for a centerpiece.  We eloped in part to avoid having to register for anything that included the words fine china or silver.  If you do come for dinner it will be served buffet-style, and you will be offered a seat on the couch in front of a TV tray.  We do have a dining room table, but it currently serves as the drop spot for unfolded laundry, my kickboxing gloves, and my husband’s workout sheets.

The one thing I can promise is that I have yet to send anyone to the hospital with food poisoning.  It turns out it is next to impossible to mess up a crockpot meal.  I have had a few shining culinary moments, though.  Thanks to my mom I can make an incredible homemade mac ’n cheese dish, and come holiday time my almond raspberry thumbprint cookies are in high demand.

I do not pin decorating or crafting ideas.  I love reading the lifestyle bloggers and the DIYers.  I actually get excited thinking that, yes, I can make that double grapevine wreath and felt snowman!  Then I remember that I have trouble operating Scotch tape.  The thought of a hot glue gun in my hands evokes images of emergency hospital visits, snapping me back to reality where I buy craftily crafted things from crafty people.

No, you will not find any homemade window dressings in our house.  There are no stenciled walls or hand-painted flowerpots artfully decorating our space.  Accent pieces?  Please, I get excited if I accidentally match the towels with the shower curtain.  Suffice it to say you do not have to leave your shoes at the door as you enter, and there are no off-limits just-for-show rooms in our home.

Around here we know we’ve hit the trifecta on the days when we have clean dishes, clean laundry, and clean litter.  We have learned to invite people over at strategic intervals throughout the year as it forces us to do a deep clean to avoid total embarrassment.  When I do cook a special meal on a random Saturday in October it leaves my husband wondering what he did right.  If I am struck by some strange, random desire to clean in between scheduled visits I find I can easily cure myself with a nap.

I will not be winning any baking contests anytime soon.  My home will not be featured in a fancy magazine spread.  My friends will never ooh and aah over the supercute Halloween-themed treats I painstakingly formed out of fondant.  (I know what fondant is only because I have a strange fascination with watching the Food Network while cooking nothing.)  I must be doing something right, though, as we are preparing to celebrate eighteen years of marriage in a few months..   may not be much of a homemaker, but I must make for one fine wife!  And hey, it’s people like me who make you domestic goddesses out there look amazing!

photo credit:  www.pixabay.com