I recently wrote about domestic goddesses. And my own admission that I am not one. I have always been a career woman and my family’s lives have been better for that. But Suzy Homemaker, I am not.
Oh, I can cook. I can cook some things very well! But my other domestic skills are quite limited. I try to keep the living and dining rooms presentable enough for drop-in company but the rest of the house is usually in various stages of disarray. There is a reason for that: we have always actually lived in our home. It is our refuge. It is our castle. It is private. It has never been a display home.
I have always tried to walk the line between career and home. It is not an easy task and my empathy goes out to every woman who has to travel that path, whether it be by choice or by circumstances. It is not easy. I have tried to skew my path toward what is best for my family. That, also, is not always easy. Making a safe and harmonious home for my family has always been my top priority.
However, I learned some time ago that certain things are just not worth the effort. This became glaringly apparent one day after I had made a special dish from scratch. I had purchased all the ingredients, read and re-read all the instructions so I felt assured I understood them, and then worked for quite a while to execute them. Finally, Viola! Dinner was served. My husband gave a nod of approval. I couldn’t say what the youngest thought; he just ate it. But the older of the two boys (around five or six years old, at the time) took several bites and announced, quite loudly and with enthusiasm, “This is great, Mom! It tastes just like Hamberger Helper!” I was deflated. Needless to say, that particular recipe went to the back of the file, never to be seen again… I mean, why slave over a hot stove making something from scratch when they were perfectly content with a boxed mix that could be finished in thirty minutes? 
That same child has grown up to be a great cook himself. He has one particular recipe that is a triple chocolate cheesecake that takes all day to make. Or so it seems. It requires a lot of preparation. And it is amazingly good. But not once have I ever told him that it tastes just like what I could get at the local bakery! Because he now understands the benefit of making something with care for those you love.
The other son is a great baker. Breads are his specialty. Not the kind where you throw all the ingredients into a machine and in three hours you pull out a loaf of bread. No, he too has learned the value of doing things right.
They learned how to be men from their grandfathers and uncles and father. Men who knew that being a man wasn’t just about testosterone and grunting. Men who did not view domestic chores as a threat to their masculinity and who were not afraid to read bedtime stories to their children, using silly voices. Or singing “The Wheels On the Bus” on the way to daycare.
Or being able to fix their daughters’ hair, then take her hunting or fishing or camping.
So I would like to give a shout out to all the Domestic Gods out there who don’t care about gender roles. The ones who just see that a job needs to be done and they step up to do it. The ones who know how a vacuum cleaner works and can actually use it. The ones who will clean the bathroom or the kitchen and aren’t threatened by a mop or dust cloth. Sometimes they stumble but they keep trying. And they learn. They make the lives of the people they love easier and they make living on this earth better. Those Domestic Gods are the real men in this world and they deserve a medal.
Do you have a Domestic God in your life? If you do, cherish him. If you are raising one, you deserve a medal too!
