Domestic Bliss

I hear the phrase "domestic bliss" bandied about, often sarcastically, yet I am almost certain that when I think of domestic bliss it is not what others think of. This question of happy domesticity has been on the edge of my thinking for almost a week now and it began while I was hanging clothes out to dry on the line. A domestic is what maids and cleaning staff have been called, but I am sure we don't think of theirs as happy jobs, so just why do we use the phrase "domestic bliss" to begin with? Why isn't it "spousal bliss," since that is where so many many people seem to think bliss is found? I know that there is more to the meaning of domestic than this, but this is the one bouncing around in my head this week. I am not too concerned with foreign vs. domestic political policy at the moment.


On this particular day, I had stepped into a hole that mysteriously showed up under my clothes line, but I hadn't dumped out the basket so I set to my task. More on that hole later. Isabella was puttering around in the yard being unusually self entertaining. Also unusually, there was only our own dog in the yard. All in all, pretty tame and mundane. It occurred to me that I was quite content and wondered at what point in life I had found contentment in things like this. There was a time when I hated hanging out clothes (and I still despise folding them). I recall an era of whining over picking green beans and doing Algebra to not have to help do something so ordinary as cook supper. Somewhere along the way, though, these bothers became not so bothersome.



It occurred to me later in the week, as I was blanching some peaches I had been given, that I was not not just content: I was in the midst of domestic bliss. I have since then torn up my couch and sort of put it back together again, put up more peaches, cooked many meals, and hung out many more baskets of clothes. I can't say that I was very blissful during the couch endeavor, but I am still quite thankful for the state in which I find myself. I remember when we got married almost ten years ago that I couldn't imagine being a stay home wife. Whatever would I do all day? We were neat and really, how many times would I have to mop the floor a day to not be bored? I enjoyed cooking and house things, but hadn't yet found my groove. Now, I know about drying, canning, making jam, baking bread, and have rediscovered all manner of garden stuff. I would love it if I suddenly could farm full time and do home stuff. Who knew I would want to be my mom?


I rather think domestic bliss has nothing to with romance, though the cook in this house doesn't mind being interrupted for a smooch. It has more to do with finding contentment and even joy in the everyday parts of life at home. It is the delight in unexpected bits of the day like that loaf of peach bread coming out of the pan unbroken. More importantly, it is the satisfaction in the expected bits like making a bed with fresh sheets just off the line, the ripe tomato eaten whilst still in the garden patch, in curling up with a small child for the reading of a bedtime story even when I am too tired. It is even just taking pride in hard work well done like cleaning the bathroom and knowing that one more chore is checked off the list. Do not mistake me. I think it would be hard to take pleasure in such things in an environment of discord and hate. I am not saying that anyone may be happy if they would just chose to. There is a tad bit more to it than that, but for me and my house, domestic bliss seems to abound and now that I am thinking about, it has been around for a long time. I just didn't think to look for it.