The book and it's cover

There was a time in my life when I thought that things would be a certain way. Sometimes I see the mom with the picture perfect child, the car that is oh-so-clean, the house that sparkles, and I sigh.  There was a time when I aspired for different things, DVDs in their cases, clothes freshly pressed, clean faces, brushed hair, scuff-free shoes. That has changed. We aren't Oscar the Grouch, we don't live in a trash can, but we lack the shine of simpler days. Our DVDs are good if they are on the shelf without scratches. I am happy if clothes are on their bodies.  Hair never appears to be brushed even when it was, so sometimes that goes by the wayside. And shoes do not survive when a four-year-old crawls. 

Nearly everything we own has teeth marks.  Tiny little teeth, happy little teeth, teeth that are no longer afraid of everything.  Teeth that sent a little one into respiratory distress. Teeth that are just now starting to enjoy food.
Maisy's clothes also show the signs of change. (At least she keeps them on.)  Drool and biting are daily reminders that things aren't normal. But what is normal, is there such a thing? It somehow seems wrong to care much about a car or a movie, a couch or clothes, when you have fought so hard for the person who is ruining them.  So, I guess things aren't like I imagined, but what a story they tell. Would they really hold much if it wasn't for the little people I share them with.
And quite frankly, I'm happy to have all of it. It could be worse. So, welcome to my world, don't pass judgement too quickly.