when a house is a home. (or more accurately, my house is a mess.)

In the aftermath of the birthday frenzy that has been the past fortnight, the house is looking like a war survivor.

I often wonder what my house makes of us, its current inhabitants. I know it has played host to children before, as the people we bought the house from raised their own family here before moving to an easier on the knees bungalow.

Until we came along, this house had enjoyed a decade of peace and quiet, with a cuddly set of grandparents for company. Admittedly, these cuddlys had in their youth hacked the poor house to pieces, converting rooms, adding patio doors (that fell on my head) and ripping out fireplaces, leaving chimneys that dangle dangerously in space, (that oddly, the surveyor managed to miss.)

Then we arrived, and brought all kinds of chaos and noise with us. The peaceful, bird inhabited garden soon became a trike and scooter infested dinosaur play land. The turf started to wither and die under the strain, and then when Eb decided that he would like to dig a couple of pits, a death knell was ringing for the lawn as Rodney saw his future career as pit digger blossom. If I sprayed weed killer on it now, I would wake up to nothing but compacted soil the next day.

Step into the kitchen and you will at once be struck by the unfinished tiling, the over flowing craft drawers, the large pom pom spider from last October's Ranger event and the attractively smeared windows. If you are feeling brave (or nosy) you may peep into my cupboards. Under the sink is deadly stuff. With the rest, be careful. You are likely to get a tin of tomato soup on your head. If you really want to open the one without a handle, go to the side and stick a skewer in it to prise it open.

Go through to the lounge, but make sure you are wearing thick socks, because the lego on the floor really hurts. If Shrek is in here, then watch out for the cars too. Feel free to browse the book cases and laugh at my collection of drivel. Again, try to ignore where Eb came over all artistic and drew triangles on the coffee table, and the bare heating pipes and the cobwebs that have undoubtedly formed.

I live in an unfinished, untidy mess where most days you have to pick your way carefully through the floor to avoid injuries. I live with dog hair, odd socks, scribbled and sometimes unfathomable notes, furry fruit, precious collections of leaves and twigs, discarded tea cups, lego men in plant pots and a thousand other tiny little details that leave me exhausted. Some days I want to curl up in a ball in the middle of the room and weep whilst waving a little white flag. On rarer days I roll up my sleeves and dive head first into the mess. Then there are days like today.

Today I surveyed the mess and chaos and shrugged my shoulders and got out more art materials. If you can't beat them, then you most definitely should join them.