Domesticated

I have become domestic. I never really realized it was happening. Those of you who are close to me will laugh and say that I should have realized it years ago, but I never thought I would get to this point. I spent most of last night worrying about the colours that we are going to paint the living room and the kitchen at my house at the Daybreak community. I put the paint chips up on the wall like my mother taught me to and checked off the colours that worked with the light at the times of day. I am becoming my mother.

I'm worrying about things that most 19 year olds don't feel the need to worry about, like driving people to activities and when we should get a new van and how often I should water the garden. I make meals for more people than I thought I would be serving on a regular basis. I'm worrying about budgets and planning vacations and doctor's appointments for more people than myself. Actually also worrying about them for myself too, which is something that almost never happens.

There are some who would have told me in the past that I have always been domestic, that I am the soccer mom. We actually decided this summer that hockey mom would be more fitting as I am Canadian. Nationality seems to be an important distinction here. Regardless of the sport that goes along with the mini van I seem destined to be driving in the next ten years, I have always seemed to be the mother figure. I show up with cookies and cakes for everyone's birthday, including my own. I nag others to get papers handed in on time and make sure that people appear in the classes they are supposed to be in. While there can definitely be an argument made for the fact that I was already domestic, I think that I have hit a new level of domestication.

I got more than simply my name from the Martha of the Bible. The scripture from the past Sunday was about the welcome of Martha when Jesus comes to her house. That seems to be how I am. This summer I have learned the power that the kitchen has. Most nights when I cook, a housemate is there with me. Sadly, there is not usually wine at that time, but we still have great conversations. There is something about preparing a table that leads to more welcome amongst all those in the house. There is a different feeling in the house when there is guest coming and we are preparing for someone to be welcomed. There is not really a Martha Stewart feeling to the house, because God knows that that house never looks like something like that.

There seem to be different layers to my domestic. There are moments when I feel the need to clean everything, but mostly it is the ability to welcome people into the house. Also a few years ago this would have scared me. The thought processes that come from my house leader are now ingrained in my life. They still exist when I appear back in my apartment in London and I'm sure will continue for most of the rest of my life. Perhaps it's part of growing up to accept the fact of domesticity in life. It's nice to be settled in one place for a long time and then create a home there. It's hard to leave and move between those places, but being able to put down roots wherever you are is something that takes skill and passion and hard work. But most of all, it takes love. That's really the heart of all the domesticity in my life.