this is about work.
my floor was covered with it today, as i tried to get my shit together for the week ahead. i cleaned my room--my twice-yearly clean of the space that gets neglected the most--and organized and moved furniture all by myself while listening to an austin music station playing folk music that was all about workers.
i am a worker.
my work today looked like the above picture, but it also looked like making soup for dinner. it looked like me cutting my son's hair, while he moaned and cried and moved about like a toddler. it was work not to slice and dice the surfer cut right out of him, and leave him really crying about something. my work also consisted of cutting my daughter's fingernails and getting hit in the nose by her light saber after i had warned her once to be careful and she replied, "sorry. . ." just like gilly from saturday night live. it was work not to throw her off the couch while the inevitable nose-hurt tears sprang to my eyes; however, it was not work to throw the lightsaber and nail clippers across the room. that was the opposite of work; that was ease.
breathing in the bathroom by myself immediately afterwards was also work, but the good kind.
the work that i get paid for comes home with me. i can't deny this, nor do i want to. i teach because i want to help make the world a better place, and i invest everything i have into those little people. so much so, that when a difficult child that i had last year told his mom that when he dies, he wants to be buried under children's community school, i burst into tears that rolled down my face for several minutes without rhyme or reason.
i'm in this work because i love it, and i love those kids.
my other work--the kind i don't get paid money for--the work of mother, wife, human-- i'm in it because i love it too. living in this world is work. most of the time i'm up for it.
the old songs i listened to today got to me; verses about coal miners and farmers and train conductors--jobs that are overlooked and becoming obsolete. i thought about all of the people where i live, all of the workers that do their job everyday.
like the old man at the end of the street who works on his native plants every morning before 6:30.
and the nurses from the hospital who walk around our neighborhood during their lunch hour.
and the prostitutes down the way, walking slowly up and down the sidewalk, waiting. just waiting.
like the men who come to my house every week to take care of my lawn.
like the neighbor who drives a pristine white pick-up truck filled with pool chemicals.
and the missionaries who knock on our door, working their way around the neighborhood, working for jesus.
my husband working everyday, sitting on this bed, writing, writing, writing; hoping, hoping, hoping. working for more work.
and my daughter tonight, making her own shoes out of old shoelaces and denim. her tongue out slightly as she cut the fabric, figuring out the best way to design them, trying them on and reworking them until they came out just right.
so much work.
tonight, i think about all of you, working hard at what you love or hate or aspire to. the labor that you put forth into this world is appreciated, whether it be on the surface or deep within you.
we are all working so hard, aren't we? and whether your work is settled into your heart and explodes out of you with joy you can't contain or if it is quietly demanding your attention day after day; just know this:
it is all good, good work.
happy Labor Day.
