Wake up, change the baby’s diaper, set him down for Morning Play. Rock him to sleep after an hour, pray/meditate/write, make breakfast.
Day in, day out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Clean the dishes, play with the boys, take a shower during the baby’s second nap.
Wash, rinse and repeat.
I find the monotony of our daily rhythm to be soothing. Only rare crescendos into the unusually eventful. Only brief glimpses of the descent from such excitations. To the unappreciative eye, such routine may appear boring. But for a deep sensing mother like me making her way through an increasingly hyper-stimulating world, this measured sense of sameness feels safe. Especially with two young boys in tow.
This ever-steady cadence, my husband reminds me, will also lulls people straight to sleep. Do I really want to slumber through life like this? Because he doesn’t.
What a thrill to be fully present for the joyfully unexpected bursts of life!
Right?
Well, why does the idea of a thrill make me feel uneasy and queasy and hesitant at best?
What does “thrill” even mean? I decide to investigate.
thrill
/THril/
noun
a sudden feeling of excitement and pleasure.
"the thrill of jumping out of an airplane"
Hmm, let’s break this definition down and examine its constituent parts:
Initially, “Sudden” strikes me as uncalled for, jarring.
“Excitement,” even when preceding something seemingly positive, often feels uncomfortable in my body. For example, I recall laying in bed, the only person not attending my own birthday party as a kid because I felt absolutely sick to my stomach. I think I’ve grown to associate excitement with this undesirable state and therefore it has become something I low-key avoid.
“Pleasure” we’ll there you have it. I’ve been telling myself that life is a series of unceasing responsibilities I have to take care of. To break rank and orient towards pleasure feels both indulgent and irresponsible. I can’t do that! Can I?
A thrill is a jolt of energy in the nervous system. Like attaching a defibrillator to someone’s chest. I could choose to focus on how uncomfortable the shock must feel OR I could shift my focus to how the shock can help bring someone back to life! Miraculous!
After spending some time with this dictionary definition, I wonder whether a thrilling domesticity is actually possible. Initially, they seem like two ideas that can’t coexist well.
But then, a memory floats by: a hiring campaign I was once part of.
We interviewed a guy who had taken time away from his marketing career to be a stay at home dad. In an effort to both bridge the employment gap on his resume and to acknowledge the often overlooked work of parenting, he filled the space with clever job titles like “Short Order Chef” and “Minister of Fun.”
There’s value in injecting thrill into domesticity.
I want to keep a pulse on the vitality of our everyday life. Because in an effort to take our jobs as parents seriously, we’ve gotten a little too predictable. A little too rote.
I’m starting to see that we need occasional shocks to the system lest we slip into a comatose state. Starting with our calendar. Small changes are sustainable.
The other day, I took my boys to a non-profit art supply store. It was our first time there, and I immediately came to appreciate the work they do to collect extra materials from local businesses and redistribute them to teachers in our community for free.
While perusing their various curiosities, I came across a sign advertising their upcoming fundraiser gala: a 90’s themed prom where guests are encouraged to come dressed in their thrift store finest, make their own corsages and boutonnieres at the art stations spread around the ballroom and dine on reimagined cafeteria food elevated by local gourmet chefs.
A sudden feeling of excitement and pleasure runs down my spine.
I smile mid-daydream. This is going to be fun!