Sure, but can Martha Stewart split wood?

Sammye Pokryfki

I went to Girdwood for a couple of days this week, just a spur-of-the-moment trip to get out of town, hike and hang out with my daughter and her friend.

We decided to go at noon and were on the road by 2 p.m., which meant that I left my house in the condition of your basic domestic train wreck. Recent home improvements have involved replacement of drywall, plus my granddaughter had spent the night, so there were toys and miniature socks liberally strewn about.

There was a time in my life when I would not walk out on such a mess to go off and spontaneously have some fun. I would have cleaned first, by golly.

I would have been concerned that the house might catch on fire while I was gone and the firefighters would come in and think I was a lousy housekeeper. Or I would have worried that a friend would stop by, look in the windows to see if I was home, and instead discover that I am not Martha Stewart in more ways than one.

I know there are plenty of women who have never felt these concerns because they are focused on other things. In their 20's they travel and obtain advanced college degrees, and in their 30's, they carefully strategize their upward career moves while opening investment accounts. Meanwhile, seemingly unnoticed, the dust bunnies grow and multiply.

By the time these women are 40, they are ready to settle down and set up house. That's when they start collecting cookbooks and take up knitting, decorate their homes impeccably and create well-balanced meals in less than 30 minutes.

It is safe to say that I was backward on this whole timeline. I spent my 20's (the entire decade) and some of my 30's in the house - raising children, baking, cleaning, remodeling, cooking, sewing and vacuum-packing wild game.

If it could be homemade or handmade, it was. I sewed elaborate Halloween outfits as well as costumes for school plays. I baked homemade cinnamon rolls and bread on Sundays, rising the dough behind a stove full of wood that I split and stacked. I cross-stitched samplers, hot-glued Christmas wreaths, and won blue ribbons at the state fair.

My hockey sisters and I have a name for women like me - we affectionately refer to ourselves as "Betties" (in homage to the divine Miss Crocker).

I clearly remember the point in my life when I shifted priorities. I was in my mid-30's in graduate school at UAA and commuting from Wasilla every day for classes and a part-time internship in Anchorage.

My two very active children were in middle and high school, and my husband was gone every other week, working in Prudhoe Bay. My daily schedule was carefully orchestrated and extremely complex, involving coordination and timing that would rival a NASA space mission.

One day, after a particularly brutal commute, I walked in the house and all of my family members said the three most dangerous words in the English language when spoken to a working mother: "What's for dinner?"

I guess you could say I went on the wagon at that point and became a Betty in recovery. I still have planned relapses over the holidays when I bake pies and cookies. Last Christmas I even hand-embroidered a stocking for my new granddaughter. But on a daily basis, the kitchen is closed and the Singer is silent.

At first, I felt kind of bad about leaving Betty behind. But eventually I realized that I wasn't doing everyone a favor by taking care of everything all the time at the expense of taking care of myself.

The kids resisted a bit, but they're bright and clever, so they learned how to make their own lunches and put a heat source under a food source after school. My husband discovered a real enthusiasm for cooking and an enjoyment of grocery shopping - to this day you can find him in the local store, carefully selecting gourmet pasta sauces and thoughtfully squeezing mangoes.

As for me, I let go of the "What if someone finds out my house isn't perfect?" concerns and allowed myself some breathing room, not to mention finishing the advanced degree, opening that investment account, and traveling. And now, 10 years later, I can enjoy homemaking activities again (in moderation, of course).

I look around sometimes and see the tell-tale signs of domestic addiction in women who bake, clean and sew themselves into a frenzy. To them I say: "Hold your rolling pin up high with pride in being a Betty! But girl, leave the house a mess every now and then and let someone else do the cooking, so you can go out and have some spontaneous fun."

Sammye Pokryfki lives, writes and orders take-out in Wasilla. She can be contacted at spokryfki @hotmail.com.