Well, this is embarrassing.

And I'm not talking about for her and the mess that is her room,

but for me, to divulge to you, that I just walked past that pigsty and kept on walking.

I didn't not see it.

I saw that disaster and just kept on my merry way.

Because sometimes I'm the mom who doesn't make her kids clean their rooms.

And sometimes I'm the mom who doesn't clean their rooms for them.

Sometimes I'm the mom that lets her lived-in house look, well, lived-in.

Until I get a stick up my biscuit and the disarray begins to irk me, and then I go balls to the wall tidy-ing up the bad boy.

99.9% of the time, though, if you come over, you're going to see

dirty dishes in the sink,
half-drank water bottles everywhere,
dog hair all over the furniture, floors, and flying around your face,
and clutter -- a whole heaping of it.

Not because I hate cleaning and suck at it (I do - to both),

not because I hoard,

and not because "I just can't part with things,"

but because with kids comes all their stuff,

and all the things that make them happy, which changes by the minute.

Listen, I should probably clean up more.

I hear you. I get it.

Either that or I should encourage (maybe require) that my children clean up after themselves.

And they do...sometimes.

But sometimes, you know what? Sometimes it's okay to be messy.

To be a bit "all over the place."

To live in a space that has all the markings of life happening.

I wasn't good at keeping a clean room when I was little, and now, as an adult with littles of my own, I'm still not, and now I have a whole house to take care of.

But you know what I'm gonna continue taking real good care of instead?

The beating hearts that live inside of it. Yep, I think I’ll keep focusing on that.