There are moments in motherhood when you look around your house and think,

“I’m being held hostage… by someone who can’t pronounce spaghetti.”

Today was one of those days.

Harper, my three-year-old tornado in a tutu, decided to be a big girl. And by “big girl,” I mean she quietly tiptoed into Lynnlee’s room, swiped a bottle of nail polish, and proceeded to create her own personal Banksy on my $25,000 tile floors.

Yes, you read that right.

Yes, the entire bottle.

Yes, the floors I love like most people love their children.

The rustic wood-look farmhouse white and grey tile that ties in beautifully with the grey quartz counters and black cabinets… those floors.

I clean them daily. I protect them like national treasure.

Harper? She saw one big blank canvas.

But don’t worry…she also cleaned it up.

Because her Lazy Gnome is already watching and she didn’t want to be “naughty.”

(Just sit with that logic for a moment.)

So she grabbed my Christmas-themed cloth napkins.

Not paper towels.

Not an old rag.

No. The napkins I bought to feel like a festive adult.

And she scrubbed.

And by “scrubbed,” I mean she spread the nail polish into an abstract disaster Picasso would’ve called “bold.”

Then, just to finish the job, she threw construction paper and glitter on top and declared:

“Look, Mom! It’s ART!”

At this point, I’m 95% convinced I’m living in a hostage situation run by toddlers.

But here’s the thing…

This same child, this tiny chaos dragon who weaponizes nail polish and glitter, also tells me I’m pretty every single day. She asks to help with everything, even the things she should absolutely NOT help with. She holds me when I pause in the hallway because I forgot where I was going. She hugs and kisses me with her whole heart. She warms me in ways she’ll never understand.

She is A LOT.

But she is also a lot of sweetness.

And somehow, in the middle of the meltdown, the mess, the glitter, the panic scrubbing, and my internal monologue screaming “WHY, LORD, WHY?”…

I realized it’s all tangled together.

The chaos.

The sweetness.

The exhaustion.

The magic.

She pushes me right to the edge…

and then pulls me back with a sticky kiss and a big “I wuv you, Mommy.”

Some days I feel like I’m raising a tiny terrorist.

Most days I know I’m raising pure gold, just wrapped in noise and glitter.

And that’s motherhood.

That’s Tuesday.

And apparently… that’s art.

If you are reading this send

Moscato or Lambrusco quick!