Confessions of a Domestic Failure Read online

  Apparently, my pillowcase dress is so terrible people think I’m struggling to clothe my child. I wonder if this happed to Maria in The Sound of Music when she made the children playclothes out of the curtains.

  I could barely move for ten minutes I was so embarrassed. Aubrey did not look that bad. I mean, okay maybe the stitching was a little crooked, but that gave the dress character. I suppose I did make the armholes a little big. And the ribbon was slightly frayed.

  And then I finally came to my senses. Who was I kidding? She looked like a cross between The Real Housewives of New Jersey and Oliver Twist.

  Then I remembered. FACEBOOK. I had shared photos.

  I pulled out my phone and saw that I had twenty-five notifications. Twenty. Five.

  The comments.

  Joy: Ashley, is this a Halloween costume? Baby calf? I don’t get it.

  Mom: Very cute...this is an indoor outfit I’m assuming?

  David: LOVE IT! (He types in all caps when he’s lying.)

  Amelia Davis (high school frenemy): Wow.

  I didn’t read the rest. I just deleted the photos and hoped that I’d somehow erased them from everyone’s minds at the same time.

  I’ve learned my lesson. Level II crafts are not for me. I need to stay in the shallow end of this pool. I aimed too high. Wish I had more of those truffles.

  Dear Pinterest,

  When we first started dating, you lured me in with Skittles-flavored vodka and Oreo-filled chocolate chip cookies. You wooed me with cheesy casseroles adjacent to motivational fitness sayings. I loved your inventiveness: Who knew cookies needed a sugary butter dip?

  You did. You knew, Pinterest. You inspired me, not to make stuff, but to think about one day possibly making stuff if I have time. You took the cake batter, rainbow and bacon trends to levels nobody thought were possible. You made me hungry. The nights I spent pinning and eating nachos were some of the best nights of my life.

  Pinterest, we can’t see each other anymore. You see, it’s recently come to my attention that some people aren’t just pinning, they are making. This makes me want to make, too. Unfortunately, I’m not good at making, and deep down I like buying way more. Do you see where I’m going with this? I’m starting to feel bad, Pinterest. I don’t enjoy you the way I once did.

  We need to take a break. I’m going to miss your crazy ideas (rolls made with 7Up? Shut your mouth). This isn’t going to be easy. You’ve been responsible for nearly every 2 a.m. grilled cheese binge I’ve had for the past couple of years, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful.

  Stay cool, Pinterest.

  PS. You hurt me.

  PPS. I’m also poor now.

  Xo

  Me

  10 P.M.

  On the plus side, David made it back from work before dinner tonight. He came home with a bouquet of red roses for me. If I hadn’t been so exhausted I would have made it worth his while.

  Watching him walk through the door with flowers was like watching a unicorn jump over a leprechaun—the stuff of fantasies.

  I made the Frito Casserole and he devoured two-thirds of it himself. There weren’t even leftovers for him to take to work. I’m ashamed to admit that I felt jealous. He’d never eaten anything I’d made like that.

  Then, of course, he tried to get frisky as soon as Aubrey fell asleep. I’m no prude, but it’s hard to jump into bed with someone you’ve barely spoken a paragraph to over the past few weeks. He’s just been so busy... I mean, okay, he bought some roses before he came home. But I need actual romance, I need ulterior motive–free seduction. I tried explaining to him that it was impossible for me to get in the mood after two seconds of kissing and while he said, “It’s fine,” before rolling over and going to sleep, I felt bad. Maybe I should have tried harder.

  Note to self: Craft yourself a libido.

  Motherhood Better Bootcamp Message Board Entry

  Hello ladies and Emily: I took a good stab at crafting this week and I definitely feel different. My family and friends couldn’t believe that I was behind some of my creations! The mugs I made were en fuego. The pillowcase dress I sewed for my daughter turned so many heads. And the truffles I made were to die for. Some of you have asked for the recipe and I’ll get it to you ASAP (do any of you have pets?). I hope everyone is doing well! Can’t wait for our call tomorrow. Xo, Ashley

  Thursday, February 7, 9 A.M.

  Working from home is the best of both worlds: you get to spend time with your precious children, flex your creative muscles and bring in an income. My first year blogging at Motherhood Better by Emily Walker, I made six figures and that was while my babies slept.

  —Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

  Aubrey woke up at 4 a.m. this morning which gave me time to think about what’s missing in my life: purpose. Of course Aubrey and David will always be my #1, but I need something outside of them to fulfill me. I’ve decided that since crafts aren’t for me, I’m going to get a work-at-home job. Emily started her empire when she was a stay-at-home mom to three kids, and if she can do it, why can’t I? The only difference between us is that she’s organized, driven, resourceful and...never mind.

  It only took two hours searching online, but I found something. It was like magic and just goes to show you that when you want something enough, it will happen. I replied to an ad on an online job board with my résumé and they called me within half an hour. Something about my work experience must have really impressed them. So this is what the Law of Attraction is all about!

  My official job title is Customer Satisfaction Specialist for a company called Dreamstar Direct. They didn’t have a website, but when I worked for Weber & Associates we held focus groups to understand consumer trends all the time. I figured this was the same thing—just over the phone. It’s a step down from what I used to do, but I have to start somewhere. The plan is to dazzle them with my skills and work my way up. Six months from now, who knows, maybe I’ll be a team leader with a squad of super work-at-home moms under me. We’ll have conference calls, I’ll convert the garage into my office, and all with Aubrey steps away from me. I’ll have it all.

  I may have fibbed a little during the interview. When the raspy-voiced regional manager, Wanda, asked me if I’d ever done work like this before, I said yes. I mean, I have talked on the phone. What could be so hard about doing it from the comfort of my own home? She asked me when I wanted to start and I said “yesterday” to which she replied that I must really need the money.

  I would have explained that while the money is appreciated, it’s really just about feeling useful in a capacity that doesn’t have to do with wiping dried yogurt off a high chair, but that seemed unprofessional.

  The stars must have been aligned in my favor, because my very first shift starts tomorrow at noon! It’s a short one, just four hours. Wanda didn’t give me much instruction other than that the customers would call me with their needs. These marketing types are so secretive. She was probably worried about my feeding info to a competitor. I’ve made it my mission to earn their trust.

  I found a little notebook in the hall closet for writing down customer feedback. I’ll keep impeccable notes and ask open-ended questions like, “How do Dreamstar Direct products make you feel?” and “Do you think Dreamstar Direct values you as a human being?” My shift would fit in perfectly with Aubrey’s schedule. I’d feed her an early lunch, get her down for her nap by noon, and go back and forth between playing with her and taking calls for the last hour or so of my shift.

  I’m making $20 an hour. If I work five days a week, that’s $1,600 a month.

  I can’t wait to tell David.

  It just goes to show you that with positive thinking and a proactive mindset, you really can do anything you want. I’m officially a work-at-home mom! It sounds like the best of both worlds and I’m so exc
ited.

  Friday, February 8, 11 A.M.

  Working from home is simple. If you don’t have a spare room for an office, create a space for yourself at the kitchen table or in the corner of your children’s playroom.

  —Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

  Thirty minutes before my first call, I was still working through the paperwork Wanda sent me the night before. The plan was to wake up before Aubrey and learn all about the company, but she woke up no less than four times last night and I was beat. So there we were, at the kitchen table, me with my open computer on one side and a screaming, tired baby waiting for her next spoonful of mashed rigatoni on the other. I could feel the stress rising.

  I pushed the spoon into Aubrey’s mouth, and she hungrily chewed while banging her hands on her high chair.

  I turned my attention toward my worksheet. Wanda said filling out the New Hire questionnaire would help me learn what made Dreamstar Direct so special.

  Some of the questions were a little odd.

  “What’s your favorite fantasy?”

  If I were being completely honest, I would have written down “Free nanny and a bedroom with a built-in hot tub,” but instead I said “Being part of a fantastic team and making the world a better place.” It was a little Miss Universe, but I supposed they’d heard worse.

  “What’s your secret passion?”

  Secret passion? I supposed the truthful answer would be “Making s’mores on the stove at midnight while my husband and daughter sleep.” I wrote “Success.”

  An email notification popped up on my screen. It was Wanda.

  To: Ashley Keller

  Ready? We’ve routed your phone with your own 900 number. First call is in 20 minutes. I’ll be listening in. Remember to write down customer requests so we can log the changes in the market. Don’t forget to use a fake name.

  Log customer requests. Check. Fake name! I’d completely forgotten. Wanda said that in customer service, pseudonyms are often used. Probably so that if a client starts yelling, they can’t actually insult you accurately.

  I didn’t remember her telling me that she’d be listening in. I turned to Aubrey who wasn’t even halfway through her lunch. If I cut her off now, she’d turn into an angry baboon baby and I’d be fired on the spot.

  I knew what I had to do. I picked up my cell phone and punched in the number.

  “Joy? I need you. Right now.”

  Seven minutes later, Joy rang my doorbell. I met her at the door with Aubrey.

  “Take her, now. My call is in five minutes!”

  Joy juggled Aubrey and Ella, who was dressed in a pale pink crocheted ensemble with white tights and a matching white beret. On her feet were delicate cream-colored plush booties. I kissed my niece on the head.

  Joy sputtered, “Ashley! Okay, okay! Since when do you even have a job? I can’t do this every day, you know. I’m busy.” Joy headed toward the kitchen to finish feeding Aubrey.

  “Busy doing what? Dressing Ella in perfect outfits?” I would have said if I hadn’t needed my sister so much.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I said instead, leaping upstairs with my phone and notebook in hand.

  When I was finally sitting down, cross-legged on my bedspread, my home phone, notebook and pencil in front of me, I took a deep breath. I’d done it. Joy was probably in my kitchen judging the number of dirty dishes in the sink, but I’d done it.

  I waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  I could hear the dishwasher whirl downstairs. Typical Joy.

  The phone rang. I answered it immediately.

  “Dreamstar Direct, how can I help you?”

  A hoarse male voice answered. “You’re supposed to tell me your name.”

  I flushed. He was right. And Wanda was on the line.

  “Thank you for calling Dreamstar Direct. My name is Tiffany.”

  “Hi, Tiffany. I’m Greg. What are you wearing?”

  My mind went blank. What am I wearing? Is Dreamstar Direct some kind of fashion hotline?

  I looked down at my red and gray checked pajama pants and oversized black T-shirt.

  “Sir, I’m wearing a designer black dress and Gucci sling-backs.”

  “Take it all off,” said Greg, his voice thickening.

  “EXCUSE ME?” I yelled into the receiver. I heard a click and Wanda’s gravelly voice interrupted.

  “Greg, we’re going to redirect this call to Cinnamon, your regular girl.”

  Another click.

  Wanda came back on the line.

  “Ashley. You’re fired.”

  The line went dead. I sat with the phone to my ear in disbelief. What just happened?

  Standing up, I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen in a fog.

  Joy was standing at the counter chopping pears and dropping the pieces into a mini blender with FirstFoods written across the side. Neat little jars filled with pale green puree sat on the counter beside her. She was wearing a sleeping Aubrey in the baby wrap. She must have found it balled up in my laundry basket in the living room.

  Ella sat in Aubrey’s bouncy seat, jumping up and down. In her formal day outfit, she looked like some kind of little duchess.

  Joy takes care of two kids better than I can take care of one.

  “Already done, Ashley? This wrap is divine. Do you ever use it?” Joy gushed without looking up.

  I sat down at the kitchen table behind her and put my face in my hands as hot tears slid down my cheeks. Within moments, they turned into sobs.

  Joy rushed over and put her hand on my shoulder. “Ash, what happened? What’s going on?”

  I sniffled and raised my head. “I got fired.”

  “Fired? On your first day? Did you sign a contract? They can’t just fire you without notice!” She pulled out her cell phone. “I’m calling Grover. He plays racquetball with an employment lawyer. What’s the name of the company?”

  I wiped my face with my arm. “Dreamstar Direct... Joy, don’t, it’s f—”

  Joy’s face went red and she plopped down in the seat next to me. “Did you say Dreamstar Direct?”

  My face flushed with embarrassment.

  “Ashley. Why were you working for a phone-sex hotline?” she said and I felt like a fifteen-year-old being scolded by her mother after being caught smoking.

  I blew my nose into a paper towel. Ella laughed at the sound. I’m glad someone was finding this funny.

  “Because I didn’t know it was a phone-sex hotline! I thought it was a customer service agency!”

  Joy looked at me incredulously. “How could you not know? Their ads run nonstop all night! When I’m up nursing Ella, it’s the only commercial on!”

  I blew my nose again. “Yeah, if only I were breastfeeding, I wouldn’t have accidentally become a phone-sex operator,” I said sarcastically. I knew I sounded immature, but did she have to mention breastfeeding in every conversation?

  Joy sat up straight. “That’s not what I said.”

  I stood up. “I know. Sorry. Well, I’ll take it from here, I guess. Thanks for coming over.”

  Normally I wouldn’t have rushed Joy out so quickly, especially not before bumming a jar or two of organic baby food off her, but I needed to wallow alone.

  Before heading out the door with Ella, she touched my arm. “Don’t let it get you down, Ashley.”

  I smiled and kissed my niece again before closing the door.

  8 P.M.

  I personally have never needed a nanny, but when you need help, don’t be ashamed to get it.

  —Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

  I had a realization this evening as I was standing in the kitchen trying to do dishes while holding a screaming Aubrey b
ecause David was working late for the 300th week in a row: Mary Poppins isn’t a child’s fantasy, she’s a mother’s. Isn’t it your dream to have some maternal figure float in out of nowhere, no background check needed, and take your kids away for an indefinite amount of time? All of this and your children come back better people with no money exchanged.

  I’ve decided to hire a part-time babysitter so that I can...wait for it...start freelancing again! I miss the marketing world so much. The whole phone sex debacle was a wake-up call (no pun intended). I need to do something in the field I love. I know I can do this. Maybe David and I will end up doing business together! Just the thought of us brainstorming client product launches over hazelnut-flavored coffees got me excited. Finally, I’d be in my element again!

  We don’t really have extra money, but if I cut back on spending we should be able to swing five hours a week. Now I just have to find someone with the right qualifications.

  I know I want someone younger than me. Not too much younger. I want them to have common sense, experience and a good head on their shoulders.

  No one under twenty-six. I know someone in their early twenties can be responsible, but I want the person to have seen enough terrible things in life that they know to be alert with a baby around. In your early twenties you still think life is all good and that nothing terrible can happen. By twenty-six a person starts to get a sense that bad things don’t just happen to other people, they happen to babysitters who leave babies in high chairs unattended. By one’s mid-twenties, some of the glitter has worn off of life, leaving behind a matte finish.

  Also, I don’t want some hot young thing running around my house. Not while my stomach looks like some kind of front butt hanging out of my tank top. My fragile ego can’t handle it.

  Yes, there are lots of hot women in their late twenties, but they’re less willing to lose their jobs for making a pass at their bosses’ husbands, I think.

  And the butt-stomach thing.

  In summary, I need someone who is capable and not too hot.

  David’s working through the weekend so it’s just me and Aubrey. I’m never going to get any work done if I can’t find someone to watch her.