How I Came to be ME


November 18, 2010 by Marj Hatzell

Once upon a time, a little spermy thingy met a little eggy thingy and the result, some forty weeks later, was MEEEEE!!!!

The end.

I KEED, I KEED!  In all seriousness, someone asked me the other day, “Why the Domestic Goddess? Does that MEAN something?”

No. It means abso-smurfly nothing. I just picked it because TOTAL BABE DOT COM was taken.  Ahem. Anyways, Domestic Goddess. Let’s see, where did it come from?

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I joined a local group of flylady-types and met some neato-keen people, all while making friends in my Stay-at-Home-edness. A few years into it and we were having all kinds of crazy issues with post partum and autism and whatnot and I needed an outlet. A diary, except nobody does the diary thing these days. It’s all about BLAWGS these days, yo.  So a friend was blogging. Once in a while. And I liked it.  SO I tried it. And then I died.


Kidding again! Anyways, I started to like it. I got more creative. I started going nutso and spilling the beans. But I hated the old name so I changed it. And the reason I changed it to “Domestic Goddess” is because I’m a stay-at-home-parent and I hate the term “homemaker” and I hate being referred to as “just a mom” because it makes it sound like I sit on the couch all day eating bon bons and watching soap operas.

And nothing could be further from the truth. Because bon bons are NASTY and I hate soap operas.

But I digress. Moving on…I picked Domestic Goddess because it’s a total joke. I’m neither very domestic nor am I a goddess (but I play one on TV). I struggle. Sometimes I plain suck at it. Then, I’ll do most of it well but f*ck up the meals that week. Then the next week I get the meals down but the floors are a mess. Then I get the floors done and the laundry gets backed up. Which led me to a major epiphany.


And no one expects me to be that way. So why do I expect me to be that way? And if I expect me to be that way eventually other people (AHEM, GUY I LIVE WITH) will expect me to be all perfect and shiz. And NEWSFLASH. I am not perfect.

Not even close.

So basically, it started out as, “HAHAHA!  Look how much I suck at being a homemaker, y’all!” and it turned into, “HAHAHA!! Look how much I suck at balancing special needs and being a homemaker, y’all!”  So. I’m putting it all out there, in the hopes that some other over-achieving, micro-managing control freak (LIKE ME) will get hit with a ton of bricks and realize that:

You can’t do it all.

You shouldn’t do it all.

You should do your best.

You only have to do “good enough.”

Like my Nana’s wall hanging said, “My house is clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy.”

Now, where’s that remote?

Editors note: I don’t actually get to watch any television unless it’s Thomas the Tank Engine at 2am and I don’t really enjoy that so it totally doesn’t count.

2 thoughts on “How I Came to be ME

  1. I hate being home when I’m unemployed, and hate being at work when I am employed. I wish there was some balance, but I guess
    nothing else is balanced, so why should that be? I don’t ever remember watching tv when I did stay at home (other than Maury Paternity)
    but I had time to clean my house, cook actual meals that don’t fall out of a box, and take showers that last longer than 5 minutes.
    Domestic=No way
    I think you’re fab, whatever you call yourself.

  2. You can stay awake long enough through Thomas to watch it? That show puts me to sleep faster than the History Channel (not that I don’t like THC, but they always choose the narrator with the most calm and soothing voice like those social studies movies we watched in school, and staying awake is totally optional no matter how interesting the subject matter is).

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