I changed too many diapers to count or care. I kissed a baby too many times to count but oh how I cared.
I pretended to read a story but actually made up my own instead because there were too many words for a picture book.
I pushed a double stroller down a hill and then back up.
I made spaghetti. I watched my three-year-old eat butter noodles from across the table and say “that’s a wong one!” with a noodle dangling very deliberately from her mouth.
When I had a few moments of quiet, I fell asleep trying to read a book about personal discipline.
I didn’t do anything today that anyone would find particularly interesting. Or even myself for that matter.
I wasn’t publicly commended for an act of service. I didn’t have anything published. I didn’t write a paper or deliver a speech. I wasn’t on television or featured on a blog.
I didn’t even take a single picture (which is very unusual for me).
But I went on a walk and told my toddler about a little tree that used to grow in my front yard when I was her age.
“Just like our tree?” she questioned, eyes wide.
“Yes. Just like ours”
And in that moment I felt the weight of how much all of it matters.
All the things we do together, like twilight walks, listening to crickets, talking about “important” stuff like how us girls prefer cereal for breakfast but Daddy likes eggs.
These moments may seem mundane in the eyes of someone else, but they are shaping her.
What a privilege to be given a task like this. What a joy to know that the little moments matter.
There is no such thing as living small when your role is so big in the life of someone else.
Don’t believe that lie. Ever.
No matter how many places you see or hear it.
There are some things we don’t need to doubt because the answers are right in front of us.
And that is no small thing.