Little Treasures for a Domesticated Moment
It is an understatement to say that I am not domesticated. I try – I really do, but the domesticated gene was never passed on, even though my mom tried her best.
She sews; I don’t own a needle or thread. She irons her clothes after each load; I iron my crumpled piles five minutes before I need to wear the clothes. She scrubs her floors on her hands and knees; I cheat with a swiffer and an H20 mop. She cooks for fun; I cook only when I have to. Most of all, she does laundry every day while I do laundry once a week or once every two weeks when we have a panicked “where is my soccer uniform” moment. Continue reading