Entropy Reigns

The second law of thermodynamics is pretty complicated. I'm not going to pretend to remember all of it, nor can I work those ridiculously complicated equations that I was so familiar with in my college physics classes. Come to think of it, the only reason I survived Physics I was my husband's help, and the only reason I survived Physics II was that I was really good friends with the smart, engineer-type Navy people in my class (my husband told me: "you're on your own, baby"  once I enrolled in that second physics class).
However, I do recall that entropy is a very important part of the second law of thermodynamics, and part of that idea is that isolated systems (i.e. my house) tend to move from order to disorder.
Well, thanks, Sir Newton, that explains a lot.  It must explain why, when I go to bed at night, the house is in order, but a few hours after waking the next morning, it looks like a baby store exploded all over my house. So did the laundry basket, for that matter. Just exactly WHO is wearing all these clothes?! And how did the sink fill with dishes again? Who's eating all the food that I just bought at the store?
Entropy reigns.
In college, entropy plagued my dorm--it was slightly messy, but by the standards of some other dorms, it was actually kind of clean. Papers and assignments and notes scattered all over my desk, books were everywhere--sometimes even used as tables to hold decorative plants!  Dishes proliferated in the kitchen.  I liked to say that our place (my roommate was in one accord with me on this) was "clean enough to be healthy, and dirty enough to be happy." I was happy enough to accept that entropy reigns.
  I married Bobby, and we kept a pretty tidy home. I always had friends complimenting me on the tidiness of it when they visited. We learned the pattern of an adult life---go to work, pay bills, run errands, have a little fun with friends on weekeds--and our life seemed to be in pretty good order. I thought I had banished entropy from our home. "Defy those laws of physics, girl!"   It wasn't that hard, as there were only two people living in my home, both of whom were grown and could pick up after and provide for themselves. Easy, right?
Add one small baby, and BOOM! Entropy reigns anew. Diapers. Bottles. Strollers. Onesies and hats and toys and blankets and books and..and..and....
I am humbled. Just when I think, "I'm a smart woman, I have it all together, and I can do this thing called "life" and do it well..." That's when I discover that I have placed my car keys (with small cannister of pepper spray attached) in the freezer, the chips in the refrigerator, and...where is that gallon of milk? How did it get in the bathroom?! Why did I walk into this room? What was I about to do? (the answer to that last question is probably laundry. It's always laundry.) Did I feed the dog today? Ask her---she says no, I didn't. But she lies. She always lies, and it won't be the last time she gets "second breakfast" out of me.
  But I've found that entropy shouldn't be banished. It makes life much too interesting. And who DOESN'T want a glass of milk right after they've stepped out of the shower? That's why there's a gallon of it sitting in the bathroom sink. Don't ask, just chug. You'll have entropy to thank for those strong bones.
P.S.:  Mom and Dad--aren't you glad that those thousands of dollars you paid for me to go to college served me so well? I can't work equations anymore, and I don't build rockets,  but I CAN explain why I can't keep a clean house. Money well spent?

Music to My Ears

This might be the only "productive" thing I get done all day. I think this monstrous headache I've had for three days is the product of a sinus infection, and any motivation I might have started my day with has long since tucked its tail and run. Here's hoping the doctor I will visit in the morning is able to straighten this thing out. I've, again, gained even more appreciation for my own mother, who more times than I can count spent her days caring for me when she felt under the weather. "That's what mothers do" is what she would say to me. It was a simple statement of fact, never a complaint. My mother is a superhero.
  My son seems oblivious to my pain, which is exactly how I want it. He has spent all day eating, sleeping, and cooing. Cooing is his newest developmental achievement. He's two and a half months old this week, and he spent this Sunday's church service learning how to vocalize. Loudly. My apologies to my pastor and fellow church members for the squawking and "ooohhh"-ing you heard in the back of the sanctuary yesterday. That was my son, not-so-silently reflecting on his past week during the time of SILENT confession. He missed the SILENT part. Sorry about that. And he doesn't have much to confess yet, anyway, unless you count how very WRONG the contents of his diapers can sometimes be.
  Thankfully, my church has recently experienced a boom of babies, and my son was not the only one speaking his mind during the service. We only received appreciative grins from the churchgoers around us. Never once has someone glared at us for not keeping him quiet. We're grateful for such a child-friendly congregation. I think we all realize what a tremendous blessing it is to have so many children in our presence. It also makes for interesting services, and our pastors are very flexible and keep a sense of humor about them when the most somber of moments are interrupted by happy (and sometimes unhappy) infants. Nothing like listening to ten babies squealing during a baptism. I'm quite sure that Jesus approves and smiles on moments like those. He probably had a few infants  in the crowd that gathered to witness His own baptism.
   I'll finish this afternoon and begin this evening by hopefully cooking something edible for dinner. I guess that will allow me to chalk up two productive actions for the day. And my "kitchen help" will sit on the counter in his Bumbo seat, cooing and waving his arms and talking up a storm. It's music to my ears.
   
   

Something Beautiful

Today I joined a dear friend for lunch. She's one of those friends who helps me gain perspective, remember what's really important, chill out when life is careening into total chaos...you know, the -iron sharpening iron- pick me up when I've fallen on my face- laugh with me about the ridiculousness of myself- type of friend.    As we're both fairly new to the whole motherhood thing, we talked about our newest priorities, the struggle to maintain a household, maintain a marriage, and maintain some semblance of a normal social life. (Social life: periodic times in our lives where we can talk in sentences composed of more than three words, using words longer than three letters long, with an adult, regarding topics other than cat, dog, book, bottle, or diaper.) And mostly we laughed at our struggles, because if we keep a sense of humor about it, these struggles are hilarious.
  A priority we both agreed on is the need to cherish the struggles, even when they don't make us laugh. We both really want to remember these sweet times, which include the sleepless nights with screaming children, even the times when our kids have snotty noses and coughs and somehow manage to make a "snail trail" on our dark shirts in public when they rub their faces on us.  We especially want to remember the first time our children smile, the first time they get shots at the doctor's office, the first time they scare the crap out of us, the times they make us laugh until we cry, and definitely the first time we look at our lives  and think, "WOW!! What an amazing, merciful God I have that would give me such a gift." (Praise God from Whom all blessings flow!)
  One way she encouraged me to remember these times is to create a blog. This is something many family members have already encouraged me to do (so they can keep up with the latest and greatest thing my child is doing) but I have balked, mainly because I fear that no one will really want or need to hear what I have to say. Or worse, that they'll really want to hear what I have to say. (No pressure, right?)  
  In the end, I've decided to create this site for my husband, my son, and myself, so that we can look back one day, remember and laugh at our struggles. So that my boys can know how much I love their part in my life, even through the sleepless nights and snotty t-shirts and zombie-like mental states in which I so often find myself. So that they can know I remember the important stuff (like the first time I watched my husband change a diaper with his t-shirt covering his mouth and nose, or the first time my son grabbed a fistful of the dog's fur and squealed, or the first time the dog heard my son pooping his pants and turned and ran into another room), and that I cherish every bit of my life. I don't have anything life-changing to say. I just want to remember the important stuff.
  DISCLAIMER: This blog will be spotty, unpredictable, and maybe sometimes gross. That's because family life is spotty, unpredictable, and sometimes (ok, a lot of times) gross. I am not likely to write on a regular basis, but I'm hoping to write often enough. (So if you're reading this and you're one of the few people in this world who actually want to hear what I have to say, please don't pressure me to write more. I will not be able to preserve EVERY memory. I will simply try to preserve as many as I manageably can.)
So this blog is about preserving memories...and using vocabulary consisting of words greater than three letters long. If I don't use said words somehow, then my poor husband's ears are going to detach themselves from his head and run away screaming, because I have a tendency to talk faster than any teenage girl can on those days where I've not had a chance to use my "words." I don't have anything to prove. I just have a need to remember that this life I've been given, this gift of family, friends, joys and sorrows, truly is SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL.