May Goal: To Become a Domestic Goddess

Why are you laughing? Stop laughing at me. Yes, you read that correctly. I, Kirstie Lindsay, shall become a domestic goddess. I know, it's hilarious, right?

What does it mean to be a domestic goddess anyway? I picture a smiling, trim woman with neatly pulled back hair, donned in a flowery apron, the aroma of baked goods wafting through her kitchen as she simultaneously prepares the children for bed, vacuums the floor, and awaits the arrival of her hard-working husband with a roast in the oven and a brandy on the table. Oh dear. Sounds lovely but a wee bit exhausting really.

This is our reality: Ev arrives home from work at 9pm. I've taken out chicken breasts so they are thawed when he returns - that way he can cook them to his liking. I'm at the table drinking wine, working on my blog and watching "The Real Housewives of Vancouver" (so bad, yet so good). The animals are yelling because I've forgotten to feed them and the dishwasher needs to be emptied. No pies. No roasts. No vacuuming (unless the house is for sale and there's a showing). No brandy. Your underwear is dirty, Ev? Just turn them inside out! I do; however, take out the garbage weekly and always ensure that my husband's beer fridge is stocked with his favorite beer. Beer is important. With each sip of beer, Ev becomes convinced that I am actually an A-1 wife.

It's not as though I haven't tried. Following our wedding in 2005 and a move to Texas for hockey, I was left without a working visa and subsequently without a job. My day consisted of aspiring to wake up before 11am (otherwise, it's just so embarrassing to still be in bed when Ev returns from practice), working out, and waiting for Evan to come home. I decided to become domesticated. I cooked, I cleaned, I did laundry, I was determined to take care of my man. It just didn't go well. One night during a dinner of overcooked something with a side of mushy boiled something, Ev asked me, "Do you enjoy doing this?"
"What?" I asked.
"cooking?"
"No, Not really."
"Me neither. You should stop."

Thank Gawd. Although he was asking me to quit cooking, I took that as a signal to end all domestic chores FOREVER and happily drank wine and told Ev hilarious stories while he cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. Yippee!!! I'm free!

I'm now 33 years old and am quite happy with my role in our relationship. It works for both of us. I contribute a significant amount of money to our finances with a fantastic, secure career. I arrange our social calendar, booking dinners and drinks with friends. I was in charge of designing the last 2 houses we've built, singlehandedly choosing each and every piece of flooring, granite, and trim, and I plan all of our vacations down to renting the car. Yes, I know that I'm very lucky and grateful to have found a husband who is accepting of this non-traditional role. He lets me be "me." If it were the 1940's, I imagine that no man in his right mind would touch me with a 10 foot pole. No cooking? No cleaning? No baby birthing? Failure. Thank goodness it's the 21st century and our roles aren't as defined.

But in the spirit of "seizing the day," I am ready to experiment and see if I'm capable of "trying on" a new role. For a month. Just 1 month. I want to be a domestic goddess and I know the perfect person to adopt as a mentor.

Baba.

Baba is my Ukrainian Grandma. Baba is the epitome of domestic goddess. Baba pinches perogies while mopping the floor and picking berries. Baba dusts the combine while patching work pants, and rolling out dough for cinnamon buns. Baba even birthed her babies in the wheat field to ensure the men received their lunches in a timely manner (Ok, I made that last one up, but I bet she would've if she could've). Baba is fabulous. Baba is 84 years old and she has not slowed down a bit since I was introduced to her 33 years ago. Baba also possesses a competitive spirit. She innocently asks about other grandmas habits, sizing them up against her own abilities, "Does SHE make cinnamon buns? What does SHE put in HER perogies?" To top it all off, Baba is hilarious. You know that filter in your frontal lobe that prevents you from sharing your "inside" thoughts? Baba doesn't have one. She never has. She says whatever is on her mind...which makes for some very interesting family events.

One of our favorite traditions at Christmas is when Baba hands each Grandchild his/her Christmas Card (with a money treat inside). Baba writes a special message to each and every one of us (12 grandchildren!) She writes whatever comes to mind when that pen is in her hand. When Baba reads each message out loud on Christmas Eve, you can bet that the family is roaring with laughter.

Example:

"Mark! Merry Christmas! We are proud of you. When are you going to get yourself a nice girlfriend?"

"Kayla - Congratulations on your high marks. You should spend more time with teaspoons and tablespoons than wrenches and bolts."

"Michael! You work hard. Keep at it and don't drink so much beer."

Awesome! Yet as Baba "tells it like it is," we all are very much aware that she loves us more than anything in this world. Family is her number one priority in life. She is an extremely hard-working, driven, interesting, fabulous lady and I'm excited to spend more time and learn from her over the next month.

Baba and her undomesticated granddaughters. At least we inherited the blonde hair!