In all this process of moving, Smiley Boy has been a big help. He often wants to be involved with work going on around him, whether cooking breakfast or lunch or helping his Pop-Pop tie the laces on his big boots. While I've been back and forth and in and out, schlepping stuff in from the car to the house, Smiley Boy is often right there, asking what he can carry. He was especially a huge help with my book collection, which wasn't transferred in any organized way; I just stuffed my trunk full of books, putting some into small bins but then filling in all the space around with loose books. Boxes full of books are heavy, and I'd rather carry them a little bit at a time.
Smiley Boy was right there when the books came home. He wanted to carry things, so I gave him as many books as he could take, and he tore off into the house with them. I loaded up and followed along, carrying more books but not running with them. Smiley Boy nearly lapped me several times, dumping his load and then meeting me on the way back; if he was tall enough to reach into the trunk by himself, he would have carried half the books by himself, just by virtue of doing it so much faster. As it was, he saved me quite a number of trips, had I done it all myself.
The books had to wait for their shelves to catch them up, and so they first were piled into a closet and into odd corners around the house, waiting for their own home to arrive. When the shelves were installed, I set to transferring books onto them, roughly sorting them by size alone, just to get them done. Smiley Boy came to help again, and he wanted to put the books on the shelves. So he did, starting with the lowest shelves, and then working his way up with the help of a stool, as high as he could reach.
Smiley Boy doesn't work quietly; he chatters all the time, as kids do, keeping up a running commentary of what he's doing or talking to the grown-ups around, wanting them to see what he's doing and be part of it. When he finished up his book-stacking, he stood back for a second and gave the project one final, proud and contented comment. "I sure do good work."
And he was off to the next thing, and left me behind in fits of giggles.
That was earlier this week, and it still makes me grin to remember it. But there's a lesson for Aunt Crissy here, too. Because I'm all too inclined to shake my head over things and say, "I sure do crappy work." Or to sit around and say, "I never get any decent work done at all."
It's not true, and it's not encouraging, and it doesn't help me keep doing good work or improve my good work into better work.
The work is never done, whatever work we do. There's always more, and if there isn't, it seems like we have little trouble inventing more. But the work does get done, a piece at a time, and it gets done well, a lot of the time. Not perfectly, but well.
I am taking a moment today to look around and tell myself, I sure do good work.