sugar, spice, snails, and a mess

Do you remember that ridiculous nursery rhyme about what little girls and boys are made of? Did this person have a kid? Maybe their children were grown and out of the house, and they were remembering through the haze of nostalgia. Maybe they had a nanny. At any rate, I'll tell you what my kids are made of.

Mess.

Bits and scraps and unknown sticky stuff.

Tape peels off of them and adheres to the furniture.

They shed tiny slivers and crescents of paper that stick to the floor in a static frenzy.

Boogers magically fall off of them, land on the walls, and dry there. I know, your kids don't do that, but mine are gross.

They attract stink bugs and build habitats for them, and accidentally remove some legs.

They hoard avocado pits and popcorn kernels and pepper seeds and lose their collections under the furniture where they can develop new strains of penicillin.

They put their arms around me in the morning, and with their horrific morning breath (that I secretly adore), they tell me good morning, and they claim their snuggles. And then they fight over the snuggles and get sent back to bed. And then we start fresh, and and I hold them like babies, and I carry them to the kitchen for tea and breakfast and we add to our mess. That is, unless Dan has gotten up, and I have slept through wake up time, and I come into the kitchen guilty and groggy, and try to make coffee as amends for my laziness.

The drawing is not treating me kindly tonight. This is me in a minute.