Saturday, May 14, 2005
The Chaosinator
Anybody out there have any vertical piles in their house? Maybe your books are stacked neatly on your bedside table, or your magazines are artfully arranged on the coffee table. Or perhaps there are people who own containers with things IN them - you know, your single-sock basket has socks in it, your toy bin has toys in it, that sort of thing. Perchance your movies and DVD's are lined up in some semblance of order, or you have cupboards in your kitchen with kitchen things in them.

I writhe in envy at those of you who experience this. I used to be fairly organized. My things stayed where I left them, and I knew where any given paper or book or sock was at any given moment (or, in my mommy-addled state, I have deluded myself into believing that I was once like this). Now, Jacob has discovered the absolute joy of chaos, and I'm fighting the urge to just give in and let him destroy everything. He's still not quite mobile in the traditional sense of the word, but now through a combination of butt-scootching and rolling and stretching he can sort of morph anywhere in the house (it's a bit like the hour-hand on the clock, when I watch, it doesn't move, but if I look away and then back again, it's somewhere else altogether). And everywhere he goes, he leaves a path of destruction. It's like a slow-motion Tazmanian Devil.

But it's cute, so I sigh, put things back in their containers, and wonder whether I'm doing it to keep the house clean or to set up future entertainment for my little Chaosinator.

Jacob has recently learned to clap, and he now firmly believes that everyone on the planet has been placed there specifically to smile and clap at him. And maybe he's right, because that's what everyone does. He also shakes his head, which he does in direct response whenever we shake our heads "no" to him (as in, "Jacob, no, let's leave the folded clothes in the laundry bin," and other exercises in futility) along with a wrinkle-nose grin.

In other news, we're well on our way to moving into the new house. It's not an especially exciting or unique house - a single-level ranch in a suburban neighborhood with a fenced-in yard - but it's low-maintenance and convenient. I'll wait on my 1800s-farmhouse-chock-full-o'-charm dream a few more years.

Have to run, I'm in the middle of cleaning out my car, which hasn't been done thoroughly in five years, and it's about time to vacuum up the carpet cleaner stuff. I know, there isn't a spray bottle in the world that can actually return that upholstery to anything approaching its original color, but at least the car won't smell like juice boxes and Cheerios for a few days.