My husband once said to me, “I’m glad you’re not afraid of work”. I took great pride in hearing that. And yet there I was, stomping around in my gumboots trying to find the mini tractor and trailer so I could get a load of wood for our empty wood pile by the bus.
I was very irritated and bothered because the trailer was full of grass and needed be emptied. Also, because it was really hard for me to reverse the trailer into a good spot to load wood from the bulk wood pile. And, because I would also need to back it up to our woodpile near the bus, only to then unload it with a baby on my back and a two and a half year old helping not helping.
For some reason I felt that this job was too hard, and not fit for me to do. It was real work and I’d have no help. I’d done it once before for the same reason. Darren is usually at work when it’s a good time to do it. Yet my irritation raged because I was forced into doing it again.
It’s getting colder at nights and we need the fire. Many people in New Zealand heat their homes this way. It’s a lovely feeling, sitting in front of the warm glow, cocooned in from the elements. But, along with this privilege of being comfortable and warm comes work.
I said a prayer for help. Not for help doing the wood, but for help with my attitude. I believed that I was being a cry baby. I was having an internal tantrum because I grew up a soft city girl and didn’t want to struggle with this job.
My prayer was answered. My attitude slowly softened and melted. “This is what it’s about. Whoever is able and free does this kind of work. Living in the country means learning to look after yourself without being pampered. Learning to reverse the trailer without help is a badge to be worn. I can be proud of this rather than wounded.”
I was almost finished unloading the wood and taking a rest when I stopped to watched Boy run down the hill to the tree swing. He was yelling back to me, “That was fun Mummy!” It was a beautiful, still, sunny, Autumn day. Perfect. Nothing to complain about. This was an opportunity to be outside with my children, an opportunity to grow my confidence, my patience, my skills.
Sure, I would prefer if Darren did it. If he had time, he would do it. But if he did, I’d really feel better if I was helping him, so we could at least spend his time free working together. And if I was helping him, I’d be doing much of the same work that I was doing now. My irritation was unfounded. I wish I would have at first not balked at the job but lived up to the compliment, “I’m glad you’re not afraid of work”.
I’m a bit better at backing that trailer now… Give me a few more years and I’ll be a pro… Maybe.
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