Evidence

At the end of another cold-and-windy-stuck-indoors day in which I was trying very hard to clean house yesterday, I (woefully) lamented to my poor husband whose (somewhat unfortunate) duty is to lend a half listening ear to his wife's myriad of complaints about a variety of topics concerning the many children she so desperately longed for (each-and-every-sweet-little-one.) "It's really amazing." I began. (Not amazing in a good way, mind you.) "I'm pretty sure the kids literally shed rubbish. Like, it oozes from their actual bodies."  I (eagerly) continued. "A room can be perfectly clean, one of them can walk into it, turn around, walk back out, and immediately following, there will be scraps of paper, game pieces, marbles, magnets, beads, pennies, Barbie shoes, and rubber bands scattered the floor." I accurately recounted my observations from the fateful, messy, messy day. "HOW DO THEY DO THAT?" I expectantly inquired. (.....pause.....no response from my beloved, which I took as my que to carry on....)
"I mean, this extraordinary, uncanny ability to leave an absolute trail of destruction in their wake must come from your side of the family. My people are really tidy folks." ☺

Then, this morning as I pressed onward toward my (futile) mission: Deutschland Cleanliness (because I *clearly* thrive on earnestly attempting challenges in which I can not succeed) I saw this:
My refrigerator. Covered in springtime flowers, crafted by budding artists busy hands.

 
And this: My sweet Dolly's name written in sharpie, on the girls' hair thingy because as a rite of passage every child must surely write where they know they should not.

And this: The picture of some Star Wars guy colored by my little girl for her sister who was at school and hung by her bed as a surprise.

And this: The babydoll who was dressed for the day, taking a nap on her mommy's pillow.

And this: Prairie girl dresses and bonnets worn and played with almost every.single.day hanging on their hooks.

And this: A homemade iguana cage with a boy's "pet" resting inside under his bandanna blanket.

And this: The sign on the door with the girls' ages that will only be accurate for a moment in time....until it becomes outdated by a birthday.

And this: a boy's Little House lunch pail made from a kleenex box and green string, packed for "school."

And this: Blocks taped together to make a table for the Barbie who would sit in the blue chair.

And this: The puzzle in progress, fitting together bit by bit, worked on during a free minute here, another there.

And this: A game piece left out after brothers played together.

And this: Dinosaurs who battled and fought, complete with human sound effects.

And this: The DVD case left on the table after asking if "we could watch 2 in a row!?"

And this: The blankets and bowl by my bed where a sick child slept last night.

And this: The message on a whiteboard written especially for his parents (and the dog, Arrow.)

And, I smiled at my abundantly blessed, good lot to have such a messy house.
My home is full of evidence.
Evidence of activity.
Evidence of busyness.
Evidence of learning.
Evidence of playing.
Evidence of fighting.
Evidence of sorting things out.
Evidence of growing up so quickly, right before my very eyes.
Evidence of days and years of life and love and childhood lived here.

Everywhere I turn, there is this remarkable, beautiful evidence that these amazing

(in a completely good way ☺)

little people I love have left behind.

I just hope I'm not too busy cleaning it up to take it all in.
Because one day the house will be tidy.
The children will be grown.
And the evidence will be a memory.
♥