My Friend Murphy

It is the law of Murphy that on the busiest day of your week, you’ll have to run a kid in to the doctor to get him checked for an ear infection (and simultaneously tested for Covid because this is the life we live).

It is also the law of Murphy that on the day your house looks like a school supply store threw up on it and the girls have decided to put every bow they own in your hair and you haven’t managed to find the time to clean up after breakfast, you’ll have maintenance show up at your door to fix the broken faucet (and three other things you’ve forgotten to call in about).

It is also-also the law of Murphy that on the night you’re hoping for significant sleep before you start a week that’s already wearing you out, the smoke detectors will go off not once or twice but three times. And, naturally, you will have been dreaming about putting out a fire, so then it will trigger that panic feeling where you think you might actually be psychic and you’re supposed to be paying attention to your dreams because what if there is actually a fire and you just can’t find it because it’s playing hide-and-seek with you and the second you fall back asleep it will jump out from where it’s been stowing away and yell “A-HA! GOT YOU!” and then burn your house (with all your pets and children in it) to the ground.

And because the law of Murphy has been in effect all week, you can go ahead and assume that since your husband is leaving for a work trip Thursday, on Wednesday he will end up stuck at the squadron until after Taps has played. You will discover that you forgot at least three items when you went to the grocery store. Items like popcorn and bananas that stand between you and the mutiny of the herd. You should prepare yourself for the eventuality that the pets will barf on at least one thing you really like, that your youngest will require post-tantrum naps almost every other day (and you will too), and that, at some point, a kid will break another one of your dwindling set of antique drinking glasses and you’ll have to be a good sport about it.

And you will wait, your nerves standing on tiptoe, leaning out over a precipice, to find out what else will happen—what else—because you know that it’s only a matter of time before Murphy remembers that this is His Week and decides to exert dominance over you once again while giggling maniacally and launching himself around all the corners of your home yelling, “Plot twist!"

And then you will remember that it’s Tuesday (only Tuesday), and that life is just funny. Murphy is a ridiculous trickster you get to laugh at instead of being upset by. The house did not burn to the ground and Wednesday with its hypothetical late night and pet barf and broken dishes has not actually happened. You still have the ability to drink a cup of tea and tell your nerves where to get off.

Because here’s the thing: Murphy will trot in and out of our lives with regularity: things will go wrong, accidents will happen, frustrations will arise. And we can see this as proof that all the other things are ready and waiting to go to pot too, or we can laugh, remembering that there are far bigger things in the world that are of actual significance—and Murphy’s Law is not one of them.

So, here’s to you, Murphy. I don’t plan on willingly inviting you into my house, but any time I find you creeping in through the gap at the top of the screen door, I plan on getting as many laughs in as I possibly can.

There’s enough grief in the world to cry over, and Murphy’s Law doesn’t make the cut.