Christina Franklin, DG

I come from a long pedigree of domestically-advanced women, one that would put even Martha to shame. My great grandmother cooked for ranch hands, no small feet when you think that she cooked 3 big meals a day on a wood-burning stove while she had small children! My grandmother ironed bed sheets (before irons were even electric. My own mother was a wonder: I remember her canning all sorts of stuff, baking, sewing our clothes, making jams, fruit leather... shoot, she even sewed my doll clothes. Phew, I'm tired just thinking about it.

Think of the pressure of being related to all of those Domestic Goddesses! So I naturally rebelled. In fact, I despised anything domestic. Instead of sewing doll clothes, I glue gunned. I didn't bake. I didn't scrapbook. I didn't iron. When I made something in young women's, I gave it to someone else. On our 2nd date, I turned to Rob and said, "Just so you know, I hate to cook. I can cook, but I don't like to. I just want you to know that from the beginning." An old friend just reminded me of a time when we both were making a list of goals. I actually made fun of her for putting "canning peaches" on her list. Very ironic.

Well, you've heard once Satan gets his toe in the door, he weazles his whole body in. The same for domesticity. Slowly, little by little, I have given in and have become more domestic, even embracing it. I make jam, I can, I try new recipes all the time, I make fruit leather, grape juice, and I've even done a little sewing. I have joined the ranks of my mother, grandmothers, great-grandmothers, and can put that sacred "DG" behind my name... Domestic Goddess. And I am proud!


But just for the record, I still never iron and I don't bake... I've never actually made cookies from scratch. Kind of proud of that, too.