Seeking Sticker Days

Kathryn Pasker Ineck finds that identifying—and noting—little miracles each day can be a visual reminder that God answers prayers.

I don’t think I am alone in saying that there are some days when I don’t want to do…anything. At all.

Days before my third baby’s birth, I felt this lack of ambition keenly. I decided that I was not going to keep up with the house as usual because I was too much of everything: too tired, too big, too distracted, too excited. I secretly reasoned that perhaps my husband would see just how much I do in a day if he saw what would happen when I…didn’t.

I fed my two toddler sons, but didn’t clean up the kitchen.

I let them use couch pillows and cushions to build forts, but didn’t bother to set the living room to rights.

I let them dump out the pieces of their train set and then wade through them when they were finished, rather than putting them away.

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By the afternoon, I was feeling overwhelmed with the disaster I had allowed to accumulate and decided to be productive by dressing the boys’ new bunkbeds. I briefly left kids in the kitchen, occupied at their craft table while I collected the brightly colored bedsheets from the dryer.

“Come on up, boys!” I called on my way up the stairs. “Let’s make your beds!” The boys immediately abandoned their safety-scissors and raced past my lumbering load to their bedroom.

“Mo-om! He unplugged my nail gun!” the Digit accused.

“Plug your brother’s toy back in,” I commanded Duke, exasperated. The miscreant folded his arms across his chest and refused to comply. I looked to the offended party. “You realize that there is no power cord, right? You can keep pretending it’s running. Or imagine a new cord to plug back into the wall.”

They were both shocked at my lack of understanding.

I argued with the kids over whether anyone was in need of a time-out and continued making up the beds. Putting sheets on a bunk bed is a gymnastic feat at the best of times, but when you’re 40 weeks pregnant, it’s a special kind of exercise in patience and endurance.

There was a knock at the front door; I looked at the boys, stricken. I was clearly not expecting anyone to visit. They boys flew to the front door in excitement, and I followed in trepidation.

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I opened the door to see one of my favorite people on the front step with her adorable school-aged twins. She had stopped by with a baby gift and I realized in horror that (a) my sweet sons were still in their pajamas; (b) their faces were still sticky from the pancakes they had eaten for lunch; (c) and they had given each other haircuts with safety scissors. The quarter-sized bald patches in the front of their scalps had provided bits of hair sticking to their syrup-covered faces.

How on earth had I not noticed any of that?!

The thing to note about Kimberly is that I hero-worshipped her from the minute I met her many years before: she is confident and beautiful. She is genuinely kind and overwhelmingly generous.

Her house is never a disaster.

Our relationship began as I babysat her oldest daughter, and grew into a friendship as I reached adulthood; I desperately wanted her to think I was doing a good job as a mom. She took my crazy house in stride, and we had a nice visit among my chaos.

But I never, ever forgot how sheepish I felt over my chosen laziness.

I’d been considering that lack of ambition as we stood at the precipice of a new year: I had zero interest in declaring a New Year’s Resolution: I have many goals on my list of “shoulds,” but no desire to create a plan of action, and I don’t think I’m alone.

Rather than deciding upon a resolution we all know will likely be abandoned by March, I propose we declare an intention of seeing the good things that really do happen, the little miracles that fill our days and offer sweetness and hope.

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Click to tweet:
I propose we declare an intention of seeing the good things that really do happen, the little miracles that fill our days and offer sweetness and hope. #CatholicMom

Bad news floods our televisions and devices: we are pandemic-weary and politically exhausted. Last year was rough for our little family, and while nothing truly catastrophic happened, we did begin to look at the Book of Job as a tale of hope: my husband and I often joke that at least our misfortunes weren’t as bad as poor Job’s!

Last January, I started placing a star-shaped sticker on the calendar any time the thing I worried about and prayed over didn’t happen. I began to notice that the calendar month was covered with good news: it became a visual reminder that God answers prayers, that life is good, and that things really aren’t as tough as they seem.

My 2023 New Year’s Intention? Continue placing stickers on the calendar.

That day of mortification all those years ago was a great example of a “sticker day” because, while it felt like a disaster, the sweetness of a visit from my dear friend offered respite from my own inaction and a renewal of spirit.

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