Confessions of a Domestic Failure Read online

  “What a treat to come home to all three of my girls! What’s that smell?”

  I was really getting tired of people asking me that.

  “There was a slight problem with the oven,” Gloria answered. “Ashley’s still learning how they work. But it’s all better now. Are you hungry? I ordered pizza!”

  I bit my lip.

  David looked at me sympathetically. “Rough day, hon?”

  “I’m okay. How was yours?” He looked so confident standing there holding Aubrey and she looked so perfect in his arms. I stared at them, feeling like the odd person out—the obvious screwup. I shook the thought out of my head.

  “Work is work,” he said, but I could tell he was worried. “Just let me know before you do any more expensive craft store runs. How did it turn out?”

  “It turned out!” I answered, hoping the questions would end with that.

  Later that night, after David had fallen asleep, I took my phone off the bedside table and peeked into the Motherhood Better Bootcamp portal.

  There were already eight journal entries in the craft challenge section.

  Josie from Iowa, mom of two

  I’m setting up indoor plumbing in the playhouse I put together for my kiddos today. We’re inviting local foster children to spend their afternoons here.

  Tanya Gregory, mom of three

  In the past 24 hours, I’ve knitted six sets of baby booties for newborns born in my hospital’s maternity ward. The mommies were so grateful when I dropped them off this afternoon. I used organic, fair-trade yarn.

  I quickly shut off my phone. Who were these women? How could I ever stand out when they were all mini Marthas? Tomorrow, I’d need to bring my A game to the crafting table.

  Tuesday, February 5, 11:30 A.M.

  I don’t use any mainstream chemical cleaners in my home. From my tabletops to my bathroom floors, every surface in my domain is gently cleansed with essential oils and natural products that ensure that babies’ bodies can grow healthily. Even the rags I use to clean come from old organic-cotton T-shirts. One can never be too careful.

  —Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

  Aubrey had just gone down for her nap and I was ready to take a crack at making my first DIY natural cleaner. I took the recipe right from Emily’s blog. Apparently, she uses this stuff to clean every nook and cranny of her giant home and it serves double duty as a laundry stain remover. I figured this would be a pretty simple way to show her that I’m a huge fan and therefore deserve to win the $100,000.

  Supplies:

  • Vinegar

  • Baking soda

  • Water

  • Lemon essential oil

  • Eucalyptus oil

  • Blue dishwashing soap

  The only things I didn’t have were the essential oils. I feel like their title was a little presumptuous, anyway. Essential oils. Shouldn’t they let us be the judge of that? It’s like if I called myself Best Ashley. Hello, everyone, my name is Best Ashley. Nice to meet you. What’s so essential about these oils? And if they are essential, why is it in their title? It screamed of insecurity. We don’t say “essential sunlight” or “essential water.” We don’t even say “essential oxygen.”

  Truth be told, the whole essential oils industry bothered me. They had mobsters in Lululemon peddling the stuff with a hard sell in every city. I had one mom at the park try to convince me lavender oil would get Aubrey to sleep through the night. Of course I immediately bought six bottles. Aubrey smelled like a Bath & Body Works but she didn’t sleep through the night no matter how much I put in her bottle. (Joke.) But seriously, it didn’t work. The same mom sold me a Himalayan sea salt lamp, three amethyst crystals to help with my non-existent milk production (something about past life trauma affecting my confidence) and eight bamboo-cloth diapers for the low, low price of $39.99 each.

  Did I mention I did a brief cloth-diapering stint? It was all fun and games until I realized that they needed to be washed. Who has time for that? I guess I got sucked into visions of beautiful multicolored diapers line-drying in the sun. And when she told me that disposable diapers took a hundred years to biodegrade it was a no-brainer. I only lasted three days before I got behind on laundry and our house started to smell like a porta-potty. I decided to use disposable diapers and offset my carbon footprint by recycling all of my wine bottles.

  I still feel bad about all of the cloth diapers I ended up buying, but it just wasn’t for me. I could barely stay on top of the essential laundry (note the proper use of “essential”) much less deal with a wet bag overflowing with sewage-soaked nappies. I was a little jealous of those moms who have it down. Those photos of chubby babies in cloth diapers running through flower fields, their amber teething necklaces blowing in the wind, are adorable.

  It took me only three minutes to put together the DIY cleaner. After mixing the ingredients (minus the essential oils) I poured them into an empty spray bottle and affixed a cute little label I’d printed off of Emily’s blog to the front. There. I was officially a natural earth mother!

  When I was done, I plopped down on the couch with a bag of the remaining Fritos from Gloria’s casserole and logged on to the Motherhood Better Bootcamp portal. The previous night I’d posted photos of my Emo Watercolor Mugs but hadn’t had a chance to read the comments. I headed straight for my notifications.

  Aubrey did such a great job! These will make wonderful keepsakes for grandma and grandpa!

  Wow, your little one has talent! Great job!

  Beautiful work! I’m a preschool teacher and might have my kids make these for the holidays! Hats off to your budding artist!

  Um... I made those. But I played along. No need to let people know that I have the creative skills of a toddler.

  I polished off the bag of Fritos but was still hungry. For something sweet. Something about naptime made me want to eat the whole house. I flipped through Motherhood Better for an easy but impressive recipe to pass the time.

  Coconut-Flour Cherry Spelt Cookies... No. I didn’t even know coconuts could make flour. Does it taste like piña coladas?

  Banana Quinoa Loaf with Gingerroot Lemon Glaze... No. That sounds less like dessert and more like some weird foot cream.

  Date, Macadamia Nut and Dandelion Energy Bites... Never. Energy bites? Desserts are supposed to make you comfortably sleepy, not ready for a run. I’m pretty sure running and dessert are sworn enemies.

  I opened up my computer and pulled up Pinterest. There it was: No Bake Chocolate Cake Batter Truffles. And I had all of the ingredients. My stomach rumbled in anticipation.

  I almost ran into the kitchen and started pulling out the ingredients I’d need.

  I was all set. I scanned the recipe and felt my mouth watering. This recipe was easy. Even for me. All I had to do was mix a frightening amount of butter, chocolate chips, powdered sugar and vanilla together until it formed what I think my thighs are made out of. Then I formed half of it into balls to set in the fridge and ate the other half while watching daytime talk shows.

  The next step was supposed to be to melt a brick of white chocolate and dip the truffles into it with toothpicks, but I opted out of that step. “No bake” meant “no cook” in my mind, and I wanted to stay true to the heart of the recipe.

  The recipe made twelve truffles, not including the handful of dough I ate while watching 30-Minute Dinners with Robin Ray.

  They were cooling in the fridge when the doorbell rang. Guess who? Gloria and her little poodle mix, Terry. It’d been a while since she brought him over so I didn’t mind, although I wished she had called first. I’d have to ask David to say something. I love all animals, but you’ll excuse me if I can’t overlook the fact that Terry looks like a rodent. A drooling rodent who constantly yaps and barks.

  I’d just gotten Aub
rey to sleep, so the idea of that little rat dog making a racket was less than ideal.

  “Do you mind leaving Terry outside, Gloria?”

  “Would you leave Aubrey outside?”

  I held myself back from saying, “If she were an animal, yes.”

  As soon as we were inside, I tried to get to the bottom of today’s visit.

  “So, what brings you over today?”

  “Oh, nothing, I just wanted to see how my granddaughter was doing,” she answered while looking around the house, probably searching for evidence that I’m somehow unfit to parent her precious grandchild.

  She bent over and placed Terry on the floor. He immediately started banging into walls and yapping. Five seconds later I heard Aubrey crying in her crib over the downstairs monitor.

  “Oh, good, she’s awake.”

  Good? I wanted to strangle Gloria but she’d probably fill Aubrey’s head with all kinds of lies about me when I was in jail. “Your mother didn’t know a sieve from a strainer!” Okay, that one is true.

  I went upstairs to get Aubrey and the next thing I knew, Gloria was screaming.

  I flew down with Aubrey in my arms to see Gloria sitting on the kitchen floor, tears running down her cheeks, with a suspiciously quiet Terry in her lap.

  “What is it? What’s happening?!”I asked, shaking.

  “Ch-ch-ch-chocolate,” she sputtered, and then I saw the remnants of one of my truffles and several chocolate chips beside Terry.

  Oh, no. I must have dropped one.

  Several hours and a visit to the emergency veterinarian later, I’m happy to report that Terry is fine. Gloria caught him before he had a chance to eat all my chocolate chips. David spoke to his mom before bed. She wants me to doggy-proof the house before she comes over. Well, that would require a phone call, wouldn’t it?

  I pretended not to hear her yell, “I didn’t even know she baked!” through the receiver.

  Wednesday, February 6, 3 P.M.

  My all-time favorite craft was my lake house in upstate Washington. What started off as six acres of lush wildflowers is now a gorgeous cabin that my family escapes to whenever we can. My husband, a world-renowned architect, built the home from the ground up. I planned the décor of each room by myself.

  —Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

  Today was glass-etching day. What’s glass etching? It’s when someone who doesn’t know what a Target is uses acid to burn designs into glassware. I don’t know why I tried to do this. Okay, that’s a lie. I do know why. I had this vision of burning “Keller” in some swirly but respectable font onto all of my casserole dishes. Then, when I took dishes to family events and all of the potlucks I’d surely receive invitations to once I made friends, I could show them off.

  “Who made your custom casserole dish, Ashley?”

  “Oh, I did! I get invited to so many of these functions that I thought it would be a simple way to keep tabs on my dishes.”

  “Genius! I never knew you were so crafty! I mean, I knew you were a fantastic homemaker and amazing mother, but creative and skilled, as well? Can we be best friends? I’d also like to formally apply to be your intern.”

  It sounded simple. “Keller” going across the long side of the casserole dish with a few accent hearts. Except it wasn’t.

  Supplies:

  • Glass dish.

  • Etching cream.

  • Stencils.

  • Brushes.

  • Tape.

  In my defense, I watched three YouTube videos and read no fewer than five blog posts by annoyingly bubbly moms before starting.

  Can I share something? I have a theory that crafters have conspired together to make crafting complicated. There are secrets and tips that they’re not sharing because deep down, they want to see us normals fail. This shouldn’t have been as hard as it was. I’m a smart person.

  Glass Etching Mistake #1: Not wearing gloves. Don’t be fooled by the word “cream” in etching cream. This isn’t Lady Loves Her Face lotion; it’s acid. I knew this going into the craft, but figured since it was sold at Michelle’s that it couldn’t be that toxic. Wrong! I’m pretty sure I burned two of my fingerprints off. So, if you’re an international spy and looking for a way to burgle the royal gems from the Queen of England or whatever, get yourself a glass-etching kit and take care of your fingerprints the old-fashioned way!

  Glass Etching Mistake #2: Thinking that I was detail-oriented enough to pull this off. I ruined three, that’s right, THREE casserole dishes in the following ways:

  - Getting distracted and leaving the etching-acid burn cream on for too long. Aubrey woke up from her morning nap earlier than she should have so I ran upstairs to settle her. Fast forward to me lying on her bedroom floor with one arm in her crib and, yes, I fell asleep. When I woke up forty minutes later, the dish broke in half when I tried to wash the cream off. I like to think it was symbolic of my broken craft dreams.

  - Focus. Wait—what? Focus. Casserole dish two out of three was ruined when I spelled my own last name wrong using the stencils. I guess I could petition David to change our last name from Keller to Keler. Why not go through the court system to make our name reflect this casserole dish that I put an hour of my life and $200 in craft supplies into? Makes sense to me.

  - Getting too excited. Casserole dish three out of three was broken due to sheer enthusiasm. I lined up the stencils just right. I left the etching cream on for just enough time. But you know what I didn’t do? I didn’t factor in my limited grip due to the burned-off pads of two of my fingers. During my celebration dance I dropped the dish on the kitchen floor.

  The shattering casserole dish startled Aubrey, who instantly began crying. I picked her up.

  “It’s okay, honey. That’s just the sound of Mommy being a hot mess.” It was time for her afternoon nap, anyway.

  I changed her diaper and, after rocking her in the glider for almost half an hour, she finally settled down and fell asleep. As I lowered her into her crib, my arms burning from fatigue, I took in her beautiful little face. I fought a cascade of tears. She really was just so gorgeous.

  Does every mom get lost in their child’s face like this? I wondered. I studied her eyelashes, the bow of her lips and her soft cheeks. She really did deserve the best of everything. I had to try to be the mom she needed.

  I crept downstairs and cleaned up the broken glass, sweeping every corner of my destroyed kitchen. Afterward, I sat at the kitchen table with my computer and my third cup of coffee.

  Scrolling through Pinterest, I stumbled across a photo of a little girl who couldn’t have been more than Aubrey’s age sitting in front of a window. She was wearing the most adorable little dress with ribbons on the shoulders. The sunshine poured through the window behind her, creating little flecks of light that caught in her curly hair, giving the impression of a crown. Underneath her, the text read: No-Sew Pillowcase Dress Tutorial: 30 Minutes and EASY!

  That’s it! I felt hot determination creep up my back. I remember Emily sharing on a blog post a few months ago how she makes pajamas for all five of her children. I’d probably learn Mandarin Chinese before I could learn to operate a sewing machine, but this dress was right up my alley.

  I ran to the linen closet and found the perfect pillowcase. It was part of a bedroom set I’d purchased months ago for the guest room we’d surely have one day. The off-white satin pillowcase was decorated with little purple, pink and yellow flowers. It would make the perfect dress. I found a roll of ribbon in the garage in the Christmas supplies box.

  I sat on the living room floor, hunched over the pillowcase, with the ribbon, scissors, and a needle and thread.

  All I had to do was lay the pillowcase flat, cut out the head and armholes and hem them (my stiches were a little shaky but you could barely make
them out and they were more rustic that way). Then I threaded the ribbon through the armhole hem. The ribbons served as the straps, ensuring a custom fit every time.

  This dress will really grow with her, I thought, as I held it up, impressed with my work. It was a bit big...maybe I should have used a smaller pillowcase, but it was so pretty. Who knew, I might just be the new face of baby clothing design. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch, but I’d just successfully made a piece of clothing for Aubrey and I felt great about it.

  I could barely wait until Aubrey woke up, and when she finally did, we did a small (big) photo shoot. I must have uploaded twelve photos of her in the dress from all angles to Facebook. Then we were off to the park. I had to show her dress off to the world!

  5 P.M.

  I hate crafts. I was walking on air over the amazing dress I’d handcrafted for Aubrey for about ten minutes. That’s when, with Aubrey sitting innocently on my lap—maybe I was showing her off a little—a mom in shorts and a pink tank top pushed her jogging stroller next to me and sat down. I thought she was going to ask me where I got Aubrey’s fabulous dress, and had already prepared the look of surprise and gesture I’d make (my hand to my neck) as I said, “Oh, this is just something I made this morning!” But the words out of her mouth were, “I want to bless you today.”

  At first I was confused. Bless me?

  “Bless me?”

  She put a hand on my hand and leaned in. “Yes, honey. We all go through hard times. You know, my youngest daughter just turned two and I have a bag of clothes at home that I think will fit your little one just right until you get back on your feet.”

  I was speechless. I literally could not speak. I tried, but all that escaped my mouth was a weird honking cough. She kept talking.

  “No, no, it’s fine. You just give me a call and tell me where to drop it off and I’ll come to you. I’d love to bring you and your daughter dinner, as well.”

  She then put a piece of folded paper with her number on it in my hand and walked away, to spare me some dignity, perhaps.