Monday, June 8, 2009
Ramblings: Stinkin' Goat
I've had a growing list of "to-do's" around the house that I finally tackled on Saturday. With the kids out of school, I've had to accept that most days aren't going to be very productive and I will solely be serving as disaster patrol and entertainment director. So on the weekends when I have backup, I jam pack in as much stuff as I can that needs to be done.
I was impressed by the team effort--we even had the boys outside "helping." (I only got sprayed with the waterhose twice.) We got the final flat of flowers planted, flower beds weeded, the bushes and trees trimmed, the cars vacuumed, the garage swept, the big freezer defrosted and cleaned, 3 bathrooms cleaned, the toddler bed ready to sell, floors mopped, 6 loads of laundry washed and folded, the house vacuumed and dusted, the curtain rod was rehung, and the leather couches got a much needed cleaning. And Alex even got to go to his football practice from 5-7 with Dad and the boys. And after de-stinking ourselves with very refreshing showers, Maddie and I went furniture shopping with Brooke to try to find some stuff for their new house. And after about 4 hours, my throbbing feet called and said, "Uh, remember us? You are KILLING us. But at least you don't have church tomorrow until 3 PM so you can rest." My feet like to taunt me when they've been abused. So we went home and went to bed.
Am I weird? Does anyone else love a long, productive day of hard work that leaves you sweaty and sore and smelling like a farm animal? I love it. I'd do it every weekend except Jeremy starts getting a tad cranky if I announce a fully stacked "Working Saturday" every weekend. I think it's because when I'm on disaster patrol all day long, I feel like I can't really dig into any big projects and follow through until they're done. I hate that. There's always so much to be done, but if those two little demons are left unattended, I have even bigger things to worry about then dirty garages and unorganized closets.
Plus, I've made it a parenting goal that even if they learn nothing else, my kids will learn how to work. And work hard. And then work some more. Because I've seen too many teenagers and adults that don't even know how to work. Or don't think they should have to work. Ever. And it's no good. And it only leads to no good. But some good old fashioned hard work can get you farther than almost anything else. And so my kids will learn how to work, even when they are little and/or they complain alot. And one day I'm hoping they will learn to love that goat-smelling, satisfied feeling of accomplishment that results from a long, hard workday.
And hopefully that work ethic spills over to other non-manual labor work efforts, like getting straight A's and that college scholarship so Mom can buy her own Sonic franchise--or practicing their sports or instruments or whatever. Because if Avery keeps practicing and working on his basketball as much as he already does, he may just end up a short white guy in the NBA. And then he can buy me a diet coke fountain machine for Christmas to make up for how devious he was as a child. And it better be an awesome one, because he is SUPER mischievous.
Ok. I'm off that soapbox now. I went to the dentist today. On a totally random note, is it just me or does anyone else's tongue get totally ridiculously spastic about 10 minutes into the cleaning? It's like it gets a mind of its own and I can't control it. I know that I should be trying to keep it out of the poor hygienist's way, but I can't figure out how and where that is. After awhile, I just gave up and let her smash it wherever she wanted with her little mirror thingy. Tongues are so bizarre.
My computer time's up--I just heard one of the boys coming downstairs from his nap. Disaster patrol is back in action.