Some mornings the mess is just too much for me.

The toys scattered all over the floor. Books tossed here and there.  Piles of necklaces and princesses and ponies everywhere the eye can see.  Plates full of toy food.  Stuffed animals under every couch, table and ottoman.  It all becomes too much.  Trying to walk a path from the entrance of our family room to the couch is impossible and it makes me angry.  I force clean ups and discuss the importance of putting a toy away after we are done playing with it.  Some mornings I fail to see the beauty of Hurricane Maya and path of destruction she leaves behind.

Other mornings, like this morning, I marvel at the simplicity of childhood as I watch her bounce from one toy to the next.  I wonder at and adore the creative juices flowing through her head as she turns the blank slate of a Mr. Potatohead into something beautiful and total her.

Some mornings I see the beauty in that path of destruction.  I see the fleeting moments of toddlerhood, those moments that go by way too fast.  I hear the laughter and the constant commentary that comes only from the freedom of being able to pull out every toy, of being able to make the biggest mess possible.

Some mornings I look at this mess and I realize that messy mornings = happy mornings