

We all have our days when the dog gets tangled in our feet
When the doorknobs catch us as we stumble by, dodging little messes left by little messes
When the air is just a little harder to breathe
When it's everything I can muster just to make sure her pants aren't on backwards, her hair has met a comb and something passing for lunch is tossed in a tiny heap
Yet, the moment the garagedoor closes and I'm left alone with the remnants
The messes become evidence that my life is complete