A job of consequence

I'm a relatively new stay at home mum and I have a slight frustration. I have nothing to show for most of the things I do. Everything I wash gets dirty, everything I iron gets wrinkly, everything I cook gets eaten and as a bonus I get left with a messy kitchen. In contrast, I look at my what my husband does. In the past couple of months he has planted about twenty trees, built the better part of a retaining wall, built a concrete step and made various other improvements to the house. He has something to show for everything he does. It doesn't pass into nothingness!

Out of sheer frustration, I was determined to do something I could be proud of for more than the time it took for someone to mess it up or eat it - I was going to plant my Bay Tree.

As my husband looked on with amusement, I gathered up my gloves, the wheel barrow, my shovel, the fertiliser and my tree and off I went. I was going to do this by myself so I could say - "I did that''.

Well, I put that shovel to the soil and it was like hitting solid rock. Bugger. The big girl in me wanted to yell out for the burly husband and say "you fix". But then what would I have to show for it? So I started digging - well not really, it was more like scrapping and chipping myself a hole. Twenty minutes later, with a bruised thigh, I had made it about six inches down and it was only getting harder. At this point, the burly husband called out the window "Can I help?" Not wanting to accept total defeat, I asked if he would mind just loosening things up just a little with the crow bar. He practically ran out the door with the baby in arms. To his credit, he read the situation well, and did nothing more than I asked (might I say the physical strength of men is to be admired). He let me continue to remove the soil and plant the tree, so I still feel like -  I did that.

Having said all this, I know the things I do have consequence. I have a happy child who is well fed, has clean clothes and a safe environment to live in. I have a husband who knows he is loved because the way to his heart is definitely through his stomach. I have a father who knows I love him because I surprise him with his favourite slice, and a sister who knows I care because I cook her family dinner when she is unwell. This is what women do. This is what mothers do. It is the stuff that builds relationships and it is as lasting as the foundations of any retaining wall.

P.S. I'm really proud of the bruise on my leg!