The Sticky Truth About Parenting: 18 Years of Crumbs, Chaos, and Confusion

I used to think I had my life together. My shoes were always in pairs, socks were clean, my car didn’t smell like old french fries, and my living room was a space where adults could hold actual conversations without stepping on a squeaky toy that sings the same five bars of a song until you want to throw it into the sun.

Then I had kids.

No one and absolutely nothing prepares you for this crazy journey into the wild. It doesn't matter how many parenting books you read or how many blogs you follow. You can absolutely never foresee the countless ways your sanity will be tested. You won’t find chapters on how to scrape dried yogurt off a car seat with a library card or how to explain to a toddler that licking the dog is not “just sharing."

Every day is a new adventure—an unscripted reality show where you’re the side artist, the director, the cleanup crew, the World's best (and sometimes worst) Mom, all rolled into one. You don’t just endure chaos; you become fluent in it. One day you’re fishing a LEGO out of the toilet (again), and the next, you’re explaining why glitter is not food. It doesn’t matter how many times you clean your house—something, somewhere, is sticky. The remote? Sticky. The dog? Sticky. Light switches? Sticky. Fridge handle? Chromebook keypad? Well - you know the answer! One time, I found something sticky on the ceiling. The ceiling! I still don’t know how it got there, but I’m 80% sure it involved maple syrup and poor judgement.

Of course, the stickiness is just one part of the delightful chaos. Let’s talk about the crumbs. I’m convinced my children are actually mobile crumb factories disguised as small humans. I vacuum, and five minutes later, the floor looks like a bread truck exploded. I don’t even buy that many crackers. I’m starting to think they’re smuggling them in from school just to mess with me.

The car? That’s a whole different level. It used to be my sanctuary. Leather seats, clean dashboard, that fresh lavender scent from the car freshener. Now it’s a rolling biohazard. There are fossilized chicken nuggets under the seats, the kind scientists could probably carbon-date. I found a half-eaten granola bar in the cup holder last week, and I’m pretty sure it’s been there since the Obama administration. I’m scared to move it now; it’s part of the ecosystem.

Let’s not forget the art projects. Oh, the art. My refrigerator is a modern art gallery that exclusively features pieces done in crayon and, occasionally, something that I hope is chocolate. I want to be encouraging, but there are only so many stick figures and macaroni collages one fridge door can hold. I’ve started sneaking them into the recycling bin at night like I’m part of some covert operation. I’m not proud of it, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Then there’s the bedtime routine, which I can only describe as an Olympic event. It’s like trying to negotiate with tiny drunk people who are furious about wearing pants and have suddenly developed 500 questions about the universe. “Why do we have eyebrows? Can fish get thirsty? What’s the opposite of a cupcake?” All excellent questions—none of which I can answer at 8:30 p.m.

But for all the crumbs and chaos, there are these moments—tiny, beautiful moments that make it all worthwhile. Like when your kid looks up at you with sticky hands and a big smile and says, “I love you, Mommy.” And you realize that maybe the stickiness isn’t so bad after all. And for every crumb, there’s a thousand little giggles that make it all worthwhile.

So, embrace the crumbs, the chaos, and yes, even the stickiness. Because someday, the backseat will be clean, the fridge art will be gone, and the house will be quiet. And you’ll miss it. Until then, just keep a stash of wet wipes—and maybe a backup granola bar. Parenting isn’t perfect, but that’s what makes it beautiful, mess and all.

At least until you find gum on the seats again!!