On Domestic Goddessery

I am a fairly good cook. I bake cakes that have induced collective breath-intakes amongst professional caterers. I "can" clean house with the best of them, when my cleaning muse strikes or when I'm mad, (better when I am mad).  I am organised at keeping track at who is supposed to be doing what and where and when. But there end my domestic abilities.

I was pondering why I consider myself a slummy mummy today and what it means to be a slummy mummy at all these days.  For me it is being someone who has to be at the school gate or the creche or the children's birthday parties with the yummy mummies; immaculately coiffed, never a grey hair in sight, slim shaved legs in designer skinnies and tottering in wedges and all effortlessly; and not quite feeling like I am one of them.

It would be easy to pin this on my relative ease about my physical appearance, my legs go into hibernation  for winter and the temperature must be well into double digits for a week before they emerge. I sometimes can't catch my breath for long enough to attend to my roots and I am always just that smidgeon heavier than I would like to be.  My cankles dont look good in wedges.  But I do draw the line at appearing in workout or sleeping attire at the school gate.  The truth is that my not being yummy is perhaps indicative of a deeper difference.

I came from a fairly middle class home myself.  Both my parents worked long hours in their own business, they owned their own home, they drove modest cars and took no foreign holidays but gave us the best life they could and I still didn't inherit anything when they died. I often look at these yummies and wonder "how the hell are you doing this?".

This brings me to the crux of what I am sure is most mothers internal debate once you hit a certain age.  Time versus money. I am 44 now and I earn almost enough money to get by. I am about to launch another business which will allow me to interact more with people and hopefully make a more decent living wage while I do so.  But most important to the success of failure of this new venture will be whether it allows me that income with time to spare.

Time for my children.  Time for me. Time to shave my damned legs and get my shit together.  Until then I will just have to take comfort from the fact that my rainbow cakes kick ass.

If you do feel like making something that will at least convince kids that you are in fact a domestic goddess here is my recipe for Rainbow Cake.