it’s truly unbelievable how a house with two small children, one mom trying to work from home, keep the number of toys on the floor at or below 1,000, the dishwasher loaded, the kitchen counters crumb-free – ok, i think you get it – can go from good, to manageable, to totally and utterly out of control.

take  monday morning for example. i am on the phone with someone from our corporate office going through a cash flow statement. no biggie. phone to cheek, toddler hanging off one leg, baby dangerously close to scaling the staircase – this is routine, and doable.

but then a few moments later came the dreaded words, “uh oh, mommy” followed by a waddling, almost (operative word here) potty trained 2 year old.

and i wondered as i knelt down to pick my son’s poop off of our hallway rug and wood floor what this lady on the receiving end might do if she had a visual to go along with the audio. it takes a seasoned professional to simultaneous clean human feces, keep a 10 month old out of the infected area, hush a too loud toddler from trying to explain why his poop is now on my floor instead of in his potty (while trying to poke and inspect it – trust me, it’s real) and carry on a work-related conversation.

i so deserve a raise. (vic, i know you’re reading this.)

and i know that blogs are way more fun to read when there are pictures involved – because really, who can stay stimulated long enough to get through these things without a picture to break things up. but trust me. you’re much better off with only the words on this one.

chances are i hadn’t showered. wait, let’s be honest, i definitely had not showered. and was absolutely sporting the outfit i had gone for a run in just an hour earlier complete with sweat stains, blood and dirt (from the baseball field pit stop – for said toddler to run bases – gone awry).

it’s all about deception, really. trying to paint a picture of idealism in a world of total chaos. but really, when it comes down to it my world is ideally chaotic. or chaotically ideal. however you want to slice it.

and later that night as i snuck away to put my little girl to sleep it hit me again – how lucky i am.

and because this is just too sweet to handle, and because this blog is my kids “baby book” and i want to remember these things…

we rock in a chair while she nurses. i stroke the little arm closest to me as her fingers trace the outlines of my face; my cheek, my lips, my nose. i bend down and kiss her sweet head, let her intoxicating aroma fill my nose, my lungs, my soul.

when she’s had her fill, i stand and she lays her head on my chest; nestled in snugly under my chin. one arm under her bottom holds her up and the other wraps around her back – rubbing and holding. and her tiny toes sweep across my legs – when did she get this big?

i cock my head to the side and catch a glimpse of her face – the rhythmic motion of her pointer finger rubbing the top of her nose as she sucks her thumb, eye lids heavy and closing.

and the past few days i started whispering to her. saying out loud the thoughts i have always had but was too afraid to utter in the perfect stillness of her room.

i tell her how much she is loved. what light and wonder and amazement she brings to my world. i promise to teach her the really important stuff: to be kind, and wise and confident in the beautiful skin that is her own.

and i hold her as long as i can, which is inevitably too long. until she squirms and wiggles and leans towards her crib.

i kiss her one last time and whisper in her ear. she nestles into her cozy bed, belly down, butt pointing towards the heavens.

quietly i tip toe out and into the hall already anxiously awaiting our sweet reunion in the morning.

and so goes the cycle – from hair pulling, poop cleaning, sweat stained days to nights like these. and back again.

imperfectly perfect.