around my home, i see broken toys. ceiling cracks. mismatched pajamas. pillows on the floor instead of the couch.

open dvd cases. a near-empty pantry. dog hair scattered across hardwood and tucked into the corners. unwashed dishes. frosted mini wheats in couch cushions.

shoes. tipped over dump trucks.

books with torn pages.

preschool paperwork. trash bags filled with clothes for donation. sticker books. headphones. a collection of dinosaurs.

a dusty wedding picture and beanbag chairs. apple juice sits on the kitchen counter top.

the quiet glow of a baby monitor.

unhung artwork. blocks mixed in with stuffed animals. a dog’s empty water dish.

markers with incorrect tops. pieces of t-shirts peaking out of a drawer. journals and book proposals. pens that have run out of ink.

a remote control helicopter.

footballs and baseballs and glittery bouncy balls.

old birthday cards. an easter basket in the shape of a turtle. chew toys and a box of old checks. the lips of a mr. potato head.

sidewalk chalk. a piggy bank and a nightlight. necklaces hang from the knob of a chest of drawers.

a series of photo booth shots stick out of the corner of a mirror.

a crooked lampshade. car keys next to an old wallet. books that have fallen off of a nightstand. a trash can begging to be emptied.

sunglass cases and extension cords. a bottle of bubbles.

unused coupons and old love notes.

i see pieces and bits and scraps of our day-to-day. puzzles and play-doh. backpacks and costume hats and undone laundry still in the dryer.

spilled candle wax on the carpet and an ipad with a dying battery.

coffee mugs and sippy cups.

strawberry jelly on the cutting board.

a mess by definition. a need for organization and cleanup. not a catastrophe, but a mess nonetheless. not many things are in its place.

put away. tidied up.

that can wait. paul walked in the door with coffee and donuts. jackson wants to “snuggle and love.”