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So this year’s class of culinary herbs is pretty standard for me. They are mostly hearty herbs that I’ve had really good success growing, and more importantly, are frequent ingredients in my recipes. But there is the one problem child: cilantro.
First off, cilantro seems to be an acquired taste. I used to think of it as the ‘soapy’ herb. That is, until Hubby and I visited Mexico for our 20th anniversary. I learned that when cilantro is used in the right dish, it gives a bright spark that I miss when it’s not present. I simply can’t imagine guacamole, salsa or even a wasabi tuna salad without cilantro. The thought actually makes me sad. Which is why it makes me even sadder that cilantro is so difficult to grow.
Cilantro seems to have about a 3-week life span. Apparently, there is something about the roots and transplant shock that seems to result in a decidedly short growing period. Hubby actually took the time last year to plant new seeds every three to four weeks for me so that I could use cilantro at will. I don’t know if he’ll have time to do that again this year, but I hope so.
As for the other tasty seedlings … I have basil, thyme, rosemary, Italian parsley and dill. I also picked up a sweet banana pepper plant. I have had great luck with these. Once they get going, they produce generously, and I use them in place of green bell peppers. I truly prefer the taste of the sweet banana peppers and they have a more delicate skin. Just like bell peppers, they will ripen if you want a sweet red pepper for a recipe. So it’s a great value for the money.
Up next, planting the 'crop.’
The time has finally come to re-fresh the herb garden. My wonderful herb plants lasted many years but it’s time for a new start. Living in Florida, I’ve found that I have most success by planting my herbs in containers.
The best thing about a container herb garden is that you can have herbs anywhere you live. When Hubby and I took our boat sabbatical (we cruised from Jacksonville, Florida to the British Virgin Islands for 18 months on a once-in-a-lifetime crazy adventure), we actually had a little potted herb garden. That poor thing took more tumbles in unsettled seas, and the thyme and parsley couldn’t quite endure. But Herb continued to yield enough basil for my “pesto rustica” throughout the journey.
So last weekend, I emptied all the old pots and discarded the unhealthy remains in the yard waste can. I took as much of the soil that remained and spread it in a couple of the low spots in the yard. Then I added a little bleach to a one of my yard waste cans and added water. The pots took turns soaking in the solution and then were set out to dry.
Hobie, the Tabby boy cat, looks on as the pots are prepared.
Coming up: what I’ll be growing for my kitchen.
When I created the job title Domestic Commando, it was a defiant response to the stigma associated with the much maligned (and might I say misleadingly passive) phrase stay-at-home mom. This was the beginning of my own little revolution. More importantly, it laid the foundation for my personal evolution from tentative parent to a veteran of two campaigns: Firstborn and Second Born.
Face it, family life hasn’t mirrored The Waltons for several decades. Most of us don’t experience the built-in education that comes with growing up surrounded by multiple generations. It’s not unusual today to live in a different city or state than our immediate family. So when we are handed the biggest responsibility of our lives (usually wailing and wanting to be fed) it’s quite unnerving that the confidence we have enjoyed up to that point (at school and work) is suddenly M.I.A.
Armed with a healthy dose of attitude and a job title I sincerely wanted to live up to, I began to read everything I could about being a parent and to analyze all the advice I gathered. Did it make sense? Did it fit with my values? Did it feelright? The latter, seemingly simple question became the cornerstone of my parenting style. My confidence as a parent blossomed as I ultimately learned to respect my own instincts.
I came to understand that not all parenting guides worked for all parents and their children. When Second Born joined us, I ultimately learned that what worked for one child didn’t always translate to the other child. I came to realize and embrace the fact that no one could possibly know our children better than their dad and I do and that no one could want the best for them more than we do. What could be more valuable than that?
The ideal of the perfect parent is a myth and a disservice. We’re trying to manage the most inherently unpredictable and truly gut-wrenching job devised. The factors are in constant flux. It’s simply impossible to always get it right. But rather than beat ourselves up for falling short every now and then, we need a little perspective. We are, without question, the most qualified and invested persons in the world to raise our children. Until they hand out customized manuals with each baby, I believe we get points for trying our best.
In fact, I’m confident of that.
Some days it’s nice to do something a little extra for dinner that isn’t exhausting or seriously time consuming, but still elevates the meal. One of our favorite treats is beer bread. Who knew three little ingredients could yield a delicious, yeasty bread without the need to knead and rise?
1 12-ounce bottle of beer
1/3 cup sugar
3 cups self-rising flour
This is a great, simple recipe to make with your kids. There are just two dry ingredients to measure (over a piece of wax paper so any spilled flour or sugar can be returned to the storage containers). The liquid is pre-measured.
(Of course, the alcohol will bake off.)
When you’re on the job 24/7, anything that wastes your time is simply unacceptable.
I think the biggest culprit of all is the time I’ve wasted looking for something I need, I know I have, but I just can’t find.
This drives me crazy.
I’ve cut down on a lot of these hunting expeditions through the use of kits, or what I prefer to call “ready packs.”
The inspiration came when my sister-in-law, Sharon, and I were researching and writing The Hurricane Handbook: A Practical Guide for Residents of the Hurricane Belt. We generated varied lists of useful items based on hurricane preparations for families. I eventually realized that I could apply this concept to everyday activities and projects.
The key is to keep the collected items together and contained so that I simply go to the appropriate ready pack where I can put my hand on just what I need. Basically, I get organized by containerizing. The key is to assemble fairly specific packs rather than just storing as much as you can squish into a big, over-sized bin.
I start by making a list of items appropriate for each pack. I’ll share some of my ready pack lists over the next couple of weeks.
Next, I set aside some time to actually hunt for the items that I already have just one last time. I set the collection on a counter top or table, and determine what kind of container will work for what I already have plus the items I want to add over time.
It’s amazing (and even a little disturbing) to discover how many of the items on the list I already have. But buried in a closet or drawer, they’re useless to me.
This simple project has actually saved me tons of money in the long run because I wasn’t constantly replacing items that I already had but couldn’t find.
I print up a list of items for each pack and keep it in the container. I just adjust the list as needs change. If you’re gathering a first aid kit, the list is a handy spot to note expiration dates.
You don’t have to buy fancy, specialized (i.e. expensive) containers. I think the most versatile containers are clear, plastic, shoe boxes from a discount store. The size works for most items, you can immediately tell what’s inside, and they stack for efficient storage. My favorite container for a first aid pack and small items like nails and screws is a tackle box.
Here’s an example of a Ready Pack to keep near the door or even in your car when you get a chance to spend a few hours outdoors. Please note that nothing needs to be plugged in or charged up. Perfect no matter what age your kids are!
Outdoor Fun Pack
What would you add or change for your family?
I kinda like ducks.
They waddle along on triple-E wide feet. They’ve been happily shaking their tail feathers since long before Jake and Elwood sang about it (sorry, not a Nelly fan). Much to the chagrin of the most expensive, hypodermic-wielding, Hollywood plastic surgeon, duck lips look much better on ducks than they do on people.
What I like most about ducks, though, is that they’re very determined to get what they want; and they’re masters at making it look easy.
Ducks float on the water seemingly without effort, never revealing how madly they may be paddling just below the surface to stay on course.
And that’s my goal. It’s not so much about fooling everyone else into thinking that I’ve got it all under control.
Because I don’t. And I never will.
But I’d like to think that , most of the time, I at least appear like I’ve got it together. I like that. It helps me feel more confident despite whatever day-to-day curve balls are thrown my way.
Whether I’m facing a big event or managing the daily routine, those unflappable little quackers inspire me to make every day “Just Ducky!”
(On the other hand, I wouldn’t mind having a lot less tail-feather to shake)
I admit, pork tenderloin isn’t exactly inexpensive; but every now and then it’s absolutely worth the splurge. This cut of meat is extremely lean, and there is virtually no waste. It’s also great for entertaining because it’s so easy and garners great reviews! I buy a double pack at the warehouse store and pop them in the freezer. Just thaw a package in the fridge for a day or two or in a sink of cool water for a couple of hours.
Whole pork tenderloin (it’s actually two pieces)
Refrigerate leftovers.
Serve with with vegetables and polenta, mashed potatoes, or risotto for an amazing gluten-free meal.
Bonus: Slice leftovers into strips. Warm in a little butter over medium heat. Add a few tablespoons of your favorite barbecue sauce and serve on a toasted bun. Top with a slice of Muenster or Provolone cheese.
When the kids were quite young, the church we attended had a remarkable woman, Mother Turk, as the associate rector. One Sunday, she called one of the parishioners and her son up to the altar. Together, they shared a lovely ritual that we, too, adopted in our home: the Evening Blessing.
Each night, before bedtime, I would go to each of my children, mark a little sign of the cross on their foreheads (or you could just give them a hug) and tell them
The Lord bless you and keep you. May the light of His face shine upon you and give you Peace.
The blessing is a simpler version of Numbers 6:24.
The Lord bless you, and keep you; The Lord make His face shine on you, And be gracious to you; The Lord lift up His countenance on you, And give you peace.
Although the original is truly beautiful (this is from the New American Standard Bible), the language is a bit advanced for a young child and challenging to recite at the end of a long day. Mother Turk’s revision made it easier to really embrace the meaning.
Even as the children grew older (and I sometimes was in bed before they were), they would come in for Blessing. Every night. Even if we’d had a fight. Evening Blessing was always welcomed and never withheld.
I will never know how many nightmares it prevented. But I do know the comfort and feelings of closeness it brought to my children and me.
I find myself watching less and less daytime television. When I do watch, I rarely tune in to the talk shows. I have come to realize that I am somewhat (actually very) annoyed by the lip service that is paid to stay-at-home parents by much of the national media. The clichéd statement “It’s the toughest job in the world…” is repeated show after show. But I just never sense any sincerity behind it.
Consider what these shows feature. There is absolutely nothing that elevates or affirms the path stay-at-home parents have chosen. The most you get is the occasional “mommy makeover” which inherently suggests that you are not everything you should be. Not feeling any respect here.
When was the last time you saw a show about Homeschoolers that didn’t imply they are little more than religious zealots? Some of the sharpest, most self-assured children I have ever met were homeschooled. You would never guess that was even remotely possible based on talk show episodes.
Instead, they spend the majority of airtime on stories about balancing career and family. Hello…those folks aren’t home! The gatekeepers, for personal or philosophical reasons, really don’t want to affirm Domestic Commandos (aka SAHMs and WAHMs). If you think about it, it’s not all that surprising. This is not the path these individuals have chosen. And a fair number have no children at all, which is fine and probably a smart option for them.
But based on the general dismissal of all things related to being a Domestic Commando, it’s clear the gatekeepers really don’t care about our world and have their own agendas to promulgate. They make their living off of stay-at-home parents while considering themselves far superior. Maybe, if some of them read this, they’ll begin to understand why they have been losing viewers to Food Network, DIY, HGTV, Discovery and Pinterest.
As you may know from the book, I am very fond of routine. I really appreciate the comfort that comes with a dependable event at a regular time. But no one in our home loves routine more than Tucker, the dog. His world truly revolves around the expectation of the routines of his day. Change totally stresses him out. We don’t really know why, because we are not Tucker’s first family.
As with all of our animals, Tucker is a ‘found’ member of the family (they either found our door, or we found them at the Humane Society). Tucker showed up one frosty winter morning, cold, hungry, sick and lonesome. Hubby opened the door, the dog walked in, went to sleep for two days and has been here ever since. He was wearing a collar but no tags. He was so sick with heartworms, it took two dreadful treatments to rid him of them. We tried to find his owner, but all efforts failed.
That’s okay, though. Tucker was meant to be our dog.
He came fully trained. He totally didn’t care that we had four cats. Oddly enough, the cats didn’t mind him either - even the Wretched One. They would walk up to him, sniff his nose, shrug their shoulders like “Eh” and walk away.
A couple of days after he joined us, I went to bed with a migraine. The dog seemed to know. He came beside the bed and sat back with his two front paws in the air. For some reason, he reminded me of a court jester. I could just picture him wearing a big, harlequin collar. I think he would have stayed there for hours if I hadn’t told him to lie down. He is a wonderful fellow and a quiet companion.
The strangest adjustment to our new pup was identifying Tucker’s quirks, which often reflected his routine. I started off feeding him twice a day. He always left his breakfast but ate dinner. I eventually figured out he was a one-meal-a-day dog. He also wanted to 'earn’ his supper. He had to sit, shake and lie down before it was okay to eat. But the strangest quirk was that he wouldn’t eat until we left the room.
Sometimes I wish I knew what his back story is … and sometimes I’m glad that I don’t.
I am now Tucker’s job. He has taken it upon himself to be my protector. He usually lays right behind me as I tap away at my keyboard. In the evenings, he lays on his bed and patiently waits for me to head to the bedroom. If I stay up too late, he quietly moves to the bedroom door and looks at me as if to say, “You know, we need to go to bed now.” I am something of a disruption to his routine.
But Hubby is the caretaker of Tucker’s routine. They are absolute pals. In the morning, when I pad off to get Morning Coffee started, Tucker barely lifts his head from his chair (Tucker has a chair in our bedroom from which he can see our bed and the door. It is his chair. No one is allowed to sit in it, and it is the only piece of furniture he gets on). He will lay there, like the patient dog he is until we have finished our coffee. He doesn’t move until Hubby puts his shoes on. That’s his cue that it’s time for his Morning Spritz. Only then will he get up, do his doggy yoga (Downward Dog: stretch back. Upward dog: stretch forward). Tail starts to wag, and they are off for their morning tour of the yard. Tucker usually includes a visit to our neighbor, Phyllis, as part of his outing. They’re great friends.
Upon his return, he gets a treat. The rest of the morning is spent waiting for M&M (the mailman). There can be no outdoor time for Tucker until M&M is gone for the day. He has serious postal carrier issues.
Five o'clock is the magic hour for Tucker. That’s when Hubby prepares dinner: dog kibble moistened with a little wet cat food or some particularly choice people leftovers. After a thirty minute wait, it’s time for the evening walk. Off they trot, taking the same route every day to a spot we call Tucker Park (a small open space with trees and grass a couple blocks away).
When they return, Tucker heads straight for the treat cupboard where Hubby pulls out the much beloved Puperoni. Tucker gently takes the offered treat and heads to his bed. The other day, Hubby looked in the Puperoni pouch and declared that the Mayan Doggie Calendar will end in two days. (That was my cue to dutifully go and procure another pouch. The Mayan Doggie Calendar has now been re-set).
With one final policing of the property later in the evening, Tucker’s day is complete.
Now, if he could just get me to go to bed on schedule.
It is not a beverage.
It is an event.
In our home, it is known, simply, as “morning coffee.” It is the only cup of coffee I drink most days. And everyone knows not to mess with it.
I like my coffee very strong, with a lot of milk.
On an almost perfect day, I get up, shuffle into the kitchen and start the coffee maker. I half-fill two mugs with water and put them into the microwave to heat the water, which heats the mugs. While the pot is brewing, I empty the dishwasher (on a not-so-perfect morning, I load the dishwasher, muttering that I should have done it the night before).
When the coffee maker has finished its job, I pour the hot water out of the mugs, add sugar to each, splash a bit of milk into Hubby’s cup and fill my mug about a third full of milk. Into the microwave they go to heat the milk. Meanwhile, I splash a little milk into a dish for Miranda, the littlest tabby, to quell her meowing.
Mugs ready, I begin stirring the sugar and milk together as I pour in the strong coffee (as with tea, I believe coffee should be poured into the milk, not vice versa). I shuffle back to the bedroom and relish the pure pleasure of morning coffee.
When the kids were little, they enjoyed their morning bottle while I savored my morning coffee. From the beginning, I made clear that this was Mama’s Morning Coffee Time. We respect it and cherish it. To this day they know that NOTHING happens until Mama has had her morning coffee.
Of course, perfect days happen on the weekends because that’s when Hubby takes his turn making Morning Coffee. Hubby Coffee is the best of all!
One of my biggest challenges as a mom was playtime. I was reminded of this inadequacy this morning as I went through my Twitter feed. @jdaniel4smom tweeted “Making Time to Play: Follow His Lead- It is important to let your child show you how to play." I retweeted with the hashtag "sosmart.
Such a simple idea that I could have used. Honestly, along with being craft challenged, I was a completely play challenged mom.
Growing up, my family just never really played. We read. We took day trips in the car. Occasionally, we camped (badly I might add). We had moved across country when I was in first grade, and I didn’t grow up around any family. Young children and unstructured play were mysteries to me.
As a young mom, I felt pretty inadequate on the playtime front until I discovered the most wonderful book, Baby Games by Elaine Martin. It had a happy collection of nursery rhymes and simple games for newborns to 3 years old. These were things I could read and repeat (kinda pitiful, I know).
I wasn’t great at Legos (unless you count stepping on them at night in bare feet and masterfully biting my tongue so as not to wake the sleeping builder). I was bewildered by KNex. But I totally rocked PlayDough. That stuff is like Rescue Remedy to me. Puts me in a happy place! So I wasn’t a total playmommy failure!
Sadly, Baby Games is only available to order from a few places as a discounted book. I don’t think it’s in print anymore. But if you’re play challenged as I was, you might want to visit JDaniel4'sMom for her series on taking time to play.
This recipe for meatloaf falls under comfort food for me. The earthy nature of the sage warms the flavor notes and the thyme adds just the right touch of brightness. You could always add sautéed onions and peppers if that is what you are accustomed to. I like it just like this.
Loaves can be cooled, wrapped and frozen. For an easy meal that requires very little cleanup, thaw one of the loaves in the frig or the microwave. Place in a snug, glass baking pan (a bread pan works well). Heat at 350 for about 30 minutes until hot. Top with hot gravy, marinara sauce or ketchup for last 10 minutes. Leftovers are delicious!
I was thrilled when we converted a small room off of the kitchen into a laundry room. One of the best things we did to make the room more efficient was to arrange for hanger storage. Rather than dump empty hangers into a basket or bin, we hang them neatly under a cabinet.
All you need is an inexpensive towel bar. Remove any items from the lower shelf of a nearby cabinet and install the bar underneath the cabinet according to the directions. If the bar comes with long screws, you will want to replace them with shorter ones that are the same diameter. Remember, this bar will not be carrying a lot of weight. If the tips of the screws still peek through the bottom the shelf, carefully press a piece of cork over it to protect anything you may store on this shelf.
I prefer using golden raisins to the traditional dark raisins. They always seem plumper and mildly sweet. Children who normally object to raisins will sometimes accept these instead. They really don’t look so much like bugs. Ants on a Log (celery, peanut butter and dark raisins) becomes Dew Drops on a Branch. Note: after you cut the celery into portions, strip the tough strings off the back edge of the stalks with a paring knife. Celery is much easier for little people and even big people to eat this way, and it only takes seconds to do.
When offering your little one a new food, only put a very tiny portion on their plate. Anyone presented with a large serving of an unknown food is likely to resist. If the rule in your home is that you must taste a food before refusing it, then only offer a taste in the first place. Treat it like garnish and don’t make a big deal about it.
Always cut up a sandwich into at least 4 pieces for your little ones. Often, they really can’t eat more than half a sandwich anyway and the smaller size is easier for little hands to manage. Don’t forget to change up the shapes as well. Triangles (corner to corner), squares (down the middle and across) and columns or soldiers (these are easier to eat when the bread is toasted).
Okay. So here’s the deal.
When I was a sophomore in high school, I had a crush on a guy whose father was a preacher. So I attended his church for awhile (I still can’t believe I did that!). Bible study during the week was an important part of attendance.
Although I inevitably moved on to my next crush, my participation at this church yielded an unexpected bonus. I discovered my favorite verse - the one that instantly spoke to me - during Bible study: Matthew 7:1.
“Judge not, that you not be judged.”
It worked hand-in-hand with “Love your neighbor as yourself.” I liked that. It also was very clear to me that judgment was reserved for God alone.
This is one of the reasons I take such great offense at people treating those of us who choose to be Domestic Commandos as social pariahs. I just don’t see why they believe they are entitled to think I am not worthy of their respect. Conversely, I don’t care to judge people who make different choices. Whether they choose to (or need to) work after they have children or whether they choose not to have children at all doesn’t elicit an opinion from me. Everyone is different, and I am fine with that.
But I am not fine with someone choosing to disrespect me. I will simply consider that person as ceasing to exist.
Not a judgment, but a deletion.
This simple, savory macaroni salad is my very favorite. Cucumber gives it a bright, fresh taste that is completely refreshing and satisfying.
Several years ago, I served as midwife to a young black cat that gave birth to six kittens in the bottom of my bathroom closet. She was a stray who had adopted us; and at some point in time, found herself in the family way. Imagine: six kittens in her very first (and only) pregnancy!
The first time we met her, it was Christmas Eve. She looked cared for, so we figured she and her family must have recently moved into the neighborhood. I assumed she was on an explore of the new surroundings as cats are inclined to do. Besides, we weren’t in the market for a new cat, as my old college companion, Cagney, was in her declining years. Introducing a new, young cat would not have been fair to her; so I was relieved that this cat seemed to have a home.
Several months later, we noticed the Christmas Eve cat spending more and more time in our backyard. We also noticed that her belly was becoming rounder and rounder. In a karmic changing of the guard, my sweet Cagney passed away and the sleek black stray with the burgeoning belly moved in. Hubby named her Lucky. After all, she found a family that wasn’t afraid of black cats and who were total suckers for an abandoned kitty in the family way.
A true feline, she was Lucky, but definitely not Grateful. For years, she slept at the end of our bed, snapping at my feet under the covers and even growling should I disturb her by rolling over or otherwise jostling the mattress.
I think I hate that cat.
But it’s not her sour-puss disposition that annoys me. Her infraction is much more serious than that. It borders on unforgivable.
She has the best body I’ve ever seen.
Lithe and elegant, she loves to roll over and taunt me with her taught tummy. No sagging, no stretch marks.
Just rock hard abs.
I hate that cat.
For me, one of the toughest parts about becoming a mom is what happened to my body; and I’m not talking about labor (although that deserves serious respect). The whole thing is summed up by the first time I weighed myself after giving birth. I was shocked to realize that although I could now carry my baby in my arms, most of the pregnancy weight was still on my hips, thighs and tri-fold tummy!
I was able to get pretty much back into shape by breast feeding and working out to television exercise shows. I maintained a comfortable weight for a good decade. Not skinny, but healthy.
And then, it happened. My metabolism disappeared. I misplaced it … or something. And my weight started to creep up. It was like watching Lucky hunt lizards. Crouching behind them and low-crawling until she was just close enough. Then POUNCE! Another lizard down for her, another pound up for me.
So, now my life is an exercise in moderation: trying to do some activity that’s good for my heart, helps burn calories, is beneficial to my bones and doesn’t hurt my joints.
And that wretched cat just rolls over and shows me her belly.
I really hate that cat.
This little slurry is the perfect dip for chunks of French or Italian bread. It is also a fabulous marinade for shrimp or chicken before grilling or roasting.
Some people seem to consider it odd that I created the job title Domestic Commando to describe my career as a stay-at-home mom. Apparently they find a real paradox between parenting and anything remotely military.
And this disconnect is what I think is odd.
When I think of the military, the words service and purpose are what come to mind. To me, that is the essence of being a parent … and a Domestic Commando. Not to mention, there are so many elements of the military paradigm that are just perfect for everyday application.
So don your B.D.U., Gear Up, employ appropriate Tactical Ops to get the Home Front shipshape, and let’s Feed the Troops something hearty, healthy and delicious.
Roger that!
This recipe was created by Firstborn. It’s an easy, satisfying one-pot meal that is easy enough to make even on a school night.
My comfort level with plastic food storage containers is almost in the negative numbers after considering the expense and questions of possible contaminants. I’ve also never been satisfied that I could get plastic containers perfectly clean, especially if they had been used to store something like spaghetti sauce.
So I’ve returned to using glass canning jars. The glass is non-porous so I know they’ll clean perfectly. They’re clear so I can readily see what is in them, meaning I am less likely to discover a new life form growing unseen in my refrigerator (affectionately known as a “science project” in our home).
The quart size jars with the wide mouths are a really convenient size for dry goods storage. I use the attachment on my vacuum seal appliance to super seal bulk flour, rice, beans, grains, etc. for longer shelf storage.
I even use the glass jars for freezer storage. Look for the ones that say they are freezer safe - generally wide-mouth pint jars. I’ve been known to freeze soups in the quart jars with the neck (technically not freezer friendly). I fill them to about one inch below the start of the neck and then defrost in the jar.
I’ve even found convenient plastic lids that can be re-used. Since these don’t touch the food, I really don’t mind them. These are perfect for storing crackers and snacks once I’ve opened the package or box.
Or What’s in a Name?
A few months after Firstborn arrived, Hubby and I were invited to a cocktail party. It was my first grownup event since the delivery, and I really looked forward to it.
As I waited for my club soda at the bar (I was still nursing), a man stepped up to me, drink in hand, and asked me what I did. I explained that I was “home with my baby.” He literally turned around and walked away without even excusing himself.
I was livid! Who was he to dismiss me in that manner?
That’s when I began to realize there really wasn’t an adequate term for my new, 24/7 career. I never called myself a housewife … I didn’t marry a building (that simply qualifies as an unnatural act to me). Plus, it completely ignores the fact that I am hard at work raising my children. Same goes for housekeeper.
Stay-at-home mom, besides being somewhat cumbersome with the hyphens and all, was entirely too passive to adequately describe how much enthusiasm I had for the job and how much effort I put into it.
I struggled with my ‘title’ for nearly a year. The inspiration came one morning via the television. Remember the commercial for the Army with the tag line “We do more by 9:00am than most people do all day?”
Like a bolt of lightning, I realized, “That’s it! I am a Domestic Commando!” Most people with paid jobs were probably just finishing the morning paper. I had done laundry, exercised, fed my child, cleaned the kitchen, and had planned meals and activities for the rest of my day. Yes – I was a Domestic Commando.
The title has really worked for me, and I have used the military operational model as inspiration and a guide. When faced with a task, I adopt the discipline and focus typical of a military operation to do the best job I can for my family.