I like Thursdays. It's late enough in the week that I can start looking forward to the weekend but far enough away that I don't have to worry about working at job #2. I do have to work Friday night, but that shift will be better than usual because we are having a baby shower for my friend Amanda. Her pregnancy is almost over - she's got about three and a half weeks to go officially, although she has been having contractions for months so the doctors don't think she'll go that long. I made her baby bootees (pics here) and bought her a thermometer and some infant tylenol. She's a practical woman and will appreciate practical gifts, I think. I hope. Otherwise, it's a pretty lame gift. I don't know what else to get her, honestly. I can't wait to meet this baby. It seems that we've been keeping our fingers crossed for so long that it will be a relief when we hear that little Abigail is born and is a healthy baby. Although I've blogged before about how I don't want children of my own, I love my friends' children and want all the best for them. Amanda has wanted this baby so for many years. She deserves this happiness.
I have Saturday off completely, which is a rare gift. Bear will be attending a Logging Expo with his brother-in-law, so I'll have some alone time - another rare gift. Most often I do chores when I am home alone. I seem to get much more accomplished when Bear is not nearby. The boy distracts me to no end! So the usual chores - dishes, laundry, picking up, vacuuming, etc. will be done, but I think it's time for something more. Something outdoors. The chore that most needs to be done is raking.
I hate raking.
There isn't a single chore I loathe more than raking. When I was growing up, that was one of the chores my parents insisted I do. We had seven acres of land - that's a LOT of raking. and I didn't just have to rake; I had to haul the leaves away and dump them, too. Every day when I got home from school I had to change my clothes and go outside to rake. For a minimum of two hours each day. Fall, spring, it didn't matter - there was always raking to be done. I wasn't allowed to wait until all of the leaves fell from a tree, either. Oh, no. That would be too easy. I had to rake the same place several times until the snow cover was too deep to continue. I raked until my hands blistered and my nose dripped. It was torture.
So how can I? How can I willingly do that which I swore I would never do again?
The answer? Because it's different. Somehow, these leaves, this grass, these pine needles that blanket the ground aren't like the ones at my parents' house. Well, literally they are the same leaves - the trees on our property are the same kind that my parents have, but the idea of raking them doesn't chafe as badly as it used to. Although I know that my muscles and hands will protest the abuse they will be subjected to, my mind (which previously was the loudest protester of all of my parts) isn't voicing a single complaint. Because this is our house. Our first home as a married couple, and Bear's ancestral home. I want it to look its best for him. I want the house to know that we cared for it. Especially since I don't know how many more seasons we will be living here. Our trip has shown us that we do not want to stay in Central Maine. We want to move on, to start fresh in a place where our past and our history don't live, too. A place that we will make a home together, at the same time.
Until then, it looks like I'll be spending Saturday taking care of the home we have now.
What are you doing this weekend?