casalinga disperata

Yesterday, I got the Valentine, stay-at-home-mom spirit. I went for a nice jog with the stroller, I climbed on a ladder to clean all our ceilings, I folded all the laundry, and straightened up the rest of the house. Then, Graham helped me make heart-shaped chocolate chip cookies with red frosting and a Valentine card for Tony. Finally, I made a nice dinner of salmon, spinach, sweet potatoes, and red wine, and managed to take a shower at some point.

Dare I call myself a domestic goddess?

Well, maybe. Except that despite my best efforts, our ceilings are still dirty, there's still laundry hanging, the house is never, ever clean, I realized that what I thought was Italian butter I put in the cookies was decidedly not butter, so the cookies tasted weird and they didn't look like hearts, the delicious white-chocolate frosting looked like disgusting goop after I put the food coloring in it, the Valentine card was a disaster of grand proportions, the salmon was dry, I gagged on the spinach, the red wine tasted like fish, and my shower was cold, so I didn't get very clean. Gross.

See, these would be the cookies of a domestic goddess:

And these were mine:

Nope, I don't think I'm ready for the term, "domestic goddess." I think I'll stick with "casalinga disperata."

Translation: "desperate housewife."