When James and I got married, I told him, very firmly, that I was NOT going to be a housewife. Ever. Sure, there may come a time when one of us needs to stay home with the very distant future kids, and I’ll happily fill that roll for a little while with an extreme emphasis on “little.” While I have nothing against being a housewife, I just think I would be happier having a life outside of my home and children. Sure, there’s the yoga class I could go to or the book club I could join or the women’s group at the church I could join, but all of that seems like a nightmare from Suburbia where I wear dresses and makeup all day and bake cakes without perspiring.
Clearly, I have a very poor idea of domestication.
All of the “Desperate Housewives” activities aside, I think I will go batty if I don’t have something else to focus my attention on while I pack lunches, wipe dirty butts, and resort to watching daytime soaps. That something would be money and a career. I’ll let you know how this endeavor goes once I figure out what I want to be when I grow up.
Besides, this whole feminist rant is not the purpose of this blog entry. The purpose of the feminist rant was to lead up to the earth-shattering statement I’m about to make: for 24 full hours, I was a domesticated housewife.
Shocking, I know.
It all started on September 10, 2013 when I had the bright idea to bake a cake for James’ birthday. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t a bright idea because that’s been the tradition, for God only knows how many years, when someone has a birthday. The bright idea was sparked in the form of an “exotic” cake. Allow me to demonstrate in photographs (you didn’t think I was going to claim domestication without photographic evidence, did you?).
I baked James a chocolate cake for his birthday. I followed the recipe from the Great Value Devil’s Food Cake mix box that the cake mix came in. You can find it in any Wal-Mart baking aisle. This normally wouldn’t have been a problem, but James wanted a CIRCULAR cake that was LAYERED. This is a problem because I don’t have two circular cake pans. Just when I was about to resort to dividing the batter in half and baking one half before the other, I came up with the bright idea (and I really think this was a bright idea) to bake the entire batter in the tall, circular pan I have and then SLICE it in half once it cooled. Now, I had never done this before, so I was extremely scared once I got the serrated knife down and actually started to cut into the thing. I’m happy to report that it was very successful. I’m measuring success by the number of swear words that were uttered in the slicing of the cake (none!).
James’ favorite candy bar is a Take Five. My bright idea was to try to apply the Take Five elements (chocolate, peanut butter, peanuts, pretzels, and caramel) into a cake. Brilliant, I know. My mom sent me an awesome peanut butter frosting recipe, and the above is the frosting of my labor.
Then came time for the caramel drizzle. So, I had this ill-conceived notion that drizzling caramel was going to be JUST like drizzling melted chocolate. Well, if you, too, think that, then you will be highly disappointed. Drizzling melted chocolate is to touching your nose as drizzling melted caramel is to attempting to touch your nose while having an elephant dangling from your arm as you’re drifting through a river of molasses. I had this bright idea that I was going to drizzle a heart on the cake. That bright idea fizzled when I failed to do the drizzle. Ha! That rhymed.
It was only after I made the cake that my mom came up with the bright idea to use jarred caramel sauce rather than melting caramel bits. Sure, now she tells me!
The important thing is: the Birthday Boy liked the cake. Even though the caramel hardened and broke our fillings (just kidding…neither of us have any fillings) and the pretzels got soggy between the layers, I’d say this is definitely a recipe to tweak. Plus, the frosting was pure evil, and I highly recommend it to everyone!
My 24 hours of domestication was good for me. I have a new-found appreciation for housewives (3 hours in a kitchen…holy screaming lower back, Batman!), and I made my husband happy. It makes me happy when he’s happy. Except at 6AM. NOBODY should be that happy that early.
It also made me appreciate my job even more. After spending all that time, dishwater, and confectioner’s sugar on the cake, I couldn’t wait to go back to work!