Just A Ramble

I live in a house characterized by activity. It's always in motion, a state of stuff in flux.

This morning the kids have helped themselves to the contents of the craft closet. It's a peaceful chaos downstairs. I just checked in a few minutes ago and found the kitchen table covered in painted cotton balls, puddles of glue and paint splotches. There are paper bits and coffee filters and yarn all about. Markers, google eyes and paper bags. Plenty of cardboard. It's all wrapped together with little boys.

It's messy, but they're being good to each other, so I'll wipe it all down later.

We have the regular sort of messy life stuff too. The front door sticks and squeeks when it's really cold. Most of our toilets need their handles jiggled on a regular basis. There is toothpaste on the counter every day and a lost napkin under the chair in the living room. There are socks on the floor in every room of the house. There is always at least one load of dirty laundry needing to be done and one needing to be folded. Night lights get left on. The coffee is almost always cold when I want to drink it. When I walk through the house, all the lights are on either at noon or 2AM.

Each room has great piles of books. Ones read, ones part read and others waiting patiently to be read. There are dog toys and dog hair. Our vacumn needs a new belt. Again. Those things just aren't very durable. There are sticks and rocks and little people on the kitchen counter. Barney is in the dishwasher. The dishwasher is running again and the phone keeps ringing. More math work sheets need to be copied and my carpet seems to have a nice covering of staples. Our screens and windows have fingerprints, nose prints and crayon drawings. Things are always taped to the walls. Our fridge has magnets, pictures, photos and stickers. Lots of stickers.

One shoe is always missing. So is one glove, mitten and sock. The favorite shirt is always waiting to be washed and the hand towels have hand prints.

But.

The smell is often dinner cooking or muffins baking or brownies cooling. The sound is kids. They're yelling, chasing, teasing, reading to each other and playing music. They are shouting and laughing. They are playing and saying Hey Mom. There are puppets and monsters. Hugs that are so strong they are painful.

These are the kinds of lists of nothings that don't seem to count for anything, but in reality, are everything. Life is made up of the nothings. It's the leaf sprouting on the kitchen counter, the cookie shared, a sticker stuck and not removed, a hug given just because, puppet shows put on together and frogs in the laundry room that count. Songs sung at the dinner table, indoor squirt gun fights in winter and the freedom of live a life are the things that make the memories of our lives.