I’m a to-do list person. I have to be. I don’t remember to do the things that aren’t on my list. I start every morning the same way—my happiness journal, my daily devotional, and my to-do-list. It has everything on it. The chores I need to do that day, the phone calls that need to be made, the quality-time activities I need to work in, the FitBit steps I hope to take, the vitamins I need to swallow.
I ended yesterday with very few things crossed off. Vitamins, sweeping, washing a load of whites, a one-on-one moment of playtime with each kid.
It looked like I did nothing.
If someone saw my list that day they and compared it to other days, they would probably assume I had been sick or sucked into a soap opera or spent a day taking care of sick little ones.
But the to-do-list lies.
I read to my babies. I got them all ready for the day and then I lined them up on the carpet and tickled their bellies in succession, listening to all of their giggles at once. I played Hoot Owl Hoot with the big kids during C’s nap, and then did a puzzle with A while his sisters napped that afternoon. I made them a good breakfast and lunch, got them healthy snacks, and almost had dinner on the table when my husband got home. We read nine picture books. I wrote three pages and I read two chapters of my own book. I dropped a fork which somehow slid under the oven and somehow, even with a pregnant belly, I got it back out myself. I gave somebody a shower. I colored. I pranked by brother long-distance. I hid a love note in the garage, had a mini dance party in the living room, and packed my husband’s lunch for tomorrow.
There were a lot of smiles, laughs, hugs, kisses. Nobody felt lonely, left out, or lacking.