My house is a mess. All the time. There are toys everywhere, food on the floor, dirt multiplies at an alarming rate.
And it’s ok.
The mess in the living room gets neglected for a few minutes because William wants me to help him make name tags to play school. The food on the floor sits a bit because Ben needs help with his train.
It’s beautiful chaos, every minute of every day. But this is the stuff that memories are made of. The boys will never remember that Mom let the kitchen be messy. What they will remember are all the times that I let them help me bake cookies and lick the batter, all the while ignoring the flour all over the floor.
It’s the good stuff they will hang on to- the beauty within the mess.
I Dream of Naptime 