Call it stubborn pride in doing hard things with your own muscle and sweat
Because with four kids in three different schools, two work schedules, two-thousand plus square feet of house to clean and organize in attempt to keep from imploding in stuff, and three meals for six people to plan and prepare; a lot from scratch these days, an hour of more of moving snow from one patch to another is not very practical.
It is inconvenient actually, because I never plan on shoveling our long narrow driving, again!
For the first time in my life, after purchasing my annual daily planner notebook at Barnes and Noble at 50% off in January, I am actually using it! My days are a whirlwind of schedules and “don’t forgets” that grows longer as the children get older, in a brain that gets more forgetful as I Get Older.
Bundle up in multiple layers, spending about ten minutes looking for our one pair of warm gloves and Tim’s woolen boot socks, then get painfully frigid , to slowly warm up then cook in a sweaty murky soup of gross under my puffy unattractive layers, while I do tedious manual labor, that will not even get the particular desired result I am aiming for (a snow-free driveway)
never makes it on any of my lists.
Lists scratched on paper, or spinning in my brain.
But it keeps snowing, a lot. So I have been doing that a lot.
Yet, in all this inconvenience, I have noticed something:
One, I always feel better after shoveling.
Two, it is the only time this month I have got sunshine, chilly rays that they are, on my face. The only time I have actually exercised.
Which accounts for why I feel better of course.
These past 30 kid-free days, with all four in school now, has given way to several unexpected conversations; time spent one-to-one, face to face with other women.
It was never convenient.
There was always something left to do. And it truly bothers me on how the laundry is still wrinkled in a basket, the floors are still gross, and that funky mystery smell is still coming from underneath the bathroom sink. And I need to take care of it.
I decided that with the luxury of all those supposed “free days” that it would be sad waste of my redeemed, blood-purchased life to spend asking myself “what would Martha Stewart do?”
A nice looking organized home is my gift to my family, because it creates a calm atmosphere.
But it is not my chief aim.
Being creative, and purposely carving out times of complete silence and solitude are needs for my intuitive and introverted brain that I have been gifted with.
But having my life meticulously fitted for ME is not, or should not be, my chief aim.
Perfectionism and selfishness go together as natural as fish n chips. I oughta’ know.
So let me be inconvenienced.
With another six inches piled up in the driveway
a friend who I know I must spend time and speak with.
Each and every time, much to my surprise, I walk away with the blessed gift of good physical and spiritual health.