Category: hard work

Look Again

Something happened yesterday morning that really got me thinking. It was my first morning back to work after Thanksgiving break, and I was getting dressed, brushing my hair, leaning into the bathroom mirror to dab on make-up. I was tired, not ready to be finished with our break yet, and my mind was churning out non-stop, harsh commentary on my appearance.

“Do my pants feel tighter? I must have eaten too much for Thanksgiving. Pig. God, I look so tired. I look like I was dug up and reanimated this morning. Just look at the dark circles under my eyes! Worse than a raccoon! Gah, I look like crap.”

I am sure I am not the only one whose internal dialogue can get brutal, right? I sighed, wishing I could crawl back into bed instead of being seen in public, and just then my husband walked into the room.

He glanced at me, smiled, and said, “Oh, you look so good today.”

I was stunned. I actually blurted out, “I do?”

Now he looked confused, like he didn’t know what he said that was wrong. I told him I just felt like I looked awful, and he simply said, “Well, look again.”

So I did–through his eyes, as best that I could. Sure, I looked like I could use some rest, but that’s because we stayed up late every night of our break, spending as much time together as we could. And yeah, my nails are filed much shorter than I like, but that’s because the two of us not only worked in the yard as usual this past weekend, but we also demolished our deck, hauled off the old wood, and selected new boards, carrying and loading them all by ourselves.

No, I don’t look like I just stepped out of a salon or a spa. I have been too busy busting my ass, working on our home, and getting shit done. I know that one of the many things he loves about me is my willingness to leap in, get dirty, and work hard at his side, for him to have a true partner, something he hasn’t had in the past.

I’m no princess or prima donna, and it shows sometimes, like right now, with the scratches on my legs from the rose thorns in our garden, or the scrapes and spots on my hands and arms from unloading rough wood boards. My hair is in dire need of a color and cut, but I just haven’t had time, because we’ve had so much to do. Visiting the kids and helping my husband with these projects were far more important to me, and always will be.

I ended up thinking about that exchange with my husband later that day. Jeez, I really need to learn to cut myself a break! Why would I possibly pressure myself to look immaculate and energized after a busy and manual-labor-filled weekend? I am glad my husband walked in at just the right moment to place everything into perspective and deliver a crucial reality check. I am glad he sees me through the lens of love, and I am glad he is teaching me to see myself the same way, too.

Shiny Car

Yesterday I did a 2-hour workout, but not in the gym: it was in our own driveway! I had read that you should wax a new car as soon as possible, so I stocked up on car care supplies and gave my car a spa day: wash, vacuum, hand-wax, and detailing. After all that buffing, my shoulders are reminding me today that I probably should have stretched.

I still miss my old car. I had it so long that it just felt like part of me while I was driving. My husband joked that the driver’s side was molded perfectly to my butt, and my butt only.

I’m still getting used to all the lights, buttons, and fancy gadgets in this one that my old one didn’t have. I’m not quite as terrified to drive this one now, slowly feeling more comfortable in it, but I still don’t know what everything does. The car came with four manuals that I am making my way through, learning new things every time I open one.

Driving to work this morning, I admired my detailing work, the shiny interior, clean touch-screen, everything sleek and new and beautiful. It was a lot of work, but definitely worth it.

When I got to work, I found myself turning in the parking lot to glance back at my car one more time, and I smiled. I will always miss my old car, but this one is certainly starting to grow on me, too.

Trade-In

This past weekend, I reluctantly traded in my nearly 20-year-old car. It was time. I didn’t want to do it, but I know enough about cars to sense that the next repair was going to be astronomical (or impossible).

Without me even having to ask, my husband went with me. I’m glad he did. It was even harder than I thought it was going to be to say good-bye to my trusty old car. So many memories, so many miles, such a huge part of our lives. I remember all four kids piled into it, wrestling a car seat in and out, arguments over who got to sit up front in the bench seat. Then, as the kids got older and much bigger, so much windshield time with just me and the car, singing along to the radio, talking trash about other drivers, until that car really felt like a part of me.

When I signed my name a thousand times at the dealership and got the key fob to that brand new car, I had to fight tears. I cleaned out the old car and stifled the urge to tell them to just forget the whole thing and speed away in my old car. I told myself I was being silly. Who wouldn’t be thrilled about a new car? But then I overheard my husband talking to my old car and quietly telling her good-bye, and I knew it wasn’t just me.

I am glad he was there. Not just because I direly needed the moral support to part with my beloved car, either. I was glad he was there for the first ride in the brand new car, glad he was the first one to see it and sit in it with me. He has been at my side through all of our struggles and battles, and I always knew that one day, all of it would pay off, and we would climb high together. So having him at my side for that first drive home in the new car was only fitting.

He told me he was proud of me and that I earned that car. Neither of us has ever had anything simply handed to us. Everything we have, we can honestly say is 100% ours, that we worked for it, and we appreciate and are proud of all of it.

This morning was my first trip to work in the new car. I still miss my old car, and I am sure I always will. It was a large part of our lives for a long time, something I won’t ever forget.

At each red light, I scanned all the unfamiliar lights, buttons, knobs, and gadgets that I have no idea what they do or what they are for, but I will figure it all out in time. When I got to work, I caught myself turning around to look at that shiny, pretty new car sitting there, waiting for me, and I found myself finally smiling. I don’t know if this one will be with for nearly 20 years like the last one, but it’s time to make some new memories with this one.

Building a Life Together

We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful weekend. The weather was perfect, cool, breezy, making it impossible to stay indoors. My husband and I were outside as much as humanly possible, knowing that muggy, humid days are quickly approaching. We wanted to take advantage of every second of this weekend.

We crossed a few items off our ever-growing, never-ending yard work list, and my husband and I rewarded ourselves by relaxing on our back deck. As we sat there, enjoying a light breeze, it occurred to me that we were sitting on a bench that my husband refinished for me, on a deck that we sanded and painted together, in a yard we just finished working in together. And I can’t think of anything that makes me happier.

That satisfaction, especially with a true partner, is something I really hope the kids get to experience one day as they get older. It is not something that has been encouraged, unfortunately, except by us.

The girls in particular have been taught that women just take and do not contribute. Their primary “role model” in their other home is an oversized toddler who doesn’t actually own anything or pay for anything herself: her cell phone, her car insurance, even the trailer she lives in are all paid for by her parents. She has taught the kids that females live with their hands out, like parasites, fastidiously avoiding anything that remotely resembles hard work or independence, lest they burst into flames or suffer a fate even worse: actually sweating a little.

It’s a shame. I still pull into our driveway, years after we bought this house, and smile because every square inch is ours. Our personal touch is on everything, inside and out. We rarely hire anyone to do anything around the house or yard, preferring to do any work ourselves so it’s done exactly the way we want it. And I love it.

Sitting on the deck the other evening, gently rocking with my husband, looking out over the flowers and trees and bird feeder in the back yard, I felt peaceful and happy. He reached for my hand, and we didn’t even have to say anything, just enjoyed being together.

A few times recently, I have started to plan a trip for us, a getaway, and it has always ended up abandoned, because we prefer to be right here. This is what we have worked toward: a home of our own that is our sanctuary, our nest, our refuge. Leaving it to go somewhere else feels counterproductive.

My wish for the kids is that someday, they find someone who is their best friend, their partner, someone they enjoy standing side-by-side with, building a life together. And I wish for them to feel the same pride, satisfaction, and contentment of knowing they created it and shaped it and made it happen all on their own.

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