A Letter to Mr. Murphy

Dear Mr. Murphy:
Even though I find you and your laws quite annoying, it seems like I obey them on a regular basis. Especially, in regards to washing my van, cleaning up after Elvis, general housekeeping, mopping my floor - and parenting.

Murphy's Law, Case Study #1--The Van: If I wash it, it will rain. Not just any rain, but one of those filthy mudstorms. The kind of rain that it takes running your van through twice just to get it looking clean. I should offer my services to any state in drought like conditions--just fly me out, loan me a car to wash - and you'll have the ark a floatin' in no time.

Murphy's Law, Case Study #2--It takes a Village: If it becomes necessary to raise my voice at my children (who are we kidding - you know I mean a full throttle yell), inevitably a window will be open or someone (like the home teachers) will be knocking at my door. Can you say awkward?

Murphy's Law, Case Study #3--A House of Order: When I finally decide to catch up on my laundry, and I've just folded the final towel to add to the mountain -- someone (most likely the girl in the neighborhood with a maid and plenty of time on her hands) will ring the doorbell and want to come in and visit.

Murphy's Law, Case Study #4--The King and I: Anytime I clean out the litter box, Elvis will have to go--and he's not shy about it. But, you can't just leave it at that--can you Mr. Murphy? No, you must take it to a whole new level. You see, the minute the litter box has been dumped, cloroxed, lysoled, dried - and is ready to have new litter dumped in it - you must encourage Elvis to jump in and do his deed before the fresh litter has been put in. You are a wily one.

Murphy's Law, Case Study #5--Shines like the top of the Chrysler Building: When I mop the floor, it is guaranteed that a bottle of something especially sticky and messy will spill on the floor THAT VERY DAY. In the past year, this has included a broken bottle of worchestshire sauce, a bottle of apple juice, a can of sprite, a bowl of jello, a jar of Ragu spaghetti sauce (a mess of epic proportions--because it involved a 9 year old boy covered head to toe in red, my pantry, under my fridge, etc--I'm still finding spots of sauce in odd places), -- the list is truly endless.

But, Mr. Murphy - I have beat you at your own game! Finally, I know the answer to your shenanigan ways. It is a little thing I call reverse psychology.

Let's rewind a bit to the first of this week. At the top of my "things to do" list was mopping. I had a slot scheduled for it on Monday. It was going to happen no matter what. My dear sister, Jilly, even called and wanted me to go to the mall with her. But, the mopping prevailed and I courageously told her no.

At the last minute - just as I was ready to mop, life got in the way - and I had to postpone the job. But you see, Mr. Murphy, the trap had been set. I had gone through so many motions of pre-mopping that you thought the deed had been done. So you set upon me as usual -- using Savvy and a big can of rootbeer as your scapegoat - only you were foiled!

The joke is on you my dear friend, Mr. Murphy, for I wasn't able to complete the mopping task until today at 5 pm. The day is almost over, and so far nothing extremely terrible has spilled, broke or secreted bodily fluids onto my freshly mopped floor (of course, I do realize that by saying this - all of the above could be happening as I type--after all it is YOUR law).

Obediently Yours,

Nic