While I have for many, many years now considered myself something of a goddess, it has most certainly NOT been a domestic goddess. It has long been an acknowledged statement of fact in my household that I cook simply so my children don't starve, and I clean so the state doesn't take them away from me. I do not enjoy, nor am I very good at, either one of those particular household assignments.
I don't blame my lack of talent or interest on the fact that I'm a working mom. Thousands, if not millions, of other working moms do it all, and they do it all the time. And they enjoy every minute of it.
I don't blame it on being so involved with my boys' athletic lives. They both have several friends whose mothers happily and successfully do everything, while still being able to find time for themselves.
Actually, there really isn't anything TO blame. It just IS. And I'm ok with that. Its taken me a while to get to where I truly am ok with it, but I'm there. I did not marry Ward Cleaver, Mike Brady, Ozzie Nelson, Donna Reed's husband (what was his name, anyway? Mr. Reed?), or even Archie Bunker (although sometimes, with the attitudes thrown around here, its a close one!). I was fortunate enough to marry a man who, while he adores his mother (in all her touch of OCD-superclean house-cooking from scratch-glory... and yes, I adore her too!), he didn't want to marry someone just like her. To be honest, I'm not sure he put much thought into who he wanted to marry. If that man had done even a smidge of pre-screening...... well, lets just say that he'd probably have a different team mom.
My cooking skills are practically non-existent. Ok, ok. That might be a slight exaggeration, but you do all remember the whole spaghetti sauce issue, right? And the whole cleaning thing? There are sooo many other things I'd rather be doing. Pulling my fingernails out one at a time, slowly, is something that comes to mind. Or maybe plucking every single hair on my body?
June Cleaver, Carol Brady, Harriet Nelson and Donna Reed would all probably stage an intervention for me, I'm sure. But I like to think that Edith Bunker would have stood right beside me. You know, to make sure I don't trip over all the cleats, bats, balls, catchers gear and gloves, not to mention backpacks, toy swords and actual dogs that are strung from one end of my house to the other.