I'm beginning to really embrace the concept of being a domestic goddess. And I mean in a wonderfully luxurious Nigella Lawson kind of way and not an uptight super clean and organised kind of way. I don't ever think I'm going to be the kind of woman who has a filing system for receipts or remembers to send thank you cards. If I really appreciate someone I'm more likely to make them something for no other reason!
What I am really enjoying is becoming a more accomplished student of the domestic arts. When I say accomplished I mean in a Jane Austen, reached a certain level of proficiency but not to any professional level kind of way. So while I will probably always have a few dishes in the sink (a Mexican standoff between my husband and I that I will inevitably lose) and a couple of baskets of unfolded laundry hidden in my walk in wardrobe - which, in an unrelated matter that in no way reflects my lack of domestic organisation, is still yet to be fitted out 3 years after we moved into the house - I can claim certain skills.
I can cook. I'm not going to win any master chef plating competitions but flavour wise I can probably make pretty much anything you throw at me. Last year I made my own birthday cake. Why? Well the choice was between a packet cake mix made by my husband - probably involving some improvised flavour experiment and if the kids were involved a late school night for them with lots of sugar and aforementioned Mexican dishes standoff*, or the crochenbouche I made with salted caramel creme patissiere and slightly runny salted caramel sauce and slivered almonds holding it together. So of course I made my own birthday cake. Co-incidentally my birthday was on the same day as my son's Hundred Days of Kindy celebration which was also the last day of term. As class mum I offered to make cupcakes. That was also to allay some banked up mummy guilt I felt for giving birth to him in mid January, meaning that of course his birthday would always be in the school holidays and he would NEVER get to share his birthday cake at school. But then I felt guilty and offered to make them for my daughters class as well. So crochenbouche and 48 cupcakes.
I can knit. My husband spends most of winter wrapped up in an alpaca and new wool jumper I finished a few winters ago. I love the look of the knitted stitch better than crocheted ones but do love the quicker gratification that comes with crochet...which leads to...
I can crochet. I taught myself from a book about 4 years ago when my kids were one and two as I felt that if I didn't do SOMETHING creative and engage my mind in a new challenge I'd go mad. 24 hours later I had made my first beanie. Now every throw and blanket in my house is handmade.
I can sew. I had a few lessons for an aunt in my early twenties and then packed the machine away for about 15 years. After taking up crochet and falling in love with a crochet yoke, sewn skirt dress for my daughter on the Purl Bee website I finally unpacked my sewing machine. It took me an hour (and some youtubeing) to remember how to thread it! Another hour later I had finished the dress and was hooked on sewing.
This was all about two and a half years ago. Sewing has lead my down a very large and happy rabbit hole. I feel like I've finally found my thing. The thing that helps define you, brings you joy and satisfaction and fills a part of you that nothing else can.
Cheers,
Nat.
* dishlocked - when you can't wash put because the dishwasher is full and the drying racks (yes, plural) are full so you either have to do the lot or ignore it all.
