Confessions of a Domestic Goddess Wannabe

Alright, I have a few things to get off my chest...

I found a quote recently that stated "People don't change, they just become a clearer version of who they really are." I have to admit that I have lived my entire life striving to become a better version of myself, trying to fit within niches that don't really pertain to me and never could. I've always tried to change little things about myself here and there.

Take for example a few incidents in 7th grade that still haunt me. It was homecoming week, and in my high school a Prince and Princess was crowned for every grade. I was absolutely positive that I was going to be crowned Princess (for those of you that went to high school with me and are currently chuckling, it's perfectly okay. I've accepted that this was a completely irrational thought and am laughing along with you.) So imagine my shock, horror and devastation when I was in fact, not crowned Princess. I actually went home and cried.

But here's the deal - I wasn't popular, or pretty, or anything really. I was just me but for some reason, I wasn't okay with that and was determined to become a beauty queen. Me, the girl that grew up riding ATVs and building tree forts and playing with bugs. Yes, for some reason I decided that I was a beauty queen. Yeah, right. Luckily, that whole phase didn't last long.

A few weeks after the crowning of royalty, there was a spelling competition. Well, I thought, if I can't be the prettiest and most popular, then I'll be the smartest. And wouldn't you know, I didn't even make it into the top ten. Again, a heartbreaking moment that justified crying - only this time it happened in class, with my head down on my desk. Give me a break - I was only 13.

Not only was I not pretty enough, but now I wasn't smart enough either...

So what do these little anecdotes about adolescence have to do with a blog about country living? Because I'm always working on accepting myself and being okay with who I am and what I can and can't do. It's been a lifelong lesson, one that I'm still being taught every day. Even now, in my efforts to be a self-sufficient working housewife, I've learned that I am just not the domestic goddess I'd like to be. And I have to be okay with that.

Confession #1: I have a black thumb.
That's right - I'm a serial killer of plants. They come into my house knowing that they will only leave in a trash can after a slow painful death. I've even killed a cactus before. Yes, a cactus. How, you ask? I believe it was too much water. Yep - go ahead, read that again to let it really sink in. It doesn't matter if they are house plants or vegetable gardens - if it's green, I do my best to make sure it dies. I either over-water or under-water, too much sun or not enough sun. I forget to remove dahlia bulbs from the ground before it frosts. And I'd rather let weeds overtake the garden instead of pulling them out. I know that people say gardening is a very relaxing hobby, but to me, it's just another thing that I have do, one that often gets pushed to the bottom of the list.

But I love fresh vegetables and we inherited a gorgeous perennial garden in our back yard, so I'll keep doing the bare minimum. And my husband is very handy with plants and the outdoors, so he keeps things alive for me. Still - if you give me a plant as a gift and don't see it 3 months later, don't take offense. And if you do see it 3 months later, please give me a high five.

Confession #2: I can't sew.
I've covered this a few times already. I was never able to figure out the sewing machine, so I purchased a little handheld sewing device. Still haven't attempted to use it. Why? Because I'm not a sew-my-own-curtains kind of person. I wanted to be, and I wish I was, but I tried it and after some long hard debate, I am now comfortable with stating that I cannot sew and therefore will never be making my own linens, curtains, Halloween costumes, etc. Instead I will buy them and will do so without shame or regret. Yes, I know it's easy, but that's not the problem. For me, sewing is a lot like chemistry. Teach it to me and I'll understand. Test me on it 5 minutes later and I'll fail. Leave me alone in a chemistry lab and only bad things will happen. So instead of putting myself through more frustrating trials of attempting to be something I'm not, I'd rather stand up proudly and say that I can't sew worth a damn. If nothing else, I have a much greater admiration for those that can and do.

Confession #3: Just because it can be made from scratch doesn't mean it should be.
I found something on Pinterest the other day about making your own stain for wood using vinegar and metal or something like that. My initial thought: Why? Wouldn't it be just as easy to go to the home improvement store and buy some stain? I mean, if there was even an apocalypse and I survived and in rebuilding I wanted to stain some wood, it's very handy information. But until then, I'll buy my stain, thank you.

I also don't can my own vegetables (see Confession #1 above). True, I've never actually tried. I know it's easy to do and something I am perfectly capable of. But when I add store-bought frozen vegetables to a dinner I'm making, I can't help but realize there was a reason that such processes were created and that housewives and families across America were ecstatic when frozen vegetables became main-stream. I mean, I can crawl around on the floor and pick up all the dirt by hand, but I have a vacuum for that (okay, not the best comparison, but you get my drift). I do buy fresh vegetables whenever possible and when the pricing is good, but when it's December in North Dakota and the average temp is below zero, there isn't going to be fresh corn in the produce section of the supermarket.

It's not just frozen vegetables, though. I also buy frozen biscuits, among other foods. Could I make the biscuits myself and freeze them? Absolutely! But I'm also a mother of two who works 40 hours a week while trying to keep an entire house in order. I'd rather spend a Sunday afternoon outside with my family than making enough biscuits to feed an army. It's a convenience thing, pure and simple, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Confession #4: I am too organized for my own good.
There's this saying for mothers who are expecting or who have infants - ask your friends and family for help and don't be afraid to accept their offers. Yeah, touchy subject for me. I have a lot of wonderful family and friends that are always willing to help. I, however, have a very hard time letting people help me. No, it's not pride. I'm a control freak (or as someone very gently put it, a problem-solver, and when things aren't in my control I can't anticipate problems to solve.) My own mother knows this side of me all too well, unfortunately. There have been some very tense conversations around dishes and laundry on some of her visits - specifically, that's she's not allowed to wash my laundry or dishes. Sounds crazy, right? Well, it is. It's not that I don't trust her - I don't trust anyone, really, because they don't do it the same way I do. I am a hard-grained creature of habit, and if something is out of place I get a little unfriendly about it. After all, my home is my castle and the one place where I feel I have the most control, so if you think you're going to come in and put a salad bowl in the wrong cupboard, you've got another thing coming.

I've tried to ease up on this, and it's something I'll continue working on. After all, the basis of it is that people are helping because they care about me, and I need to remember that.

So there you have it - my downfalls in the world of domestication. These are things I've learned about myself in the last year or so and have gone through a pretty lengthy process to accept. I can accept these downfalls, though, because I know they are only a part of me. While I can't necessarily grow my own food, I am an excellent cook, something that I will boast about and be proud of. I don't sew my own curtains, but I think I have very good decorating taste (thanks Mom). I am a little unstable when it comes to organizing, but I know where everything is in my home and it's (almost) always neat and tidy, which makes me happy. So there are silver linings to my deficiencies.

Judy Garland may have said it best: "Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of somebody else."

And in case you're wondering, I finally did become a beauty queen - if not in anyone else's eyes, at least in my own.

The Commercially Fried Chicken Debacle

Well, I did something last night that I shouldn't have. I thought long and hard about it and knew that I would probably regret it, but I did it anyway.

I brought home a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken - Extra Crispy - for dinner.

I know, I know. And the fam wasn't too impressed either (my husband didn't even eat). But, in my defense, I am 9 months pregnant and have been in bed for the last two days with Braxton-Hicks contractions, nausea and headaches. Due to those factors, I stand by my decision. Here was my thought process on the whole debacle:

I need to make dinner tonight, but we don't have any food. I haven't showered and I probably won't and a quick trip to the grocery store requires a lot more effort now than it used to. And then, we won't get home until about 6:00, and Jackson will be starving and cranky. And if I cook anything, we're looking at 6:30 or 7:00 before it's ready. So if I get out of bed now, that's a solid 3 hours of movement, which is the most that my body has done at one time in the last 2 days.

So, fast food it is then. Ugh. What do I want? Chicken. Yes, chicken sounds good. KFC. But what is that commercial I always stick my nose up at? That KFC commercial where the teenage boy thanks his mom for the wonderful dinner when she didn't lift a damn finger to cook it and they're all actually eating garbage? Yeah, I'm about to be that mom. Can I handle that? Can I swallow my pride and do the exact same thing?

Screw it. It's dinner. I make the decisions, and I'm not feeling well so that's what it is. Although, it would be fairly easy to make. I have potatoes and a very quick and handy mac & cheese recipe, and I even have frozen biscuits. All I would is chicken. Oh, and cheese. I forgot, we're out of cheese. I wonder what kind of breading I should use? I'd probably need to get something for that too. And how long does it take to bake chicken like that? Hmm.... so I know I could make this and it would taste better, be healthier and cost less than going to KFC. But then I'd need to go to the grocery store... (refer to the first paragraph and re-read, as I then proceeded to go over the entire conversation again in my head....)

Well, now that I've spent 20 minutes laying in bed thinking about dinner, I don't have any time to make it. KFC it is then. If they don't like it, they can find something else to make. I'll eat it.

So I pick up my son and pull into the KFC drive-thru and order a bucket of chicken. I have to wait. And traffic is horrible, so cars are lined up everywhere. And I hate traffic. And lots of people. And Jackson is very cranky and screaming in the back seat. And people are driving like idiots. And I realize I have officially become sheltered and could never live in a city with a population larger than 80,000. And I am happy about this fact.

Anyway, we get home and I throw a drumstick on a plate for Jackson. He proceeds to pick it up and bite off the end and I quickly realize that my 3-year-old doesn't know how to eat a chicken drumstick. This strikes a little bit of pride in me because any chicken he's ever had has been boneless, skinless, cubed and baked in some way. Score one for me.

My husband then enters the room, looks at the red bucket on the table, and asks what's for dinner. I point to the red bucket. He is confused. He asks again, what's for dinner, so I point to the bucket again (I am eating after all and trying to teach my son not to talk with his mouth full). He makes a face and walks away.

As I'm sitting there, biting into this chicken, I taste the grease, and it's gross. But, I keep eating because I'm hungry and 9 months pregnant. I didn't eat very much, and neither did Jackson. My husband didn't eat any of it and later that night, asked me again what I made for dinner. I reminded him and conceded that yes, it wasn't a real dinner and listed my reasonings for making the choice, then invited him (in a very polite way, of course) to cook dinner anytime he wishes.

I thought about this all night and realized a few things:
1) It will be a very very very long time before I buy KFC for dinner again. But, it does in a pinch.
2) I could make it, and it would be very easy. And so I will redeem myself with a baked chicken dinner this weekend (after we go to the store).
3) I have spoiled my family with home-cooking to the point where a bucket of chicken for supper is simply unacceptable. They would much rather eat my cooking. This little fact makes me extremely happy and makes me feel much appreciated.
4) I am not a horrible mother or wife for bringing home a bucket of KFC for dinner. I don't remember the last time I ate at KFC before then, and it will be a very long time before it happens again. But it will happen again, and I will not feel guilty and my family will either have to suck it up or learn how to cook.
5) I am a very good cook and my family showed their appreciation for this, even if they didn't intend to.

So tonight, breaded baked chicken, homemade mac & cheese and mashed potatoes - from actual potatoes and not a box. Take that KFC.