Home-baked birthday goodness for Captain Jack

The notion of home-making conjures up nostalgic images of aprons, freshly laundered linen and home-baked scones. This morning a conversation with a (younger) girlfriend made me wonder if home-making is fast becoming a dying art.

Do you know how to mend a hem?  Or do you use sticky tape/staples/take it to a tailor to rake care of?

Can you replace a button?  Or is that shirt now relegated to the donation bag for your local charity shop.

Do you know how to bake scones (from scratch my friends, not Aunt Betty Crocker)?

From a young age I was a willing apprentice to my patient Mum. Whether the lesson of the day was baking, cleaning (lemons work wonders in the kitchen and bathroom) or laundry I was soaking it all up.   At the same time Dad was teaching me about gardening, driving, engines and other outdoorsy type stuff, but that’s for another day.

Which brings me to now.  What on earth does a career woman with a tribe of her own and all the mod cons possibly stand to gain from old-fashioned home-making?

A lot, let me give you the drum.  Low on groceries when I arrive home from work? No problem, I can usually muster up something from the pantry given the recipes I’ve learnt over the years.  Last night it was home-made pizzas and ‘sticky teriyaki chicken wings’ for the tribe.

One of the tribe announces that tomorrow is dress up day and all the stores have closed? No problem, I can usually whip something up from the craft cupboard.

Maybe admitting you love a good sprinkling of linen water and an afternoon of baking makes you very uncool nowadays.

Or worse, does it mean you are selling out the feminist cause?

I say embrace your inner domestic goddess and go forth and nest.

Enjoy xx

 

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