I have an Angry Birds balloon that has been floating throughout my house for over a week now. I have thought about knifing it, and getting it over with because this damn thing refuses to give up. If I didn’t pay $9 for it, I probably would’ve told my son the bird flew away to find the others, but instead I stare up at it blankly thinking “Why did I pay $9 for this?”. That is until my 3 year old asks me to leap 5 feet into the air and grab it with my fingertips so that he can give it a big hug and run around holding it. It’s at that moment that I remember why I don’t mind having a hovering bird in my living room and occasionally getting sucked into the kitchen fan.

It’s my house. It’s a mess. Filled with toys, and small little parts that you laugh at people in the movies for stepping on and screaming in the loudest pitch as if it were the worst pain in the world. We all know that pain. That Lego on the kitchen floor in between your pinky toe pain. That “Oh my God what am I currently stepping in that squishy” dreadful thought. And you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Hand prints on mirrors, and hand prints on walls. Toys in the kitchen. Speaking of which, a giant train track occupied my entire kitchen floor for two days straight. My parents and husband had conversations with me in the kitchen while effortlessly stepping in between plastic train tracks and navigating it like a minecraft level while going to and from the refrigerator.

To some, this may be insane. To me, it is my home, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sure, I can spend my 40 hours a week at work, and then the time at home spent cleaning and vigorously scrubbing the floor and picking up toys. But why? For who? For it to get messy again within the hour and my whole time wasted when I could’ve been having fun playing with my children and relaxing with my husband?

There are more clothes then any person should have in their home ever, but I somehow managed to get them all in my home,in just 1 room. Clothes get thrown all over, put into piles and climbed on like it’s Mount Everest. To pick it up, or not pick it up…fold and organize, or act like it’s not there.. that is the question.

Yes, I clean. Let’s get one thing straight… it’s messy, not dirty. There is a big difference.

I was once told that one day I would miss my messy home. To enjoy it now while my boys are little and still have imaginations. While they are innocent and their only care is what toy they’re going to play with next.

That one day, my husband and I will be in an empty home, and wish we heard the screams of our boys and the padders of little feet running back and forth. We’ll miss stepping on play-doh, and cleaning up random toys from in the bathroom. I know I will and I get sad even thinking about how fast that time will come. I mean, look how fast it’s gone already. Why waste it trying to keep a perfectly clean home. What’s the point?

Everyone should have at least one messy room if you have children. A room for when the time comes, you’ll clean it and start giving away the toys that your little one has already grown out of.

Yes. My house is messy. I have a large Mylar balloon currently staring me down from up above. And I don’t care.

I love my messy home and will cherish it for as long as my children will allow me to.