Ice, Ice . . . (I can't bring myself to finish this song lyric)

Maybe you can judge the state of my emotional health and well-being by the status of my ice box.

I like ice.

When we moved to our new home we purchased a lovely Samsung refrigeration unit that featured an ice maker.

Because I like ice.

But alas. Our home did not come equipped with a water connection to said ice maker.

I was sad.

Because I like ice.

I do not like ice cube trays. I don't like how they appear stackable but are in fact only stackable if the water is already frozen inside of them.

That doesn't make any sense.

I was forced to reach a compromise, however.

Because I like ice.

I bought one ice tray. Yes. Just one.

And one ice tray is really enough to keep an ice box full.

On days when I remember. On days when the house is tidy and the kids put away their toys after every play time. On days when the laundry is caught up and the meals are planned ahead of time. On days when no one spills milk or applesauce or juice or cheerios. On days when I don't have sixteen errands to run in two different states. On days when the dog doesn't pee on the floor and Piper doesn't empty the full box of baby wipes all over her bedroom.

On days where none of those things happen I have a system. I empty and refill the ice tray every time I fill my glass of water. Every time I walk to the sink. Before every meal. Before I go to bed at night. As soon as I wake up.

So if my ice box is overflowing with cubes, that is a pretty good sign that things are running smoothly at this house. Peace is nearly attainable. Calm is the norm. The situation is well at hand.

All that to say . . .

You should see my ice box right now.

The ice supply is rapidly depleting. (Laundry is piling up. Toys are scattered. Meals are haphazard.)

And it looks as if it will only get worse before it gets better.

Today I sat that one ice cube tray on the red hot eye of the stove.

(Only the smelly white remnants remain.)

Uh-oh.