The Idea of Order at My House

I fantasized that in a new house, we would be new people. We would not pile up mail and papers on the dining room table. We would keep the toys in some designated well-organized space, rather than all over the living room. We would put the CDs back in their cases after we listened to them.

For a day or so, my fantasy seemed on its way to reality. I organized the girls' toys in the sun porch. I put a bowl for loose change on S's dresser. I stowed all the important papers and bills in my big work bag since the office was full of boxes and I haven't started work yet. (Note the subject of the verb in all these sentences. You can tell where this is going, can't you?)

Then I didn't pay attention for a few days. We went to New York. We finally got internet, and it took me a while to catch up with email and my friends' blogs. We went swimming.

By the time I realized it, it was too late.

Books have already piled up on the living room table. S has created a new dumping space on the shelf by the phone which is already covered with piles of coins, little pieces of paper with shopping lists and phone numbers (no names, of course), tops of pens, and cell phone cords. The sun porch is a pit of dressups. A hideous tangle of cords surrounds the TV, DVD, and stereo. The fridge contains a scary history of not-so-recent meals.

It's a nice new house, but we are still hopelessly us. I just want to scream.