Clean House

"Your house will never be clean again. Get over it."

I was given this advice in several different forms when Ryan was born. And all those advice givers? They were right. Although I'm not certain I could claim that my house was ever really all that clean with only two kids (or only one for that matter. . . ).

It's okay; I'm getting over it.

And I'm trying to teach my heart to love the mess because it was made by the world's cutest mess-makers. I realize that one day I'll no longer be stepping on matchbox cars while trying to tackle the dishes in the sink, hockey sticks won't always be scattered around the garage, and Play-dough won't always be stuck in between the leaves of my kitchen table. In fact, someday I'll be glad they banged their spoons so hard against the wood table that it's left dents. I'll be able to trace my fingers around them and brag that my little boys made those.

For now, smile that I can measure the height of my children by the marks on the wall:

So they were right. . .

"Your house will never be clean again. Get over it."

(and, by the way, your flower pots are toast!)