Perfect

My messy home.

Because people live here.

The people that I love with every bit of myself.

The ball house cluttering up the whole lounge.

Because my children climb into it and laugh till their tummies hurt.

The dirty dishes in the kitchen.

Because we can afford to eat whatever we want.

Whenever we want.

The pile of laundry.

Because we have been given so many clothes for our children.

By people that care.

And we don't need to buy any.

My tired bones.

Because I go to bed too late.

Because I want to experience my whole life.

And write my blog.

And read my books.

My irritation with my husband.

For working so late.

And putting out his back.

Because he has a dream for us.

For my dream holiday to Bali.

And my camera.

And for my children to be able to experience a Montessori education.

My weariness with my daughter.

Because she never stops talking.

And questioning.

Because she loves life.

And is bright and intelligent and a shining light in my life.

My shot nerves.

Because my son is not walking yet, but has already managed to climb the whole flight of stairs.

And Annie's chairs in her room.

And the open dishwasher.

And fallen from most of these places.

Because he wants to experience life.

With his whole being.

And is always smiling.

And following his sister around the house.

My sore heart.

Because I miss my family in South Africa.

Because I am blessed to have such amazing people to miss.

What a beautiful mess.

My perfectly, imperfect life.