by Cassidy Nunn | photo by Nunn Other Photography –
“Ahhh, incoming! Look out, look out!” My dad shouts as he shakes his hands, cowering into the couch in feigned fear. “Here comes the tornado!” My almost four-year-old daughter comes barreling into the room, her arms filled with an assortment of random toys, a long blanket trailing behind her. “Opa!” she cries. “You want me to make you a cake?” She deposits the pile of her treasures on the couch beside him, runs to the toy corner and proceeds to dump her basket of various toys, digging through the pile for her baking bowl, or so she tells me. I watch on, knowing that yes, indeed, the tornado has landed. Pretty soon my living room will go from its current state of – well I don’t know if I’d ever call it perfectly clean, but tidy isn’t too much of a stretch – to looking like a storm has wreaked havoc on it.
My nine-month-old daughter joins in the chaos as she army crawls her way across the carpet, squealing loudly. It’s the specific high-pitched squeal she makes when she’s discovered something she wants to grab, usually something that is supposed to be off limits. She makes it to the coffee table and pulls down every book that’s within reach and chucks it behind her. The floor is soon littered with books of all shapes and sizes and the dog, sensing the apparent fun the kids are having, emerges from his kennel, towing a large blanket with him. He drags it into the middle of the kid chaos and shakes it back and forth. The baby delights in this and her attention switches from book-tossing to now chasing after the dog’s paws, another one of her favourite games. In the meantime, my older daughter has dashed to the kitchen and is rummaging around in the cutlery drawer. “What are you doing in there?” I ask her, scooping up the baby and strapping her into the bouncy chair that currently takes up most of one entrance into the kitchen. “Oh, I just need some spoons for baking my cake,” she says before racing off again, several pilfered spoons in hand. I trip over the stool that sits below the sink for her handwashing as I notice every single tea towel we own has been laid out across the kitchen floor. “What’s with the tea towels?” I call out. “Those are our camping blankets, Mama!” she says, a hint of annoyance in her voice. I bend over to pick them up and hear the thud of yet another of the baby’s teething toys hitting the ground. I turn around and sure enough, there’s a glimmer of delight in her eyes as she bounces in her chair and watches me collect the toy, give it a rinse and hand it back. Two seconds later, another thud echoes.
I straighten up and sigh. The counters are cluttered with bottles, teething toys, a pile of preschool artwork and there’s always at least one stuffed animal sitting amongst the mess, observing. It’s first thing in the morning and the house is already making me feel overwhelmed. It’s one of the many things my kids are teaching me (but that I still struggle with). It’s okay to make a mess – in fact, it’s an important part of their education in the school of life – discovering, playing, embracing curiosity and imagination. So I’m learning too; learning to let go of the anxiety that sneaks in when I see the disarray unfolding in front of me. Sometimes all you can do is have a spontaneous dance party in amongst the mayhem. Try to embrace the creativity in the chaos, grateful we have a safe place to play in. At the end of the day when it’s time to sing the “Clean Up Song” I get the satisfaction of cleaning up the mess alongside my older daughter. “Clean up, everybody clean up,” she sings while tossing toys into a basket. The baby entertains us with her coos, practising her own version of the song for now. After all the tidying is done and the kids are off to bed, I wonder what they’re dreaming up for the next day’s version of kid chaos!
