Well, all things considered, I believe that the title, "Domestic Goddess" has a nice ring to it. Makes me sound like I am sitting around all day, being pampered, waited upon, treated to Godiva chocolate and swooned over.
Of course, the cold hard truth of it is that a domestic goddess by any other name is "housewife". In this palace of the Court of McArthur, a day in the life of the domestic goddess consists first and foremost as not scaring the living bejeesus out of my commander in chief in the morning. Ole Annie Gartlan-McArthur has one of helluva an appearance first thing in the morning. Wild head of hair, over sized t-shirt, yoga pants, and earplugs. I turn over and tell my husband to please re-set the alarm for 0800, and then go back to sleep. On the rare days that I awake before him, I shuffle, heavy footed to the coffee pot, hit the "on" switch and try to coax the dogs off the bed and outside for their morning constitutional. After 10 or 15 minutes, the dogs say..."done..its cold" and we head back inside. I stand at the altar of the coffee machine, fill up my golden goblet, turn on FOX News, and settle into my recliner.
Tasks that can be included to the routine of domestic goddess vary from day to day. Take this fine day - February 1st. A day off from one job, but not all. After sleeping until 0830, I realized that my joints and hip are just too painful to venture out too much. So, instead I start on the heaps of laundry that seem to accumulate quite rapidly here at the Court of McArthur. Between John's blue jeans, mine, heaps of wool socks, t-shirts, and towels...I am just amazed how quickly those items seem to pile up. I got a bug in my butt today, and decided this was the day to strip the bed, wash the sheets and blankets, and after they dry, I will prepare for my weird addiction of ironing my bed linens. Nothing says "a good night's sleep" than freshly pressed sheets.
I also ran a few errands. A trip to the post office, to drop off an envelope for my brother and then over to the dry cleaners to pick up the down comforter and mattress pad for the bed. Our dog felt that our bed was a nice place to toss her over stuffed gullet of dog food over a week ago. Nice, eh? $84 later, the dry cleaning is home, and back on the bed. I think the dog needs to have her own throne to reign over - on the floor, where a dog needs to be in the first place.
A tri tip roast has been taken out of the freezer for the divine feast at dinner time. How this shall be prepared is any one's guess. While a Californian at heart, the thought of standing outside in the cold to BBQ doesn't sound too appealing. The roast will undoubtedly end up in the oven, and master John will accept any meal I prepare for him. He will not complain, and the only way I will know that my cooking was a success is that there will not be a shelf of left-overs past 2 days. I guess this domestic goddess is lucky in that her husband does not complain when I fudge up the meal, rendering it bland and beyond gourmet.
By the end of the day, I will have accomplished 6 loads of laundry, some ironing, some blogging, a meal, and taking the dogs out for their breaks, all while watching re-runs of the Waltons on Hallmark Channel. I will then retire to my bedroom, in the ensemble I had on the night before, spray the room with lavender to help combat my constant irritation of the dreaded insomnia, and put in my earplugs to drone out the rockets red glare and sounds of glorious victory that resonate from John's nostrils. Half way through the night, I will probably be sitting wide awake again, in the living room, wondering why insomnia is my constant companion.
This domestic goddess business is rough. And this gal needs a vacation!