If domestication is about becoming suitable and comfortable, I have to say I have found work in a “domesticated” field doesn’t quite fit that definition. From scrubbing and sweeping to stirring, creating a hospitable environment isn’t the least bit comfortable behind the scenes. I love the batches of brownies and the trays of bread pudding, but to call this work domesticated is euphemistic at best. Honestly, it’s been years since I left work physically tired. It’s been even longer since my body literally ached from a day of work. But this cooking and caring for a cafe is just that–work. Good, honest labor that leaves my body tired…and some days sore. I don’t think it should be otherwise; I don’t think I desire it being otherwise.
But I do think about everything my self-righteous mind has thought about home-makers. The June Cleaver stereotype with the pressed dress and perfectly pristine apron. I realize after two short months with home-making as a profession how Leave it to Beaver truly left the reality of homemaking behind. This work of home is not for the faint of heart, and this labor of hospitality is not pristine. It is a full-bodied vocation.