A Beautiful Mess
A beautiful mess. Shoes on the floor, dirty clothes stroon throughout the house, dishes stacked in the sink, pajamas still on, and children’s hair not combed. This is my house every other Saturday morning. A beautiful mess. It’s a blissful thing to wake up to. Sure to some, they would be mortified but they don’t see what it means to me.
My Saturdays with my lolly pop guild at their father’s means I wake up to an emptiness. No shoes on the floor, no dirty clothes stroon throughout the house, dishes are done, and no little voices are squeaking down the hall. I shut their bedroom doors. It’s empty. On those mornings I walk around the house in hopes of a distraction from the silence. Turning on the TV and drinking my coffee and it's fine, until I feel myself waiting for Kierra to ask me to change it to cartoons. There are times I will catch myself about to call out to my kids asking what they are doing because silence in my house usually means something is wrong. Something is wrong.
My Saturdays with my lolly pop guild means I wake up to their squeaks, their laughter, I make cinnamon rolls and they only eat the top. It means cuddling on the couch and watching cartoons. It means pillow forts and telling them to stop fighting. It means a messy home; it means kisses and hugs, and yes, even attitudes. It means my house is back to a home.
Life is a mess. No one tells you this. No one tells you that the mess is the beauty. That your messy hair means you’re kids didn’t give you time to get ready and how beautiful that is. That a messy home filled with children is more beautiful than a clean empty house. That missing your children is a good and painful thing. That missing what you use to have is normal and ok.
Even love is mess. Love means finding happiness while you’re in the midst of sorrow because you had what everybody wants. Love means your heart is going to break, but breaks for all the right reasons. I’m learning that. My heart should only break because it is so full of love it cannot be contained. Love is never perfect, nothing is, but it should make you feel worthy. It should make you wake up with a satisfaction that even though they may not be presently there, you know they are yours. They belong to you and you belong to them, fitting together like a puzzle. We may be missing a piece but we still make up the picture. My little tribe might only consist of the 4 of us but, hey, so did the Fantastic 4.
It’s all a mess. That’s the blessing. Living in it. Being presently awake for every moment. The good, the bad, the happy, the sad. Rejoicing in the pain. Laughing through the fear. Smiling past your tears. I may forget this little golden nugget every now and then, I’m human, but on those Saturdays where my children are gone, I try to remember that life is a beautiful mess.