Mi Casa

Originally published in the Fall 2007 issue of The MotherHood

Mi Casa

by Kathy Monahan

I was at a bit of a loose end when I found out that the theme of this issue was House and Home, because I can't think of anything about which I'm less qualified to write, except maybe beekeeping, or quantum physics. My relationship to my living space is haphazard at best. I don't clean; I don't decorate; I don't have guests. Every now and then I look up from my book and think dimly "I wonder why this place is such a s**thole?" And then I shrug and keep reading, because I'm the kind of person for whom that question is a Zen koan -- not to be accessed with linear reason.

As usual, I consulted with my husband on the matter of what to write, but unfortunately he is the same kind of person, so our discussion was a little bit like two blind people talking about the color blue.

"Maybe you should write about moving."

"What?"

"Or the room you had growing up."

"What?"

"Visiting family in the summertime?"

"What?"

"Well, what do you think 'home' means to you?" he finally asked.

"I dunno," I said blankly. "Snacking, I guess."

Which was true, but not helpful. My homecoming ritual consists of ditching my stuff by the door, changing into pajamas at light speed and hitting my easy chair with an Agatha Christie novel and something crunchy and salted in a bag. That sentence is 35 words long; there was no way I was going to make a column out of it.

So it was time to turn to the focus group I call "People I Know" for an informal poll. "What object or activity means 'home' to you?" was the sixty-four-dollar question. "The weirder the better -- I won't put your name in it." A couple of phone calls, a couple of emails, a departmental dinner with $150 in specialty cocktails, and I had my statistical sampling.

The most embarrassing thing I learned was that I'm the only one I know who translates home through food. I figured there would be a lot of comfort eating, but it turns out it's just me (which explains my girlish figure). No, if there was any overarching theme in my poll results it had to do with family -- specifically, with taking care of family. The baby's bedtime, the dog's evening walk, the cat's dinner and similar rituals of caretaking seem to form the bedrock of relaxation and belonging.

One friend of mine, the father of a three-year-old boy and a girl on the way, is happiest when he and his wife are listening to their son talk himself to sleep on the baby monitor. The monitor is very important: it allows the family to be together even though everyone's in their own space; if they were all in the same room, it wouldn't work. Two other friends, each of whom is caring for a sick and aging pet, can't relax until their fur kids are comfortable; but with the medication administered and the dinner eaten, everyone involved can take a deep breath and enter their comfort zone.

Even for those who've already been in the house for hours, "home time" often can't start until everyone is home. Many people I know who have children tell of their children having trouble sleeping while their parents are out of the house. For that matter, my husband is [REDACTED] years old and he still has trouble with that; I work nights, and I had to change my work schedule so I could get home in time for him to get a full night's sleep. There's even a dog of my acquaintance who can't eat unless her owner is there.

Once the kids are asleep, the pets are fed and happy and the dinner dishes are washed, the moment that says "home" the loudest seems to be the moment before me-time. The relaxing activities that are personal to us -- reading, television, crafts, internet chatting -- are still activities, after all, and once we start doing them we don't have space in our brains for their philosophic implications. It's the anticipation, the first fully drawn breath between duty and pleasure, that roots us in our space.

I can't say I got any kind of personal epiphany out of this information, although I suppose I feel a little bit like cleaning the bathroom now, and maybe putting up some pictures. I do think I'll pay a little more attention to my homecoming ritual in the future: talking for a few minutes about my day, kissing my husband good night, sitting down and taking a deep breath. And then snacking.