Hi, my name is Gabriel and I am the enemy of tidiness and order.

I have a few friends with kids who don't like to get dirty. That's right- kids who DO NOT LIKE to get dirty. So in other words, I have friends who are really, really lucky. At present, we're 1/1 on messy kids (Eli can't be blamed for the messes he makes... not yet.) Gabriel is a pro at destruction. Those new couches I just had to have when I was pregnant with Eli? Oh, they've been through the wringer and then some. Every night, as I turn off the living room lights before bed, I apologize to them- "I'm sorry for the juice incident this morning. And that spaghetti thing later today..."

Today's episode involved a can of paint primer. Ben found him grinning helpfully as he moved a tiny roller over the kitchen wall. "See? See?!" he exclaimed. Oh yes, dear son, we see.

It's been a year full of messes. I don't even think Gabriel knows the word 'clean,' but 'dirty'? He'll plant himself in front of me while I change Eli's diaper and wave his hands around, yelling, "Dirty! Dirty!" Of course, the substance on his hands is something he a) knows from prior time-outs and spankings galore that he is NOT suppose to be playing with, or b) he used his toddler superpowers to acquire and no amount of scolding will prevent future tampering.

This evening, Gabriel wanted to fingerpaint. I was tempted to escape his pleas with a harmless Mommy lie ("Paint? Paint went bye-bye... Yep, just like Dada!") but my conscience overwhelmed me. Out came the roll of paper. As I fed Eli, he came skipping over to me several times. "See?!" he'd shriek, pointing excitedly at the spectacular mish-mosh on the table. I bit my tongue when he accidentally skimmed his fingers over the couch (sorry again, buddies); in his glee he tripped once and the floor instantly became another canvas.

"Oh man," I said to Eli as I offered him another spoonful. The little guy seemed to survey the scene along with me, then fixed his teardrop eyes on mine and gave me a huge smile, complete with oozing yogurt. The innocent purity of his reaction beckoned to the child inside me, wound up tightly in the cords of my uptight, grown-up self. Yep, we're a house where children live, and yep (oh YEP), you can tell. There will come a day when instead of smeared food, tattered books, and crushed toys, I'll be battling it out with them over less TV and don't-you-talk-to-me-in-that-tone, and then -I am sure- I will miss (with a force more powerful than much else) their tiny hands covered in who-knows-what. I will long for their small faces so lit with joy over things I don't even notice. It's all in the details, right? Even in the grimy ones.