Lately, I’ve found myself filled with a burning desire to be more domestic. Okay, maybe more like a somewhat hot and smoking ember of a desire.

I spend minutes hours perusing blogs and web sites that inspire me to the point of distraction. The girls and I are already planning our vegetable and flower gardens; I’ve been slowly changing out store-bought cleaning products for ones I’ve made (from said blogs and web sites); and I just succeeded in my second attempt at baking my own bread. Sometimes I even have visions of our little family “living off the land” in some remote part of the country. There are even chickens and a cow in those visions (and a pig named Fluffy).

I’m not sure why this sudden urge to be all Ma Ingalls and stuff. Maybe I’m waxing nostalgia for a simpler time (yes, I see the hilarity in using the word “simpler” when talking about milking cows, raising chickens, and the back-breaking labor of garden tending). Maybe I’m finally embracing this whole stay-at-home mom thing with reckless abandon. Or, this could quite possibly be a phase that ends when I discover my tomato plants don’t remotely resemble the picture on the seed packet.

Whatever the outcome, I’m enjoying learning new things and stretching myself way beyond my comfort zone. It also seems like I’m showing the girls how to do things that might serve them well later in life. I’m certainly not ready to don a gingham frock and cook over open flames on a regular basis, but I may start wearing my aprons more often.