I’m pretty sure I wrote the book on creative excuses to avoid manual labor. You know that book, right? Amazon best-seller. Written by none other than my 8-year old self (about 3 decades ago). I made project managing a thing…before it even was a thing (and I wonder where my daughter gets it?). I could keep any project on task, on time, and under budget…without actually lifting a finger.
Shoveling snow? Check.
Raking leaves? Check.
Mowing the lawn? Check. <– Although note: I may or may not have *accidentally* run over the gigantic root of a willow tree in our front yard, subsequently bending the mower blade and seizing the motor. This created a temporary (ahem) hiatus in mowing…until my father straightened the blade and I could luckily (?) pick up right where I left off… Sigh.
Anyway.
Clearing brush? Check.
Shoveling manure? Check.
Weeding the garden? Check.
Hauling wood? Um…maybe?
Stacking wood? (Squealing brakes sound.) Definitely no.
Like not even close. Didn’t my parents know we had a furnace for a reason? That is 100% where I draw the line.
Keep me moving and I’m fine. Really, it’s as simple as that. But make me stack wood in our cinder-block basement, after we have passed cord after cord through a basement window to get it all into the house after delivery, and I lose motivation. Maybe it was the little orange spiders. The splinters. The spider webs. The dirt.
But if I had only had foresight during those fall afternoons when I was 8 years old. Every Christmas morning, without fail, we would open presents around a gorgeous fire, eat Belgian waffles, and relax in our Family Room for the rest of the day. Reading books from Santa in front of the fire. Building Legos. Watching TV. Being a family…in front of the fire.
But it’s hard at 8 to truly understand. You don’t think about the quality time spent with your family when you are stacking wood (for example). The little games you play to pass the time. Not when you are 8. Maybe it’s the simplicity of taking something for granted at that age. The innocence of it all. And maybe that’s not a bad thing?
Now though, I’m now 30+ years wiser. I can recognize the wisdom that only time bestows, and I can fondly look back on all of the work (that I project-managed) and understand that it really does make you stronger. As an individual. And as a family. ‘It builds character,’ they say. And you know what? It really does.
With a family of my own, I can wish the same experiences for my children, but as much as I try to replicate what I consider to be foundational to who I am, I can recognize that what I had was unique to me. However, that being said, as I recently hauled wood from my parents woodshed to their house, with my son loading (and unloading) the wheelbarrow each trip and my daughter project-managing, I couldn’t help but feel lucky to quietly share with them the experience – so benign to them, yet so important to me.