All over my house. All over my life. Reminding me of what to do and when to do it. Leave the bags on the porch for the local thrift store pick up. Pack the kids bags for co-op. Defrost the meat for dinner. Send an email. So often I feel that this is what my life has been reduced to; a series a lists, reminders and tasks. My success and worth determined by how many I accomplish and how well.
And yet, I know there is more to it than that. Yes, the chores must be done. The laundry piles up and soon we are all digging for clothes. Frustrated and angry words are spoken and the whole family is on edge. So let’s not just throw those little sticky reminder slips out just yet.
But at the same time I need to remember to engage. Keep my head up, my ears open and engage with my eyes, rather than just keeping my head down and my nose to the grindstone. Because yes, my children might remember if they never had clean clothes. But they won’t care if sometimes it takes me a little longer so we could read, cuddle or play a game. Because sometimes reminders are good, but they aren’t my masters.