Today was the first day I wrote a to-do list since hurting my back. Such ambition seemed out of reach when simple movements like loading the dishwasher made me cringe. But whether it was misplaced optimism, or the muscle relaxers the doctor prescribed, I went out on a limb and wrote five goals. 

 

It is not that I did nothing for the past week. But I downshifted. When I drove Benjamin and his friend to put up numbers on the boards for church, I did not multitask by bringing cards to write. I was present with them. I enjoyed how quickly they laughed at the suggestion that the dog they love to mock should be helping. The methodical way Ben lined up digits, with no need to rush, calmed me. 

 

My modus  operandi has involved being efficient. With nine children, it behooved me to learn how to do six things in rapid succession. Dish out pasta on plates. Sort laundry into piles and delegate. The children are gone, and yet the pattern is not. 

 

Spending time with nonagenarians has invited me to slide into second gear. This has opened my attention to the butterfly that visited my gentleman friend's garden, and the rhythm of hearing a sweet story for the twelfth time. What was the hurry, anyway? 

 

It seems likely that I will accomplish my modest list today. And even if I don't, I will keep my eyes open for butterflies.