Mmm...fooood...

Ever since I became a housewife, sorry, domestic engineer (who comes up with this stuff?), I've felt like Donna Reed. I actually get off my butt a few times a week and run the vacuum, fold laundry, and find homes for our piles o' clutter-- I've even started doing dishes like an obsessed maniac. (Shut it, Geeb.) Heheh.

Yesterday, I found out just how bad I have the 50's housewife syndrome. I went to bed early on a Saturday night so I could get up at 7:00 AM to peel potatoes and carrots for a roast for five people. I also baked two dozen Texas-style rolls--frozen, but I brushed them with butter--and yes, that's fancy for me. I even baked cookies. Thank goodness, Geeb/Molly was there to help me fight the humidity that kept caramelizing the dough.

So now I'm sitting here, my muscles still burning from my morning Pilate's, eating chocolate chip cookies and milk, and wishing Grandma still made dinner once a week like she used to.

That woman puts Betty Crocker to shame. Her chicken and noodles could start a duel to the death for the last bowl. Her bran muffins are exquisite fresh from the oven with butter and jelly or honey, and they're excellent after a stop in the microwave and devoured without toppings. Her scrambled eggs are always fluffy, and practically vanish from the table. Her fried chicken makes any heart-blockage well worth it, and the mashed potatoes and gravy she makes to go with it...I can't even begin to describe.

I miss the 50's housewife--the woman who broke her back everyday with a smile to make home a place to be longed for after it is gone. Childhood antics and those precious few memories that are never forgotten are wondrous things, but women like my grandmother created a backdrop for those memories that warms the soul like none other.

I need another cookie.