I sometimes wonder if I am too intent on my housework.
I find a real sense of ease and beauty when I have placed things just so and the dust has been wiped away. It allows me to sink deeper into the lived moment when my eyes graze the floor and see no thing left to do.
The reality is, though, that it takes hella time to maintain a home, particularly while living with young children and a slightly neurotic feline. The work is never complete. Rather, I pause and return, again and again.
Housekeeping requires rhythm as it is always waiting to recommence. My heart seeks meaningful pauses and to embrace the work, there is a song in all of this yet it can be a real struggle to uncover it.
The reality is that there is an extreme repetition to the work each day and I fear for my sanity if I allow this to be anything less than an inquiry into spirit, culture and-when I am really on my game- craft. The last thing I want to show my boys is that housework is drudgery because that would have me daily resisting my life, but submitting over and over.
And yet, I can not help but look around some days and wonder; as a daughter of the feminist movement, was this the endgame? Am I living the dream that they held in their hearts? Or, are my sisters working with their babies in daycare living the dream? What would allow all hearts and families to flourish in this one precious go of it?
Sure, to be able to choose between career and homemaking is an evolution of culture and some women, families manage to do BOTH, but I want to take it further. I do not believe the conversations of the 1920 and 1970s and all time are over. I hope that you will join me in this conversation when you can.