The Homemaker's Creed

"I believe no task is too humble that contributes to the cleanliness, the order, the health and the well being of the household."

---Betty Crocker Homemaker's Creed.

One of my most prized possessions is my circa 1962 Betty Crocker cookbook. The one that is a three-ring binder and has all the mid-century modern photographs of Jell-O molds and deviled eggs in those plates whose only use is to hold deviled eggs. It has notes from my mother on specific recipes and has all these charts on how many ounces is a cup and what to do if a recipe calls for buttermilk and you don't have any. It's a real resource;  left to my own devices, I'd have poisoned my family and set the house afire a long time ago. However, I'm not on board with this creed, because I simply do not have it in me.

EDITED TO ADD: I am apparently unable to read anything homemaking related correctly. My book is a BETTER HOMES AND GARDENS Cookbook, not a Betty Crocker. I've only been calling it Betty Crocker my WHOLE DAMN LIFE. 

 

I grew up on the cusp of home ec classes in school. They had them, but in 7th grade, some law changed and instead of the boys taking a year of shop (half wood shop, half metal shop) and the girls taking a year of home economics (half cooking, half sewing) everyone rotated through all four classes. Mrs. Potter taught sewing; she was a gifted seamstress and a really lovely person who had the grace not to mention that stuffed dog I made only had three legs.

That one year was the only practical training I had in any kind of homemaking. My mother showed me a few things, but none of them stuck. She wasn't exactly a Susie Homemaker either, she had been in the Navy and traveled the world before getting married, so she never saw her worth as being tied to how clean or orderly the house was. Many nights found her waiting for my father to come home and then zipping out the door to hit the dog track once he pulled into the driveway. Her dinner efforts on those nights were to toss my brother and me a hot dog and tell my father to pick up a pizza.

While celebrating New Year's last week with the traditional Chinese food feast, it happened that a juicy, delicious dumpling (worth every one of the 47 Weight Watcher's points I now have to burn) exploded on a new red sweater I was wearing. Seriously, it looked like the Exxon Valdez had lost its load all over the front. I asked around for recommendations of a good dry cleaner, and I was amazed at how many people replied with household hints and tricks at stain removal. There are people that know these things? Yes, yes, there are.

Everyone agreed that blue dish detergent was the key. They wash ducks and seabirds with it when there's an oil spill. I tried it, but it didn't work, so now what? The big guns, that's what. Baby powder, hydrogen peroxide, and something called "Grandma's Secret Spot Remover." If they sell it by the gallon in stores, is it really a secret anymore? Thankfully my friend Tim and his staff at Ace Hardware had the goods, so I stocked up.

It should be noted that in addition to my poor homemaker skills, chemistry is not my forte either, having nearly flunked it in high school. As I write this, the sweater is drying flat having been treated with a combination of Murphy's oil, Lestoil and Kosher sea salt. How is it that grease takes out a grease stain? Well, I guess I will find out.

Other suggestions included putting a paper bag underneath and over the stain and ironing it, which might have worked if I owned an iron. There used to be one around, but apparently, it's missing. Another homemaker fail on my part. This skillset of sewing on buttons, removing stains, and knowing how to MacGyver up some buttermilk seems to be a lost art, and that is too bad because no one is ever worse off for knowing how to do something practical. I just don't think these abilities need to be limited to women or that anyone should have to swear allegiance to a creed of stain removal and dust bunny eradication. For the record, only one home remedy came from a man (Thanks, Ken) Come on guys, time to get in the game.

Coincidentally, the town census was due this week. Somehow my occupation is down as "At Home." You can bet I changed that. Not because it's a bad thing, but because it's not accurate for me. I would be so fired if that was my job.  I hope the Great Dumpling Spill of 2018 will not spell the end of my lovely red sweater, but in the meantime, I now know more about stains, grease and the many uses for an old toothbrush and some vinegar than I thought possible. It' s a poor day you don't learn something new I guess, but I'm still never going to be a homemaker, at least not if the definition is limited to cooking and cleaning skills. Throw in the ability to welcome friends anytime, throw on the kettle for a nice cuppa, and keep the children from going on a crime spree and perhaps I qualify. They look pretty happy, they survived childhood, right?