Be it Never So Humble, This is Our Home

In the cosmic struggle between order and chaos that takes place on a daily basis on the great battlefield known as my home, the one sure loser is the house.

When we moved into our latest residence, I kept waiting for the Posh police to come by and forcibly evict us. "I'm sorry, you folks exceed the toddler tolerance policy as prescribed by fancy homes everwhere. You will have to leave."

Slowly, the house had to acclimate to the plethora of grubby fingers that left marks on walls and door knobs. The ceiling had to come to terms with th occasional super ball that would bounce against it and the airplanes that sometimes glided from the second floor onto the crown molding. Wooden floors found themselves tasked with children engaged in sock skating and carpets have found themselves, the home of more than 1000 legos. The gourmet kitchen served toasted waffles and peanut butter and jelly on an almost daily basis, and the showers had little mermaid, army men, tub tints and bath crayons, bubble bath and monkey shower curtains.

We tried fancier bedding, furniture and lighting, but twelve bulging laundry baskets frequently injured any ambiance the large master bedroom. The plastic portable infant tub, port-a-potty and toddler bath chair in the master bath also hampered any air of sophistication that our home might otherwise have.

Late at night, I swore I could hear the joists and the beams of the house creaking and moaning, "Where are the Eglands?" "When are you coming back?"

Two years into home ownership, I bought a shoe organizer and a closet now looks like it might possibly not be taxed beyond physical capacity as a result. One room down, fifteen to go. At this rate, the house will be in perfect order in thirty years, by which time, I hope the house is wondering, "Where did everybody go?"