Having just returned from a week with Linnea, Adam, and three of my grandchildren, today’s post is a tribute to all parents of  young children. (Note: The details expressed here are not the experiences of last week, as you know from yesterday, but are a composite of parents in general.)

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A husband arrived home from work one day at the same time he always did. As he pulled into the driveway, he spotted his two young children playing in a mud puddle in the front garden. He was shocked to see they were still in their pajamas, and the chocolate smears on their faces told him they’d had treats just before dinner. After greeting them but keeping his distance in the face of all that mud, he asked, “Where’s your mother?”

“In the house,” they pointed.

When he walked through the front door announcing his arrival as always with “Honey, I’m home!” he slipped in something on the floor: peanut butter, a blob the size of an egg. Quickly removing his shoes and tip-toeing through a mine field of debris, he looked in the direction of the kitchen where he hoped to see his wife making supper, as she always did. But all he saw was wall to wall chaos.

A bucket from the sandbox, turned sideways, sat on a pile of sand, the shovel nearby. There was chocolate pudding on the couch, milk-soaked Lucky Charms ringing a bowl on the desk, and bits of cut-up paper strewn like confetti. The wall phone dangled by its cord.

Kicking toys and books out of his path, he found the refrigerator standing open and an uncapped gallon of milk lying on its side, its contents puddled around books on the floor. A brand new box of Band-aids had been emptied on the counter, some stuck to dirty dishes. Wet dish towels littered the floor.

A brand new bag of cookies had slipped into a sink full of cold, greasy dishwater, and the table, usually set for dinner, was covered with coloring books, crayons snapped in half, markers without their caps, and open glue oozing onto the table. Glitter sparkled everywhere.

Starting to panic, this husband began hollering for his wife. “Honey? Honey!”

“Up here,” came her calm voice from upstairs.

Fearing she’d fallen and couldn’t get up, he bounded up the steps, stumbling over dirty laundry and stuffed animals. With nervousness in his voice he called, “Where are you?”

“In the bedroom!”

He burst through the door and found her—still in her pajamas, propped comfortably in bed with three pillows, reading a book. Smiling at her husband, she greeted him with a smile. “Hi, Dear.”

Seeing she was perfectly fine, his anger flashed.

“What in the world went on here today?”

“Well,” she said, “every day I do many different things, but today? I didn’t.”

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“Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 19:14)