I walked into my kitchen this morning to get a cup of coffee, momentarily reveling in the fact that the room was clean. I wasn't being confronted by dirty dishes, crumbs on the counter tops, breakfast things from this morning, or bread crumbs left out from the night before. It was a wonderful feeling allowing me to breathe deeply, if only for a moment, and relax. Then I prepared my coffee, spilling tiny flakes of powdered milk onto the counter.
I've noticed something. When one lives alone it makes more sense to try and avoid messes before they have begun; it makes sense because you have a measure of control over your own activities. In marriage it makes sense to institute damage control because there are now two people in the house, each of them acting semi-independently so that, even if the rooms are clean before you leave the house in the morning, there is no guarantee they will remain that way until you return home.
Living with children it seems better, in most food related cases anyway, to let the mess be made and come along to sweep or vacuum it up later. This you will find to be true with oatmeal, cheerios, crackers, grapes, etc., but also with sandboxes, and wading pools, and other toys made to be played with outside. This however does not apply when those messy items have begun to be strewn throughout the house.
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I feel fairly certain that if a tornado the size of Alabama wiped the state off the map, sucking with irresistible force every inch of AL into the atmosphere, not leaving even a speck of dirt behind, if then, someone came to the barren, rocky crag where our house once sat, there in the desolation and emptiness they would find a Cheerio.
That's the longest sentence I've ever written.
I have the urge to read Faulkner.
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