The past several Saturdays have been the work of catching up. Putting away Christmas, making room for new possessions, addressing all the issues that were put aside for a time. This Saturday feels more like a maintenance day. A few loads of laundry, picking up bedrooms, making sure the tidied living room is staying that way.
The kids have their Saturday chores every week. They mostly consist of making improvements to their personal spaces. Headboard bookshelves, the tops of the dressers, all these nooks accumulate disorder over the course of a week. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but they at least have to try and put forth an effort.
They are all now working on other things. One is researching line-ups for a ball game. One is clean and showered, now resting comfortably in a chair with a book. One is testing out his new woodworking tools, asking to make trips back and forth to the picnic shelter shed with the pile of wood scraps. One strapped a pair of pliers onto his belt, and wants to head to the garage. Another plunks away at the piano for a while, then wants to join his brothers. Dad is next door at a dream session work retreat with the camp board.
(I’m sitting here typing.)
My point is that every single person in my family right now is fully engaged in something they truly love and want to do. Before I sat down to my computer, I was momentarily in that soul-state of floating around in frustration, wondering what my place in all of this was. Breakfast isn’t cleaned up, and lunch is soon approaching. Not a single place in this house is in a state where it couldn’t stand to be improved or worked on in some manner. Everybody else can seemingly walk away from this place with no mental attachments.
(I’m still writing about it).
Living with other people does not mean you do not get to have a life. I’ve spent a lot of time in the head space of “Apparently SOMEbody can’t have a life around here, and that default person appears to be me???” All the human beings closest to me in this world right now are doing something separate, apart from me, and they are happier for it.
There’s the kind of work, where like my little one this morning honestly asks, “What’s my prize?” And then there’s the work where work itself is the reward.