How is it that — thanks to children — I no longer have a gag reflex at the sight of someone else’s vomit, feces, or urine, but I about lose my mind when I see crayons on the carpet?
Entropy is the natural order of things, so why am I so irritated when they trash my house? I don’t feel disrespected. They’re just doing what comes naturally. But the clutter, the disorganization, the spills, the stains, the cups of curdled milk under the furniture, the toys strategically placed for maximum tripping effect, the dirty underwear on the couch, the stairs, and the dining table … it’s chipping away at my soul.
Sisyphus and his stone-rolling had nothing on a housewife picking up after young children.
I’m asking this as a serious question: why is order so important for my (and most other adult people’s) sanity? When I know that I will look back on this time in my life as a golden era, why am I struggling to appreciate in the now all of the aspects that I will remember fondly in the future? I know that someday there will come a morning when I wake up and the house I cleaned the night before will still be clean. So why can’t I feel chill about it all?
I’m going to have to think about it and get back to you.
Categories: The Kids