I just got laundry put away. It's been a week of washing, forgetting, rewashing, folding, refolding, piling, placing, and finally put-awaying. I come into the boys room and am instantly exasparated.
Toys are strewn anout. There is a string cheese wrapper on the lego table (impossible since they aren't allowed to eat in their rooms after a singular ant attack our first spring in this house), and there are no less than 5 stuffies per bed. I get the clothes put away thanks to an easy little system I set up (as much for myself as them) and then on my hands and knees I begin to pick up toys.
A Batman helicopter next to a random Mr. Potatohead arm next to a Toy Story lunchbox.
Baby dolls and dress up clothes with lizards and dinosaurs.
The fire truck once again missing it's ladder despite numerous threats to keep it attached.
Ugh! These kids!!! I dreamed my whole life about this and its so hard! It's not perfect and I should be better. There is too much to do and not enough time and I don't do any of this "right".
And I don't know what it was, but in the next breath these things turned from chaos to treasure as I saw them through my babies' eyes. These are their items, their possesions, they live out their dreams and practice their futures, they trap bad guys and win races, rescue people and run and hide too. This is so far from exasperating, its exhilarating.
I'm entrusted with these remarkable humans, these wild, living, strong, needy, desperate, and miraculous little people. They drive me crazy and I cant live without them and I'm their mama and their home and my purpose in life is to make sure they have good lives and that is terrifying and humbling and I am failing so badly at it but trying really hard too.
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