Last night there was a slotted spoon between the couch cushions, and a baseball among the snacks in the kitchen cupboard. I am pretty sure you could find enough wooden tracks underneath the couches to build a Figure 8 set for Thomas and his cheeky Friends.
Hubby says to me as he looks in the trash, "Why is there a cowboy hat in the garbage can?"
Found more makeup in there along with it. And Gray's pants.
Before I became a mother, I remember very clearly attending a party at someone's house, and this someone had kids. The kind of kids that I swore I'd never have. And they kept their home how I swore I'd never keep it- there were toys in plain view in the living room! The carpet wasn't vacuumed. There was crayon on the wall!
Those judgements I made back then haunt me everytime I walk past a crayon-marked hall in my house today. I had to laugh as I picked up random odds & ends before going to bed, straightening up and finding imprints of where the kids had been that day. I am not reminded of their inability to keep any room of our house toy-free. I am not reminded that they did not put away/pick up/throw out that thing I told them to earlier.
I am reminded that they live here. And I love it. And I wouldn't have it any other way.