Mess

the ideal is to be clean, disinfected, orderly, everything in its place
the day plotted, schedules aligned, everything accounted for
even 'travelling time'
    
the battle begins fresh each day, 
  promising
    
and then, inevitably
  casualties 
    
the kids rise before us and litter the floor with their imaginations
now I'm scrambling, trying to put together 
a day that falls into 
  chaos
    confusion
   scattered intention
     'traveling time' now lost to 'cleaning up after' time
    
sanctuary defiled
    
the worry makes it fall apart quicker
the stress of fighting to regain my ideal
  destroys hope
    destroys goodness
      destroys joy in my children and their messy imaginations
    
it is a worthy project to start the day with intention
but at some point that intention needs to give way to 
    
love
    
compassion
    
    patience
    
understanding
    
time to sit with people and
  despite it all
to be present in the mess