Not a Museum, just a Home...

Chunks of spent toothpaste clinging desperately to the sink dodging the attempts by a four year old to send it away;

clumps of white shaving foam dotted with the grooming leftovers from a hurried morning routine;

long strands of scraggly dark hair swirling about on the bathtub and floor dodging the persistent fingers;

hand soap, lotion, and toothpaste tubes desperately longing closure;

carelessly tossed little shirts and socks speckling the floor after missing the wide-open laundry hamper.

Spoons laying about the floor, dropped by frustrated infant learning to self-feed or left carelessly after stirring or shoveling something in a hurry;

crumbs of crackers dashed to the ground by wobbling infant losing his balance frequently or his sister wrestling the said cracker out of his pincer grip;

half-eaten bowls of breakfast oatmeal and unfinished coffee mugs on the dining table;

minuscule sink jam-packed with just a recently used teapot and a little omelette pan;

glass, plastic, and paper piling in the nook waiting to be sorted and recycled;

little fluffs of kitty hair gathering on the carpet now that it is getting warmer and they are shedding.


Cushions piled all over the living room and fireplace attempting to pad the wobbly infant's fall;

bits of tissue and coloring pages enthusiastically torn and scattered by an inquisitive and energetic one year old;

a wooden block here, a dinosaur head there, a Tinker Bell shoe here, a squishy ball there... toys strewn about everywhere because anytime you try to have them put away you hear But I am still playing with it Amma!

Niggly enough things to encounter in a normal household, but colossal enough to tax my tolerance as I walk in the door after a long day at work, angry that they didn't get sorted out in the whirlwind of a morning.

And then, I glance at my little wall of inspirational quotes in the kitchen to find something that speaks straight to me: My house is clean enough to be healthy, and messy enough to be happy.