“You don’t have kids with the intent of retaining a clean house. Kids are sources of chaos and disorder. Get over that fact. Where does that disorder come from? It’s because they are experimenting with their environment. Everything is new to them.”
— Neil deGrasse Tyson
When I was younger, I had a vision for the way my home would look when I was an adult.
It would look like something from a Michael Mann film — all chrome and steel with clean lines and large windows. And it would be pristine. There would be nothing out of place.
There are people that will tell you that places don’t hold memories, that they’re stored in your head and in your heart, always with you.
It is true that we carry memories with us, but it’s also true that a place, an object, a song, or even a smell can act as a time machine, transporting us back to a time and place that we had thought was lost to the sands of time.
I loved the constant energy; the seemingly countless restaurants and bars; the long, lazy brunches; the pockets of culture like museums and historical sites; the skyscrapers and alleyways; knowing the hidden places that felt like secrets and the corner food cart that served the best breakfast after a long night.
Perhaps most of all, there was no yard work that needed to be done. I had grown up on four acres and my father, born and raised in the city, became like a farmer on the weekends. I’d help him not only cut grass and weed whack, but also with rototilling, stump pulling, tree cutting, and rock moving.
It’s a cliché that having a child changes your life forever, but things become clichés because they’re true, and one of the biggest adjustments is just how much stuff children come with and how difficult it is to keep it all organized.
The Passion of Christopher Pierznik 