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There is a part of the wall in my house that I rarely see. This is where the laundry climbs the walls, and in the same way that ivy overtakes a trellis, sometimes when I see this spot—my own worries overtake what I know to be true. For me, the laundry is just a tipping point. It’s a subtle reminder that seems to poke fun at my inability to stay on top of things. Some days I look around my home and everything just seems to scream of my shortcomings. I glance at cookbooks, and wish I put forth more creativity in the kitchen. I run my hand over the clothes in my closet that I never wear, because smashed banana doesn’t really go with heels and dry-clean only. I rinse dishes and wonder if the shuffle ever ends, the exhaustion, the fine frenzy that accompanies mothering littles.

If I let my mind run wild like an untended garden, I leave room for things to sprout up that are in no way life-giving. It can be a dark and lonely place inside some days, and that’s why we have to put on our gloves and start weeding. We have to pull a switch-aroo in the garden of our hearts.

If my heart is the garden that I so long for it to be, I have to choose to witness what is budding around me.

My laundry basket is overflowing with mud stained clothes, because I choose to spend my days puddle-jumping. My heels are dusty, because aint-nobody-got-time-for-that when you are busy building forts, having tea parties, and blowing bubbles.

My windows have smudges on every corner, my books are half-read, and my stretchy pants are on permanent rotation, but this is just one season.

In this season, the garden of my heart and life is in full bloom with joy—watered by the wonderment of my babies. I get to be little again. I get to see life full-tilt, and uncomplicated through their honest eyes. They aren’t haunted by the undone places in our home. They aren’t playing a daily game of catch-up, they are chasing life down. They turn our tiny condo into a castle, the jungle, outer-space, or an opera house. They paint our halls with laughter and whimsy.

So for now, I’m an owie-kisser. I’m a champion tickler. I’m a messy bun wearing grilled-cheese maker. I’m a gardener, constantly tilling the soil of their tiny hearts and my own—watching with kind eyes as everything begins to bloom.

Asha Grinnell is a lover of adventure, family dance parties and spending time by the sea. She is married to the man of her dreams and a mama to two little darlings who keep her on her knees and her toes. Follow her at