A House That Looks Like We Live Here
I usually notice it when I walk back into a room and see it all at once. Toys spread farther than they should, a forgotten milk cup on the floor that’s definitely been there too long, and a small pile of something I meant to take care of earlier and didn’t. It’s the kind of mess that doesn’t come from one big moment, but from a whole day of living.
It’s the kind of mess that doesn’t come from one big moment, but from a whole day of living.
You know the houses you scroll past sometimes, the quiet, bright, perfectly styled ones with white couches and neutral toys lined up just right? The kitchens that always look ready for a photo. Our house isn’t that, and honestly, it never really has been.
The other day I walked into the living room and my oldest was sitting right on the floor, completely focused on a cutting project she’d made up for herself. Tiny paper scraps were everywhere. The table was only a few feet away, and for a second I wondered why she hadn’t used it, until I realized she was perfectly happy right where she was.
Her bedroom usually looks about the same. It’s often a full-on Barbie obstacle course. If you’ve ever stepped on one of those tiny plastic pieces in the dark, barefoot, you already know how that ends. And somehow, even after I’ve just cleaned, the living room can go from feeling under control to feeling completely taken over in what seems like minutes. My youngest doesn’t really make messes on purpose. She just quietly follows everyone around and adds to whatever is already happening.
There are days it gets to me more than I like to admit. Laundry piles up faster than I expect. The fridge always needs to be cleaned out again. There’s usually something sitting on the counter that doesn’t belong there. Some weeks it feels like I’m just resetting the same spaces over and over.
But mixed into all of that are small moments I wouldn’t trade. A story being told from the floor while scissors keep snipping. A bedroom full of dolls because a very serious Barbie wedding or medical procedure is in progress. Laughter drifting in from the other room when I thought everyone had finally settled down. Even the mess has a rhythm to it.
Sometimes we clean together, not in a perfectly organized way, but more like tossing stuffed animals back into their bin and calling it a win. My daughter usually turns it into play, which means about half the room actually gets picked up, and most days I let that be enough. Other times, we don’t clean right away. The laundry waits and we sit down for a movie instead. The mess stays because the moment feels more important.
The mess stays sometimes, because the moment feels more important.
And sometimes I just laugh, like the day our dog completely lost her mind barking at a truck driving past while I was in the middle of a work call. Not a quick bark, either, but a full announcement. I muted myself and shook my head, because of course she would pick that exact moment.
This house isn’t quiet and it isn’t styled, but it is full. There are dance parties in the kitchen, pillow forts that take over the living room, storytime that stretches longer than I planned, small hands tugging at me when I finally sit down, and a little voice that always remembers one more thing she needs to tell me before bed.
I used to feel like I should be doing a better job keeping up with all of it. Now, most days, I’m just grateful that it looks like this. A little messy, a little loud, and a little unfinished. A house that very clearly belongs to the people living inside it.
