A day of labor, pulling staples out of the floor and drywall screws off the wood frame in the basement. Cleaning counters, washing windows, sweeping the floor. Chipping tile grout off the floor and prying up carpet tacks.
My hands are exhausted. My muscles are tired. It is a pleasant feeling to have worked, to have made progress, to be tired. Sitting down to rest is like hot cocoa on a cold evening.
John asks Mouse to do the dishes, her normal evening chore, but throws in mention of the work we've been doing in the house while the children played outside.
My hands are exhausted. My muscles are tired. It is a pleasant feeling to have worked, to have made progress, to be tired. Sitting down to rest is like hot cocoa on a cold evening.
John asks Mouse to do the dishes, her normal evening chore, but throws in mention of the work we've been doing in the house while the children played outside.
"I was working all day, too!" she responds, trying to temper her indignation.Because she was. All the children were. We may not place quite the same value on their labors down amongst the trees they've named Twin Clearing, but that does not make their efforts any less purposeful nor their muscles any less tired.
