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A Day in the Life of a Domestically Challenged Mom

I admit it, I am domestically challenged. Put me in front of a spreadsheet and I kick butt, but put me in front of a stove and lives are at risk. Drop me in Anytown, USA, and I can navigate myself home in no time, but leave me in a grocery store and I break out in a cold sweat.

For your reading pleasure, here are some examples of my domestic ineptitude:

• After roasting a whole chicken for three hours, I took it out of the oven and noticed it looked funky. Not only did it appear more boney than meaty, but I also couldn't find the little do-hickey that pops up when the chicken is cooked. "This looks like an alien chicken!" I proclaimed and called my husband and father over to inspect the alien. It was my husband who realized I'd put the chicken in the roasting pan upside down.

• I was doing laundry and was filling the cup with detergent when I accidentally bumped the iron with the detergent tub, causing the iron to fall into the washing machine. When I saw the iron falling into a washing machine that was filling with water, my brain short-circuited – my right arm grabbed the iron while my left arm, which was holding the cup of detergent, jerked up and sent the detergent flying through the air toward my head. The liquid somehow made it around my glasses and shot into my right eye. Go ahead and laugh at the visual — my husband and mom could barely contain their smirks while I flushed my eye in agonizing pain!

• I once baked a chicken and rice casserole dish on the top rack in the oven. What's wrong with that, you ask? Well, I didn't realize I needed to adjust the rack, which was right up against the broiler, so when I took the casserole dish out, the chicken was so dried out it was inedible.

These are just a few of my domestic disasters — I could go on and on. I suppose a part of the problem is I don't enjoy cooking. I would say I don't enjoy housework either, but then again, who does? If I had to choose, I would rather do dishes and fold clothes than cook or vacuum.

My work schedule only adds to my domestic challenges. I leave my house at 6:50 every morning and I don't walk in the door until 6:30 in the evening. I start getting Justin ready for bed at 7:00 and Lucas at 8:00. So by the time both boys are in bed, it's my turn to get ready for bed, the day is gone and I haven't had the time, or the energy, to do much of anything.

When the weekends roll around, I don't want to cook, clean or do laundry — I want to spend time with my boys. I use whatever "free" time I have to run errands — like going to the drug store or grocery store, or buying birthday presents — or to attend to urgent matters, like coloring my hair.

I used to get defensive and offended when my husband said I couldn't boil water. I actually can boil water, and when I put my mind to it and take my time, I can also cook. But I don't enjoy it, so for me, cooking is a means to an end — starvation avoidance! But I guess my husband forgot all about those delicious dinners I did make pre-children and my Sunday cleaning ritual pre-children/pre-60-hour work week. And I guess I, as an admittedly domestically challenged, overworked Mom, have to ease up and work on my levity. I can't be all things all of the time, and I don't want to set that impossible example for Lucas and Justin.