Laundry piled high, a sink full of dishes, dishwasher too. Table strewn with books and crumbs; half eaten plates of the promised to be finished, current favorites. Unmade beds and jammed dresser drawers. Tub full of yellow ducks and superheroes alike, pretending to enjoy the remnants of a bubble bath long past.
Workbooks beckon, pages riddled with the marks of a child. Schedules professed but partially followed, as little boys have big imaginations that mustn’t be dwindled by mere instruction.
Breathe mama. You are enough.
You are learning and loved, together. You are creating and exploring. Pushing, twisting and finding your way. Your presence is necessary your guidance important, your effort valuable.
Pause mama. You are blessed.
Soak in the disarray as evidence of curious adventures and fleeting moments not lost in tedious tasks.
Live mama. You are a makeshift masterpiece.
