And Piles to Go Before We Sleep...

As any mother, there are things that I have had to learn to accept. One of those things is the pile approach to living. In certain things, you expect piles... piles of laundry, piles of bills, or piles of dirty dishes, but, with two active, busy boys, our piles move beyond the expected. We have piles everywhere -- many of which don't make sense to me on any level. Piles of candy wrappers, piles of Legos, piles of graded homework, piles of rocks and pieces of playground mulch (especially stumped by that one...What amusement can one find in a piece of mulch? Really?), and, for one anonymous boy at my house, piles of socks and undies under his chest of drawers.

Like this pile of Star Wars figurines, martial arts throwing stars made of notebook paper, and home-made baseball cards. The Happy Meal box is empty of food but still filled with a crazy assortment of little boy minutia. I will let you in on a little secret: These boxes still work like some sort of canola-oil Febreeze long after the last sea-salted finger has been licked.

Here is another pile from one boy's room... Legos, a miniature White House put together from cardboard, and a host of tiny instructions and plastic bags that originally accompanied various small toys from a host of fast food restaurants. 

Fast food doesn't really play as pivotal a role in our lives as it seems to here. No, really.
 

As I wander through my own house, though, I realize the piles are not limited to my little boys. My big boy has his own assortment of piles. Monthly publications related to kayaking, motorcycles, or golf are eternally welcome to pile up in his little corner of paradise.

Piles of junk cannot be attractive in full, 32-bit technicolor.

Then, in my pile search, I will find an achingly sweet Mother's Day card in which I am depicted as a super hero defeating the worst of super villians.

Or I will find something like this... A shot that touches my heart with its simplicity and even more with the depth to which I know that sentiment is felt by its owner.

And, so, I adjust. I buy more Rubbermaid totes, I sneak the mulch pieces into the garbage when no one is looking, and I learn to see beyond the piles to what is beneath them... to the hearts of three amazing boys.