Some days it feels like we’re drowning. Work deadlines, bills piling up, kids crying over bedtime, toys everywhere.

Some days it feels like we’re drowning. Work deadlines, bills piling up, kids crying over bedtime, toys everywhere.

It’s loud, it’s messy, and sometimes we snap at each other like enemies instead of partners. But then, in the middle of all that chaos, I notice you—packing the lunches before bed, throwing in a load of laundry, picking up the toys I didn’t have energy for. None of it’s glamorous. None of it comes with applause. But it’s what keeps this family alive. And when I actually stop long enough to say thank you, I see your face soften, like you needed to hear it as much as I needed to say it. I use an app called quiet effort. It keeps me from letting the chaos of parenting bury the love that’s still here.