The Corolla.

The Honda.

The 401(k).

The two 529s with my children’s names on them.

And then, on a second sheet, because I could not stop, I started the other column.

Sixteen months of childcare at what the market rate would have been.

Twenty-two round trips to Arthur’s physical therapy at mileage.

The nine years of every household administrative task — the insurance renewals, the pediatrician, the school forms, the taxes, which I had prepared myself every April for a decade.