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My youngest son’s bedroom is a total disaster zone, to put it mildly. Every time I pass by his door, I can’t help but peek in and feel a rush of joy when I spot at least fifty pots bursting with veggies in every nook and cranny. Right now, twigs and twine are strewn about since he recently learned to craft baskets from branches.
The backyard has been a construction site for weeks. A friend visited the other day and surveyed the haphazard garden beds, the fence he’s assembling, and the tree branches he’s cut for the project, scattered across the yard. “How do you manage this? I could never handle it,” she remarked, glancing at the milk cartons lined up outside. Honestly, I have no clue what those are for — I think he mentioned something about turning them into a mini greenhouse for seedlings, but I got sidetracked by the bucket of clay he was hauling inside. When I asked him about the clay, he replied, “Our yard is full of it. You can mold it and even use it to wash your hair.” I know he tried washing his hair with it because when I checked for ticks the other night, I found tiny sticks lodged in his scalp.
One side of my garage is off-limits since that’s where my other son works on his dirt bike and four-wheeler. His tools are scattered everywhere, and there’s a constant odor of grease and gasoline. My daughter, on the other hand, has ducks. I had heard they could be messy, but I had no idea until I witnessed it firsthand. They drop poop the size of tennis balls every quarter of an hour. Ducks also require fresh water at all times, so when they roam freely in the yard — which is often — she places water containers all over. Plus, they enjoy feasting on mealworms, which she insists on keeping in the house. When the ducks molt, feathers fly everywhere. I could probably fill a pillow with all the fluff they shed each year.
While I teach my kids to clean up after themselves and insist that our main living spaces stay organized because I can’t function in chaos, I’ve come to terms with their messy hobbies. I may not love the disorder, but it’s absolutely worth it.
Sure, I miss my neat, organized garage, but it pales in comparison to the happiness it brings my son when he’s out there fixing things. I long for my backyard, the sunniest spot on our property, where I used to enjoy the sight of lush green grass from my kitchen window. Now, instead, I watch my son building a fence with branches he’s cut and using all those random buckets of clay for who knows what.
My daughter would be lost without her ducks. They helped her through quarantine, and she cares for them like they’re her own kids. She spends hours cleaning their coop, giving them treats, and cuddling them.
Friends and neighbors often look at me incredulously, asking how I can tolerate such enormous messes taking over my house. But what they don’t realize is the joy it brings my kids. They turn to their hobbies when feeling down, stressed, or in need of an outlet. The tidiest house in the world could never compare to the happiness my family shares. Why would I ever want to change that?
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Summary:
Embracing the messiness of my kids’ hobbies has become a source of joy for our family. From my son’s chaotic gardening and crafting projects to my daughter’s adventures with her ducks, the disorder fills our home with laughter, creativity, and love. Despite the clutter, I’ve learned that their happiness far outweighs the need for a perfectly tidy space.