Cleaning up a house with children is an endless story.
Living room in the evening.
The picture book is still open on the sofa, the blocks are rolling on the floor, the stuffed animals are falling here and there as if they were taking a nap. I should have done my best to clean up just a few hours ago, but it is back to normal. No, it is more colorful and lively than before.
I finally realized that in a life with children, tidying up is not something that ends, but something that repeats. Every time a small hand moves, the room spins a new story. Toy cars go on an adventure, building blocks turn into big castles, crayons draw rainbows on white paper. Every time I tidy up, I feel like I'm picking up the afterglow of the story.
Of course, reality is not sweet. There are days when I scream "already!" at the pain of blocks stuck in the soles of my feet. There are nights when I sigh at the messy scenery left after putting it to bed. Still, I think as I clean up. -This is proof that the child was crazy and lived here.
There is also a feeling of longing for a perfectly tidy living room. However, I will try to accept this "clutter" a little more. Because one day, when you notice, no one will make a mess. Instead of getting a quiet room where toys do not roll on the floor, you will see your child grow up little by little.
So tonight, as I put the blocks back in the box, I laugh a little. If you think that the story has spread so much today, there is a little warmth in the hands that clean up.
Every day is a "sign of time" spent with children.
With that in mind, even the mess of tomorrow is a little lovable.







































































