Sometimes, I think it is more like me AGAINST the two year old.
Everyday there is new mess to contend with. A new battle he tries to fight. A new adventure, a new laugh, a new story to be told.
With a two year old in the house I don't question why my shoe is in the pantry.
Or why a potato is in my closet.
His mouth wide with excitement and eyes twinkling with delight. I could not be mad at him since he was not trying to be disobedient, but I did tell myself to scoot the box further back on the counter next time.
It makes sense that there is a pile of clean laundry unfolded, strewn on the floor....
delight. "where'd dey all go.....dere under dere"
It's why my pantry doors are always open. Always open. Always.
I don't take a baff!
I don't go home!
I don't take a nap!
Lunch! Lunch! Lunchie! I'm hungrwy!
Mommy, hold you? with his arms open wide, melting my heart instantly.
I know that as long as he's little and he's learning I will find a mess in my home.
I was thinking about this fun stuff I love about him, even though I get frustrated when I step on a hot wheel car sending shocks of pain through my foot. When the alarm goes off at midnight because a little one was playing with the radio. When you find the washer tumbling with a car inside, the dryer stopped with still wet clothes, the dishwasher running even though it's half full, melted crayons in the toaster oven, an entire bottle of vanilla poured out on the counter, a wet puddle on the floor when he pretended to water the invisible plants on the carpet using A LOT of real water, legos dumped, toilet paper unrolled, paper towels unrolled, toothpaste squirted on the counter (look, look, it's a tower!)
All those moments, every single one of his mischiefs, are a gift. A wonderful, blessed gift.
I found myself blog hopping today for a minute when I stumbled onto this post. And I cried. And I thank God for everyday I'm given to be the mom.