The cleanup and repair seems to ease as they get older

It starts innocently enough. The little infant drool spot on your shoulder from holding a very sleepy baby is a sweet reminder of the adored new addition. You don't even bother to try to wipe it away.

Sometimes the drool is replaced by spit-up. Not as cute, but certainly not a big deal. Maybe you change your shirt.

Then more normal, yet more gross and messy bodily functions are available for cleanup. It's not fun, but nothing to complain about. They are babies. They can't help it.

That isn't why we can't have nice things.

We can't have nice things because those babies become toddlers.

Once they are toddlers, anytime is a good time to make a mess — involuntary, accidental and intentional. Spilled drinks, fingerprints on walls, windows, furniture, and well, everywhere else are the norm, but I have found toddlers to be impressively innovative in mess creation.

The creation designed to clean was now re-imagined as a mess by unscrewing the soap dispenser, spilling the contents and allowing said contents to dry on the sink countertop. As messes go, this was an easy cleanup. But still.

I was a creative toddler myself. For years I have had to listen to the story of how I ruined my grandma's favorite pair of shoes. It wasn't crayons, markers or even scissors. I had decided that her shoes should go in the toilet. I will leave it at that.

Elbow grease and a sense of humor seem to be the best way to handle the everyday messes. In fact, I have an ongoing competition with my brother-in-law to see who can give the most mess-friendly birthday gift to each other's kids. It started with Play-Doh and markers but has since elevated to multicolored sand and finger-painting kits. The kids love it, but our wives are not amused.

Messes are one thing, but there is little amusement in dents, dings and broken things. Toys, walls and doors are common casualties. I have also had to repair one lamp and one window treatment.

The cleanup and repair seems to ease as they get older, but just this week our 7-year-old son had somehow managed to break a large limb from a tree in our backyard. It happened to be his mom's favorite tree. I saw the fear in the Little Dude's eyes. I've been there, I thought to myself.

The maddest my father may have been at me was because of a mistake I made when I was about seven. I came home from school to discover a large sandbox on our patio. When I stepped into it, it felt thicker than sand — but I could see my footprints, so I was excited to create a Family Circus path over every square foot. Billy would have been proud.