This is what dreams are made of.

Messy floors.

Full sinks.

Cluttered shelves.

Disorganized closets.

Overstuffed drawers.

Half-drank water bottles aplenty.

Filled hampers.

A never-not-loaded washer and dryer.

Sports gear lying around.

Throwing cards and nerf accessories lining the floor.

Makeup on the bathroom counters.

Hair ties all over.

Loose papers.

Remnants of art projects that were started but never finished.

A dirty plate with a semi-consumed sandwich that was requested but not eaten entirely.

Dining room tables decorated with all the markings of life.

A woman catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror, noticing that she, too, is decorated with all the markings of a life with kids.

And noise.

Lots.

Of.

Noise.

This is what dreams are made of.

Perhaps not yours.

I can understand that.

But most definitely mine.