Because tomorrow is the 4th of July as well as my son's 18th (Jesus H. Christ, how did THAT happen??!) birthday, I needed to make something to bring to the party. Since I had two dozen eggs in the fridge, I thought "Aha! Deviled eggs."
Have you ever made deviled eggs? Do you know how many kinds of a pain in the ass it is?
Boil the eggs. Ok, I did that, without cracking one.
Then, let the eggs cool and peel them. Yeah. My eggs look like they have leprosy. There are chunks missing and there are splits in the whites. I have no clue how people get those lovely, glistening orbs, but I sure as hell can't do it.
I really think I'm missing some essential house-keeping/Harriet Homemaker gene. I have no idea how to do many of these basic tasks. Get mildew off the bathroom ceiling? I don't know - bleach? Ammonia? I know you can't mix the two, but that's about all I know. Get ink out of a shirt? No idea. I'd just go buy a new shirt. Mop? Honest to god, I'd never mopped a floor in my life until we bought this house four months ago. I'm not very good at it. In fact, I kind of suck.
I can tell you all about Henry VIII. I know a lot about words, grammar and spelling. I know more than I ever wanted to know about having a child with Type 1 diabetes. I have a wealth of pop culture knowledge stuck inside my head. I will kick your ass at Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble.
But I can't mop. And making beds is anathema to me. As I've just discovered, I'm pretty bad at deviled eggs.
I just don't have it together that way. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. If I want to take part in the competitive mommy thing, then I suppose not knowing these things is very, very bad. The thing is, I don't care that I can't do these things. Yes, the deviled eggs is frustrating, but I'll just make egg salad finger sandwiches. And my floors are generally kind of yucky. But I don't want to be a slave to my house. I want to blow bubbles with Boo. I want to go outside and inspect bugs in the grass. I want to have tickle fights and blow raspberries and listen to my kids laugh. I want to curl up with a good book at the end of the day, not go scrub the bath tub. I want to listen to NPR so I can stay informed; I don't want to watch Oprah and Judge Whoever and soap operas. I don't want to feel that, because I've chosen to stay at home, I should automatically shut off my brain.
And I don't want to learn how to mop.