Domestic

Is that even how you spell the word?  I was not trained to be a domestic woman.  I was convinced that I would never have to do all of those things that Mom spent her life doing . . . like staying in the kitchen, mopping floors, and doing laundry every day.
Guess what?  I have not found the domestic fairy to come and do these things when I wiggle my nose.  For 10 years of marriage, I have gotten by on Bill's cooking (which is awesome, but includes no veggie), eating cereal and Chef Boyardee when he isn't here and staying so busy that we didn't really have time to make a dirty house.
Enter motherhood and age 31.
I want to stay home, which means we mess up the house and I need to clean it.  Will likes it here and I like being here with him and his Daddy.  I want to eat healthier, which means I need to learn how to cook things to go along with Bill's wonderful grilled steaks, chicken, etc.  I want Will to know what veggies are and that they come froms somewhere other than a can.
So, I AM GOING TO BECOME DOMESTIC if it kills me.  I realize that I should have been doing these things for my sweet husband all of these years, so I am starting now.
Today, I baked a cake and decorated it for my sister's birthday.  It isn't great or even good, but a start. And you know what, (GASP) I think I am starting to enjoy being in the kitchen and working in my house. 
Who knew? Maybe I did get some of those things from Mom.  It just took a little while for them to surface.