I was standing in our kitchen the other day, realizing how messy it all is. The kitchen, especially the breakfast bar, is a magnet for dumped things once people come home. Backpacks, mail, drinks, things that the dogs shouldn’t grab…it’s endless.
But the table tells a different story. Its mess speaks volumes of a life being lived together.
A deck of cards left mid-game. Board games stacked but not put away, because someone might want to play again later. Score sheets, dice, cups, and half-finished snacks scattered like punctuation marks from a long conversation. Even the salt and pepper shakers are still sitting there, forgotten in the middle of it all.
This isn’t clutter from rushing in the door. It’s evidence of lingering. Of choosing to sit instead of scatter. Of laughing too long, playing one more round, not caring enough to clean up right away because the moment mattered more than the mess.
The breakfast bar collects what we’re trying to get rid of.
The table holds what we’re trying to keep.
And standing there, looking at it all, I realized I don’t actually want a spotless house. I want this. Pproof that people were here, together, enjoying each other, leaving behind just enough chaos to show it was worth it.