Adjusting to Matter

Yeah, I haven't written in a couple months. I'm coming back eventually, I think. I can't say anything with too much certainty these days. Except that I'm buried in life. I'm trying to find the joy in being buried, and I do most days. But really, I'm just trying to adjust to the stuff I'm buried in. All of it. I don't know why having a third one roaming around now has made everything in our house come out of its place indefinitely, but I can't seem to make any of it stay where it should be. And on top of being incredibly frustrating for my OCD neat-nick tendencies, I'm also left in the confused state of wondering what I should be doing with all of it. Do I try putting stuff away? I mean, they're just going to get it back out again in a few minutes. Maybe just leave it out until naptime. Yeah, just see how much MORE stuff they'll get out before then. And then just try to get them to help you put it all away so they can go to bed.

Right.

And some of the stuff, sadly, doesn't even have a rightful home. It just hangs out in the middle of the floor. Like the playpen. There's literally no available corner to shove it in, so it sits between the crib and the bookshelves in Caleb's room. Smack-dab in the middle of the room. That's its place. And there's plenty of things like that in here. This tiny cave we call home. We're not just running out of space. Space is being shoved out by us. It's like the plaque that builds up on your teeth; you have to go in every six months to get it removed to keep things clean. The stuff is plaque. It builds up and encroaches on the space in life. I'm forever trying to make space for three fast-growing bodies by selling, giving away, or just plain throwing away anything that has mass or takes up space. Solid matter. The plaque of life. If it's not liquid or gas...or breathing, it's [eventually] on its way out of this house! And until then, I'm just trying to figure out [with much prayer] how to manage the messiness with grace. I know, I know; it's GOOD for me.