Catchy title, huh? The truth is, the invasion I am writing about isn't aliens (although some may disagree), it isn't terrorists (again, subjective), and it isn't pests...the type of invasion I am writing about is the invasion of kids! Those little people we call kids anyway- you know the ones with the squishy faces and fat knees. Yeah, them.
I know when my husband and I bought our first house, it was empty. I mean, we had a couch and a bed and all that, but there was so much extra space. We had four bedrooms so we could easily host guests, find room for all of our junk and roam around as we pleased. We really didn't spend much time at home so needless to say it was always clean(-ish). Fast forward to today and the scene is much different...
Picture walking into a home where there are toys everywhere. Not a few big toys, thousands of toys spread as far as the eye can see. A bomb exploded and our house was the biggest casualty. Don't even think about walking around barefoot; not only will your feet stick to the floor from some unknown goop, but you will most likely step on a lego or a matchbox car which will result in severe injury. It's true, my house is a war zone and it's me against the kids (mostly just their possessions).
Funny thing is, I really don't mind. Other than the nightly cleanings and the sticky goop I still can't seem to get rid of, I love all the mess. I wouldn't have it any other way. The mess means so many things to me: it means my kids are playing with their toys and not watching endless cartoons (don't judge there are days like that!), it means that they have freedom to feel at home here, it means they aren't scared to touch EVERYTHING and go EVERYWHERE! It also means we can teach them how to clean up in a constructive and practical way. This is what childhood was made for, right?
So keep on being messy my little minions. You are loved no matter how sticky, dirty or messy you are.
PS Don't worry, the pictures below are from the backyard. I would not subject any living person to see my house at it's filthiest- well, maybe my husband!