It was because of a three year old’s expectorant cough that I came to see the moments captured in mess.

Mess #1.

On the chesterfield.

Under the cushions.

I had to scrub.

Her first.

Then the cushions.

Feeling better, she requested pancakes.

Sure. It’s Saturday. The furniture can wait.

Flour, salt, sugar, milk, maple syrup. Drips and sticky bits.

Mess #2.

Tummies sated, there were adventures to have.

From upstairs came the unmistakable sound of nine hundred building blocks cascading from bin to floor.

Mess #3.

I went back to the chesterfield.

Vacuum humming, I paused. There’s that little pink egg timer!

Oh! And a few bits of yellow yarn from the time big sister learned to finger knit.

Twenty seven pennies, three Canadian.

A tinker toy.

Orange marker, a dryer sheet, popcorn kernels, sesame seeds, a grocery store receipt.

A doll shoe.

A tiny golden bead.

Years of small moments gathered, archived, still living on in the recesses of…

HEY! She HIT ME!

Sigh.

Mess #4.