Homebody in the Rhythm-Kitchen

I really enjoy putzin' around in the kitchen on days like today.

Today, with the winter sun shining in the south-facing window, I washed about a week's worth of dishes, cleaned the mystery mold from behind the sink, washed down the cabinets, and made bread. I plan to crank some homemade granola through the oven for the next week's breakfasts, and am in the middle of fixing up some carrots and potatoes (and a bit o' cauliflower) to add to leftover beef broth and barley.

I just love being in the kitchen when I dont have anything else pressing to do.

Of course, if you deal with anxiety, as I do, it always seems like there is *something* pressing to do. I cannot always determine what that something is, but my belly and my racing brain work very hard at convincing me that it is waiting, and I have forgotten.

When you have kids, as I do, you can bet that there is *something* that they *should* be doing. Like math. Or brushing their teeth. Knowing that I am the major link between my children and their opportunity to learn, grow and prepare for adulthood, I do get stressed out wondering what else I should be *doing* for them. Should I be shoving a math worksheet under their noses? Drilling them on grammar?

My anxiety and my duties as a mother seem to feed off each other. The reality is that my anxiety is a 'false alarm' and that there is nothing I have forgotten to do. The reality is also that childhood is very competitive and I am definately forgetting something that will help my kids do better in their future years.

And yet... at my lowest times in my life, the things that have meant the most to me are the sounds of domesticity. I recall having one mental break when I was unable to function for about five days. My mom (who is currently a bit of a pebble in my shoe thus it feels good to think of her in positive ways at the moment) came out to my house and spent the night. She cared for the kids and my husband. She cooked meals and washed dishes and swept the floor.

The sounds of dishes clunking together in dishwater, the sweep of broom straws across the tile, these became the music that healed me. I knew, and still know, no greater human comfort than the sound of my mother putzing in the kitchen. This is the woman I love; This is her language of caring. She does for others, even while she cannot make the words come out of her mouth. She keeps house. She feeds. She feels wholeness doing domestic work and she eminates love in so doing.

Maybe that is why I, like my mother, love to putz in the kitchen. If I can slow my brain long enough to focus, and do one kitchen task at a time, I can slough off the anxieties and worries of the day. I settle into kitchen chores, make healthy family dinners, and even surprise the kids with special treats, like carrot sticks with friendly faces carved in them.

I get my rhythm in the kitchen! My kitchen song echos a fugue of my mother's seventy years of kitchen-rhythm. This establishes the rhythm of the whole family's day. I feel centered. And when Mama is happy, everybody is happy.

There is no medicine that can help anxiety like finding one's rhythm in domestic tasks, and caring for one's family. And I see the children benefitting from having a centered, calm Mommie, and from the time home. They too can find rhythm in their world. And that is when I see that math worksheets and grammar drills are pointless. For in the children's centeredness, they begin to understand math all on their own. Little Brother begins spouting subtraction facts when counting the days 'til Easter. Big Sis creates book after book of characters, settings, descriptions, and story plots.

Part of who I am is a homebody. Sometimes my friends poke a little fun at me because I will almost always take a blanket and a book over a night out with the girls. But embracing who I am helps me to grow and be strong. It helps my family become more content. And it puts my heart forward, where it belongs: in the home.