Me. No, honestly.
Here’s the deal. I was once given an apron proclaiming me to be a Domestic Goddess: the person who gave it to me said I was the only person she knew who could wear it without irony. Of course I was looking after her children and cooking her food so she’d have to say that. It was also at the time when Nigella’s “How to be a Domestic Goddess” first came out.
As I dreamed about my future every night, I genuinely imagined that, once married and mothered, I would continue to be a domestic goddess. And yet, the reality is not so cut and dry. It’s more -esque than -ess: some days there is finesse and calm and perfect baking and others there is chaos, shouting and a Gregg’s sausage roll for supper.
I am fortunate to have the time to stay at home with my girls. Fortunate too that they don’t stay at home with me all the time. This gives them a chance of growing up normal and me a chance to get stuff done. But when we are together, and when we are not driving each other mental, we do have fun: we bake and craft, paint and sprinkle, roll and stick. To some, I am a part-time mother, to others, I am a goddess. Someone once complained that I made it look easy. God knows how.
