I have an intellectual appreciation for the Second Law of Thermodynamics.  Philosophically and spiritually, it just makes sense.  Everything always deteriorates.  The universe is not ultimate and we are sinners.  Right.  Yes.  Of course.

BUT, I’m completely flabbergasted when things in a four-room apartment inhabited for 14 hours out of the day by a pair of neat, clean adults deteriorate.  Why?  Why does the carpet get matted and crumby?  Why is there are always a sink, counter and stovetop full of dirty dishes to be done?  Why is there always a huge pile of unsorted mail (The Black Hole, Andy affectionately calls it)?  Why is there a coagulated mass of greasy, blackened, oozing grossness frying away under the gas burner when I am trying to cook a nice meal?

Everything in the universe may slip into disarray but MY home should always be neat and orderly, smelling of baked bread and cinnamon candles, breathing that fresh aroma of peace, joy and marital unity to all.  At least that’s what I used to think.  Until I resigned myself to the fact that no, I am not above the natural laws of physics… nor, for that matter, the effects of the Fall.  We’re all better off (me, my husband, and everybody else) if Leah just gets over herself and accepts the fact that yes, some days my home smells like burned split pea soup mixed with cheap delivered pizza while its inhabitants have migrated to separate rooms just to maintain the peace.  It’s all right, and it’s my smile that really makes the difference, anyways.