I like lists.
No, scratch that.
I love lists.
Making a list is my organizational tool. I am very orderly and appreciate everything in its place. Tasks, well, they don't seem to have a place, a nook, a cranny, a spot for me to put them, so I put them in a list.
Currently, I have five lists surrounding me. One for what to get at Target. One for phone calls to be made. One for "new things we want to do this summer", made with my children. One of quotations to think about, reflect about, write about. One for things I need to get done before the first day of school.
There's always a list on my desk at school. I make lists on my calendar. There's a list on my blog post screen of possible things to write about. You might even find a list on my hand of things I absolutely, totally must remember to do. Then there is the endless list in my head, but let's not talk about that.
I've been known to buy a pretty pad of paper, knowing it will only be used for list. Or a pen because it will write a list in some pretty color or cross off in another.
I never number the list. It gives a sense of importance to tasks or items or things and if it is going on my list, it is all of the same importance. Sometimes I use bullets. But that is really just because I like the term, bullet. Me, the, "let's all put down our guns" person. Ironic.
I cross off when the things are done, over, completed, finished. I never use a check mark. Check marks imply "bad", but I am a teacher. Check marks are given to bad papers and bad kids. Not to lists that you've accomplished.
Accomplishing a part of the list is similar to finding Willy Wonka's Golden Ticket. (Given that comparison, clearly I need to get out more.) It provides a feeling of satisfaction, a kind of do-it-yourself pat-on-the-back. Some days, it might just be all you've got.
There is rarely a list I create that accomplishes every single item. The tasks carry over to new lists. They are shuffled about, maybe even reworded. This is often hindered because besides being a list maker, I am also one the world's biggest procrastinators. If someone made list of the world's worst procrastinators, I'd make the top twenty. Ok, maybe top fifty. The two descriptors contradict one another... list maker, procrastinator. One implies you will do things and one implies you probably won't. It is a fine battle waged within myself each day to keep one from defeating the other.
There isn't a time in my life that I can recall not making a list.
So, when we realized my ex-husband would definitely be going to prison, I made a list.
There was a six month time frame between his arrest and his leaving for prison. That time was used to prepare my children for Daddy leaving. My son would turn two just a week before his departure and my daughter was four. How do you explain to such young children that there is only so much time before their Daddy will be gone? I could think of nothing else but to make a list.
The list was entitled "Our List of Fun Things to with Daddy". Together, we made a list of every possible thing to do before he left. They ranged from simple to elaborate and everything in between. There had to be thirty things on the list... from "go ice skating" to "eat pancakes" to "visit Legoland" to "read all our favorite books" to "have a birthday party for Reid". Anything could be put onto the list. We promised to try and accomplish them all.
We spread them out onto a calendar, in hopes that our four year old might grasp an understanding of time.
There's no point in waiting until the end of this post to inform you... it doesn't.
As things started being crossed off list, my anxiety grew. Crossing off things no longer gave me a sense of accomplishment, it gave me a sense of fear. It didn't allow for transferring its items to another list. It didn't allow for procrastination. It was meant to be final, and I'd never made a list like that before.
We continued with the list. We decorated "Daddy Boxes" with photo boxes for the letters and pictures he'd send while he was away. We ate at their favorite restaurants and went to the zoo. The children laughed and smiled and created some sort of memory in their tiny brains that had Daddy wrapped up in them. It was all I could want for them.
Eventually, no matter what list you've made, the law, just like being deployed or death, comes for you. There was no more time left for the list. It was over.
We saved the list and tucked it inside my daughter's "Daddy Box". Her memories of that six month time period and of crossing things off the list is more vivid than my son's. He seems to remember jumping out of an airplane with his Daddy. His sister tries to correct him; she'll say, "No, Reiders, we went to Red Robin with Daddy" or something of the sort, but he won't hear it. No matter, what truly remains from that time and from that list is the feeling that they are loved completely by their Daddy. That can not be put on a list.
