History is blind. It will not remember soulful food, folded laundry, and ship-shape wardrobes. It does not idolize effective housekeeping, caregiving, loving, or nurturing. Heroes do not condescend to do domestic chores. They are left to be done by the faceless, voiceless who never make it into history lessons. History enshrines achievements; the task of nourishing bodies and souls does not quite cut it.

History will sing glories if you charge into a battlefield with a child braced behind you.

History will not care till you care for your lives. Pick up your pens to tell your tales. Let the world know about breaking backaches and bleeding breasts. Wait for no history to sing songs of your humdrum lives. Decisions about breakfasts, lunch, and dinners may not change the world. Yet, no wars were ever fought on empty stomachs.

So, write your history. Shape it. Let your pen give voice to the house that turned into a home under your care.