Not a Museum, just a Home...

Clumps of white shaving foam dotted with freshly trimmed mustache and beard from Papa's hurried morning routine;

chunks of spent toothpaste clinging desperately to the sink dodging the attempts by a four year old to send it away;

long strands of scraggly dark hair swirling about on the bathroom floor after a rushed morning brushing;

hand soap, lotion and toothpaste tubes desperately longing closure;

carelessly tossed little shirts and socks speckling the floor after missing the wide-open laundry hamper.


Spoons laying about the floor, dropped by frustrated infant learning to self-feed or left carelessly after stirring or shoveling something in a hurry;

crumbs of crackers dashed to the ground by wobbling infant losing his balance frequently or his sister wrestling the said cracker out of his pincer grip;

half-eaten bowls of breakfast oatmeal and unfinished coffee mugs on the dining table;

minuscule sink jam-packed with just a recently used teapot and a little omelette pan;

glass, plastic and paper piling in the nook to be sorted and recycled;

little fluffs of kitty hair gathering on the carpet now that it is getting warmer and they are shedding.


Cushions piled all over the living room and fireplace attempting to pad the wobbly infant's fall;

bits of tissue and coloring pages enthusiastically torn and scattered by an inquisitive and energetic one year old;

a wooden block here, a dinosaur head there, a doll shoe here, a squishy ball there... toys strewn about everywhere because anytime you try to have them put away you hear But I am still playing with it Amma!

Niggly enough things to encounter in a normal household, but colossal enough to tax my tolerance as I walk in the door after a long day at work.

And then, I glance at my little wall of inspirational quotes in the kitchen to find something that speaks straight to me: My house is clean enough to be healthy, and messy enough to be happy.

I take a deep breath and banish any expectations of the other adult in the house straightening these little incongruities that disturb my peace, roll up my sleeves and get to work right after the typical evening winds down.

As my roving eye finally registers satisfaction from a job (fairly) well-done, I realize that Cosmos, in its usual equitable way, has conspired to fill me with a double dose of sensitivity so that it all evens out in the end.

Not that this realization makes the job any easier again the next day, or stops any of these little disorders from rearing its ugly head day after day... but, I'll take a happy house even if it is a bit messy rather than a sterile museum-ish house devoid of warmth.