I feel the need to make some clarifications about what being "undomestic" means. In all actuality, I have a love-hate relationship with the word. On the one hand, I think it clears up any misconceptions that I'm the manicured, dust free, clothes ironed, always have something to whip together at a moment's notice June Cleaver type but on the other hand, it's a rather glaring reminder that I am not the manicured, dust free, clothes ironed, always have something to whip together at a moment's notice June Cleaver type. Sometimes I feel I've single handedly set women back fifty years because of my inability to keep dishes out of my sink and work a forty plus hour work week (Husband also has his complaints about this but seeing as he has the inability to keep his dirty underwear off the bathroom floor, his gripes are summarily ignored).
I'm beginning to feel like the pre-fix in my moniker might be synonymous with lazy, except when I realize that both Husband and I have developed the rather impressive talent of dozing off if we so happen to sit still for longer than five minutes. Maybe "lazy" isn't the word I'm looking for; "exhausted" kind of sums things up.
There's no pretense of being able to eat off my floors, although, occasionally Mandie will when guinea pig poo is involved. I can't tell you the last time I folded AND put laundry away. Sometimes dinner comes from Subway, or worse yet, a box with an expiration date further out than my golden anniversary. The girls' dog toys sometimes get stumbled over and cursed at and may be put away but most likely not since it will be a matter of moments before Melodie has the box emptied out in her endless search for squeakers.
It has been chronicled here that I do have my moments of brilliance. While my participation in the monthly Crazy Cooking Challenge is spotty at best, I try to be a team player. There are several ingredients between my pantry and my refrigerator that could be put together in an attempt to put together a home cooked meal. My washing machine undergoes a thorough scrubbing and running of it's clean cycle bi-weekly, if not weekly, and I've discovered that vinegar is an excellent fabric softener for those of us with epidermis of the sensitive variety.
All of these things, the mishaps and triumphs, the mountains of housework and the joys of eating ice cream out of the tub, just happen to be me. I know that Husband didn't marry me because I look perfectly coiffed every time I leave the house; I wasn't that way ten years ago and believe me, there will be no changes in that area anytime soon (except that I have a new found love of mascara-another post entirely). He did marry me, though, because when push comes to shove, I never give up, even if that means getting a few dishes dirty...and then leaving them for him to clean up.