The Art of Being Messy

I was talking to Pi about making the backyard more “kid play friendly” so they’ll want to spend time back there. Currently they like to play in the front yard. There is not fence in the front yard and Sarah likes to, shall we say, meander around the cul de sac unencumbered (a rephrasing of “she runs off when we’re not looking” so that CPS is not tipped off). So I was talking about making an outdoor chalkboard and creating a “mud pit” for making mud pies.
What was Pi’s response?
“Let’s make sure we make it so things don’t get too messy.”
I am not sure anyone has told him yet that we have kids.
This post may remind him.
Oh, and the books recommended here I still read- pay special attention to “Monsters Eat Whiny Children”. I use it as a cautionary tale.
Have a great crazy day!

My Special Kind of Crazy

Childhood is not neat. It is messy. It is messy in the best possible of ways.

From exploring, playing, discovering, creating and experimenting, kids get MESSY.

I am not the parent that gets upset if my kids drag dirt into the house, get food/paint/dirt on their clothes, or have permanent black feet from running around outside in the dirt.

The messier my kid comes home, the more fun I know she had. And if she was playing and having fun, that means she was learning.

Because as we all know, play is a child’s work.

While I am all for messy fun, Pi is all about clean floors. Most weekends he walks into the kitchen where I have set up an AWESOME activity for Sweets and she is having a grand time and beaming at her Daddy, “Look what I’m doing!” and all I see is him scoping out the…

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3 thoughts on “The Art of Being Messy

  1. Christie, you have to understand that Brian is a Hesketh. My husband, Don,and Brian’s mom were raised by a widowed aunt who washed ketchup bottles after every use.
    Don still does all the housework. He used to follow after me catching all the places I missed until I quit entirely. He still cleans the vacuum cleaner after every use, and asks for things like feather dusters for birthday gifts. Not just any feather duster either—-must be real feathers plucked from the ass of a special bird found only in Papua, New Guinea! You’ll never win this one.
    Love your posts. You’re a great mom. In your TBT post I was surprised to see how much Sarah Jane looks like a 2 year old you.

    • Oh my gosh auntie Jane I was laughing so hard and read it to Brian and he just shrugged his shoulders and agreed.
      Thanks for your always kind and encouraging words! And yes- I think perhaps the girls DO have a least a teeny bit of my genes!

  2. Pingback: “Get Out The Hoes!” | My Special Kind of Crazy

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