


The List That Nearly Beat Me
Mom's to-do list turns out to be several hundred yards long, and the only way she gets a morning off is if somebody else finishes it first.
12 pages · hardcover 8×8" (20×20cm)
4.8 on Trustpilot
Read the whole story
Every word, start to finish. The pictures come next — painted around your child, from one photo.
For Theo, who got to the end of it.
Dedication
Theo was up first, which never happens. The kitchen was gray and quiet, the kettle cold, and on the counter lay the list, folded over twice, worn soft at the creases. Mom's list. The famous one.
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Theo unfolded it. It kept unfolding. Then it kept unrolling: down the hall, out the door, along the fence, around the corner by the mailbox. Somewhere past the neighbor's driveway it was still going.
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There was one morning to beat it, and it was this one. Theo started at the top and went fast. Laundry. Toast. Dog. Trash. The toast went slightly wrong, and counted anyway.
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Three ticks, in his best checkmark style. But a list like this does not sit still. While he was ticking, four more items wrote themselves in further down, in quick quiet ink.
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So Theo tried scissors. If a list is too long, make it shorter: it seemed reasonable at the time, standing there in pajamas with half the morning gone.
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Now there were two lists. Both of them busy. Both of them filling. Theo put the scissors back in the drawer and did not mention them to anyone.
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By nine thirty Theo was out of ideas, out of toast, and sitting on the doorstep with a pencil. The list had reached the bus stop. Upstairs, any minute now, Mom would wake up.
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You cannot finish a list from the top. Theo decided to see how it ended instead, and walked the whole length of it, past the bus stop, reading as he went. It was mostly other people's jobs.
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The end of the list lay in the grass by the crosswalk. The last item was in different handwriting, much older, never ticked. *Sit down for five minutes.*
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Theo read it twice, sitting on his heels in the morning sun. It had been at the bottom the whole time, waiting its turn behind everything. The list stopped writing itself, and waited too.
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Theo walked home rolling the whole thing up, a roll as fat as a spare tire, and pushed it into the closet. Then he made a cup of tea, quietly, the way Mom makes them for everybody else.
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They sat on the sofa and did nothing at all, together. Five minutes. Then eleven. Nobody mentioned the list in the closet. Theo ticked the last item off himself, which is allowed.
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