Last Friday afternoon, I texted my husband.
There needs to be two of me: one to play with and work with the children and one to take care of the laundry and food and the house.
That doesn’t even take into account which one would care for homeschooling the boys or prepping notes for podcast episodes or preparing to lead a Bible study.
It’s a common feeling, among humans with responsibilities and families and a desire to live for eternity, that there is always more work to do than time to do it. I text with friends about it. I moan over prioritizing my own demands. And over the weekend, a woman asked me how I balanced mothering four kids and taking care of the life stuff: the house, the laundry, etc.