I looked across the kitchen this morning at the clutter of life. Most of it belongs to the kids. My dining table has become a dumping ground for backpacks, coats, and school papers. I claim the disaster on the hutch, that's where bills go to die. Too often, I frustrate myself with all of this, the clutter and the mess. Then I step back and think about how miserable life would be without the kids clutter, their daily hullabaloo, how quiet and clean it will be when they leave, and I embrace the mess.
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