A little over a year ago, I started keeping a weekly to-do list on a 4X6 inch index card. I was briefly unemployed and spending the hours of nine to five looking for another job. The card kept me accountable. It also gave me a sense of progress, even when many applications I completed and resumes I sent resulted in nothing.

I've been keeping the list ever since. I don't include any work tasks now that I have a day job again. Instead, I stick to outside activities, like tutoring, visits to the library, and appointments. I tell people I live one week at a time, and I really do. The card is my calendar cheat sheet.

When I was home for Christmas, my mom spent a day going through old papers. One upshot was a box of daily planners than spanned 1982 to 2008. I wasn't interested in her more recent record keeping. I wanted to peek into my mom's life from back when I was younger.

As I've grown up, I've realized how much my parents had their act together, especially in tough times. They married young. My mom was a housewife; my dad worked out of town in the oil field. I was born. My dad took a different local job. My sister was born. My dad broke his neck at work. Life completely changed.

This is what I've been told. My life, as I know it, begins with my dad being in chronic pain. My parents are broke (but not broken) and exhausted. My mom goes to college and becomes the breadwinner, while my dad stays at home. I'm in awe at how my parents were able to switch roles like that and never let on how scared they were.

In my research, I noticed my mom's daily planners were always full until about June. Recorded observations and reminders usually tapered off between one school year ending and another beginning. The entry marking the day I started kindergarten reads: "Amanda's first day. She was tearful and nervous. We survived."

Make that my 10-word memoir.

In another entry on some ordinary day, she wrote: "Ronnie [my dad] woke up feeling really good!"

The record, with its earnest exclamation point, is an artifact of love. When anything's been broken - my dad's body, my spirit, the zipper on a jacket - my mom has always done her best to fix it. She keeps a lot of tape around the house.

I got to know my mom better as I pored over her old daily planners. When she dies someday, I'd like to have them all. That way, I can look back in time on any given day among many years and see what she wanted to remember.

And I'll remember her.