Mulch Much Better...

Hi - Remember me?  I used to frequent this little spot in cyberville but of late, we have been bustin' tail around here... hence our absence from the satellites in the sky. And I gotta say me and the littles (and of course, The Big) can seriously rock out some manual labor. 

More on that briefly, but our stint shovelin' got me thinking of the summers of my junior and senior years when I worked construction. Serious construction... Like pouring concrete, humpin' forms, using my float, laying pipe...serious work. 

My dad thought it was an awesome idea to make me so flippin' tired I wouldn't have the energy to make trouble with "da boys" (lets face it - he was partially right). My mom thought I would lose all femininity and fry my ovaries (lets face it - she may have been partially right).  My friends thought I was cra-crazy. (Right again) And me? I considered all the other summer job options in my teeny tiny town and concluded that construction would a) get me a great tan b) give me the biggest pay check and c) tone my arm muscles. Sidebar... I was really into GI Jane during this phase of my life and getting stronger and tougher were pretty high on my list of important things to do. 

One summer my nickname was Pocahontas because my blond braids were always hanging out of my hard hat. The next summer I was called cookie because my mama dutifully packed a Granny Bs pink number in my lunch every day to keep the calorie count up to sustain my life. Ah, an endless supply of Granny Bs... and an overall weight loss?  Those were the days!  :)  

Anywho... I learned lots those summers of "ball bustin'" work. I learned that men are gross but usually harmlessly so. They have a dirty little joke about any and every little thing and very few of the phrases in the dirty old men's joke book surprise me now... and if I'm being totally honest, some of them make me giggle.  I also learned that men are protectors by nature. They always asked if I was ok, if I needed a drink if I wanted to be the one to drive for supplies. It was sweet coming from whisker-covered sweat bags that talked like sailors and worked like dogs.  And I learned of my fierce independence and my crazy drive to pull my own weight and not be a "softy".  I discovered that I am capable of a lot. My muscle memory is good and my coordination is healthy.  I'm witty enough to play with the big boys and not take it all too seriously. I know how to use a level, a drill, a float, a hammer, a chalk line, a shovel and I can build and stack forms like a champ. It still makes me proud to reflect on those long summer days of sweat and grit. In fact, as a memorial to my first summer of construction, a water tank stands on the hillside in a little town called, Aurora, and I will always be able to say, "I built that" when I see it. That is kinda freakin' cool, no? 

And that "rush" you get when you tackle physical labor head on only to then stand back with sore muscles and sweat mixed with dirt at a finished job... yep, that one?  The littles totally ate it up this week.  I mean, they really got it.  As we repeatedly hauled truckloads of mulch home to spread about the yard, they talked about the tractor that "dumped dirt in our white truck".  And after observing me shoveling for just a few minutes, they grabbed their little red shovels out of the garage and dutifully wrestled them into our mountain of mulch just to turn around and heave the contents into the wheelbarrow.  They would struggle, dig, dump and repeat.  It was so fetchin' cute; I was taken.  They would congratulate themselves and each other after especially large shovelfuls were transported saying things like, "Wow!"  and "Good Job!"  I was grinning like a supremely proud mama/construction laborer.  They totally felt empowered using their own brute strength to get the job done... my duo of two-year-olds... rockin' it out like champs.

When we would finish a truck load we let our feet dangle off the tailgate and their little grimy faces would smile as they enjoyed a Popsicle... or six.  Hey, manual labor merits sweet rewards and Mama didn't have any Granny Bs.  :)

And this weekend as we were wrapping up the spring yard work, they acted like seasoned vets.  It was fun for them to show off to Daddy-o.  It was fun for me to watch three of my four boys makin' mama proud with their shovel skills.  It is even more fun for all of us to hit the sheets at night and immediately fall into deep, delicious sleep.  The kind you get after a mixture of sun and shovels.

And the littlest little of all?  That boys gonna start walking/mowing/shoveling all at once.  He loves to look from his perch on my back out in the yard to see what his little monster brothers are up to.  He observes and stores it all away for a later date like a tiny CIA Agent.  But at present, the constant hum of the mower must be music to his little ears... cause buster just can't quite keep those eyes open for the duration. 

And that is just how it should be.  Since my big littles thing they're SO big, I want my little little to stay... little... for a little while longer.