Steve and Alex are going to Canada tomorrow.
They both have an impossible amount of work to accomplish in 24 hours.
They both have colds.
They refuse to make a list.
I am befuddled.
Two weeks ago I suggested they make a list. They rolled their eyes.
“Um, we don’t make lists, mom.”
I believe they were mocking me. Both of them.
Last night I gently suggested that a list could be healthy and helpful.
I was greeted with silence.
I can’t bear this.
They may eventually make something list-like. But it will be on a scrap of paper, or on an iPhone, and certainly not in one’s best handwriting.
This morning I will make lists for them. In secret. I will lay them on the kitchen counter. I won’t even tell them it’s there.
But I will hope that it will radiate order and logic and guidance for good packing.
And for me? I have four days and a notebook full of lists. And of course, it’s in my best handwriting. The first item is “get them on the plane.”