What is it like to LIVE with three kids? It’s messy. And it’s loud. But I have to remind myself that those two things are not always bad.
In my house, often the messes are art projects. The remnants of art projects. The precursors to art projects. Just about anything goes when it comes to creating art in our house. Cardboard boxes. Popsicle sticks. Sticks of any kind, actually. Acorns and other assorted organic matter. Feathers. Pom poms. Plastic doohickeys of every shape, size and unknown origin. These things and PAPER are all over my house. As are crayons of every color, size and metallic degree. Colored pencils. Pastels. Markers. And paints—watercolors, tempera. Tape. OK. You get the picture. Messy messy art.
And noise. We have musical instruments. We have a drum set. Guitars. Seemingly endless percussive choices. A keyboard. A toy trumpet. One of those huge keyboard mats a la the movie Big. And on and on and on.
My children are creative and messy and loud. And if I had told you, before I had kids, that this is exactly what I had wanted, you would have laughed at me. But guess what? It is. I love that my kids are so proud of their creations. On paper and off key. I know that they are gaining confidence and expressing the ways they see the world. I know that they are letting off steam. Or working through a tough day. Or just having fun. Pure, un-worried fun. The kind you can really only enjoy as a young kid, come to think of it.
I would rather live in a loud mess than in a quiet, untouchable museum-like household. I have been in homes like these. And as much as I wish the messes around here stayed away for just a little longer than it takes me to fill a toy bin, I do not understand raising kids in a house with fragile do-not-touch rooms and expensive, valuable rugs and furniture.
My house. Is messy. And it is loud. Actually, it’s kind of embarrassing. And art projects and music aside, sometimes I do just wish for peace, quiet and a lot fewer piles around here. But, let’s face it, I’ve helped create this household just as I helped create these kids. These kids to whom I’ve given the opportunities and the tools that I want them to have and also that they need to thrive. So the messes and the noise are really all my doing.
And after I pick up all of the paper scraps and other art paraphernalia, and after the instruments are stowed back in their plastic crate, and after the clothes and shoes and toys and papers and STUFF that I trip over on a daily basis are out from underfoot, what do I suggest my children do when those words “I’m bored” inevitably come to the front? I direct them to the art bins. I suggest they put on some music. And in minutes we all are knee-deep in glue sticks and rock ‘n’ roll. And we are smiling.
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A-MEN. I can’t cope with spotless houses. Hell that just makes ME wanna create mess (in their homes). And as for the projects? And the music? And the fun? And laughing and smiling?
Well, that’s how it’s supposed to be, right?
Thanks for stopping by! And, yes, that IS the way it’s supposed to be. Why do I have to tell myself this countless times each day, though? Why am I the ONLY one in the house who notices the messes?
As I am writing this, and I am not bullshitting you, my children are fighting over the most annoying toy invented: The Singing Yo Gabba Gabba Guitar.
There are also play-dough scraps adhered to the kitchen table and glitter glue on the chairs…
Glitter glue!! I actually fixed a toy shield with glitter glue a few weeks ago, because it was the only kind of glue I could find at the time. Which is ABSURD, because we have every kind of glue ever invented. Somewhere. In my messy house. The shield continues to stay in one piece, however, and the purple glitter is quite festive, if I do say so myself. Ugh. Play dough. I love it, because it’s one of only a few things the kids play together with. And then I hate it. Because I have to clean it up. Um. Like everything else.
My dear mother-in-law always says, “A messy kid is a happy kid.” And I try to remember that every time a new grass stain won’t come out or another pair of white sneakers is ruined by the red Georgia clay we have around these parts. And my house? Little tell-tale clues everywhere – glitter on the piano that won’t come off, black sharpie on the kitchen table chair, a crayon art project on the wall behind my son’s bedroom door. But as you said in your post, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’d rather my kids were living joyfully rather than carefully!
“I’d rather my kids were living joyfully rather than carefully!”
Yes. That says it all. Messy = happy. (Um, for the kids.)
If I showed you a picture of my kitchen table right now(and the floor beneath it, and the chairs on top that), and if I told you how long it’s been looking like that, you might have pity for me.
Sculpey and table tops are not friends. So I leave it. Why bother to sweat that much separating the two when I know they will fuse together again in a day or so anyway? Hell if I care if I ever have to eat on that table again. So long as I don’t have to sweat one more time cleaning it.
And like the Play Dough, it’s the one medium that brings my disparate offspring together. I’m so not fighting city hall and have to give that up.
I still can’t stand mess though. I live with it, because it’s healthy(sigh) for them, but I can’t stand it. Just being plain ol’ stubborn honest!
~off to go scrape the Sculpey off the floor at least~
Is there a “my kitchen table is more disgusting than your kitchen table” contest? I’ll make a significant wager on mine, my friend. :)
I always think when I pick my daughter up from Pre-K and she has a clean shirt and pants on that she must not have had a fun day. I LOVE when she comes home with paint all over her clothes or dirt all over her knees (better without the scrapes of course) or clay under her fingernails. That’s why I send her to school! To create, imagine, play. What’s life as a kid without all those things? Do I wish she didn’t have to sing at the TOP of her lungs? Sometimes, yes but when she does, I remind myself oh, how I wish I could do that all day, every day. Great post! I haven’t commented on your posts before but I do often read them and love them.
Thanks, Becca! And I know what you mean about pre-k pick-up. Most days my kids both (have) come home with different clothes than I sent them in wearing. Water table. Sand table. Painting. Apple-cider making. Mud-puddle stomping. This is what kids do best.