Wood cutting. It’s not something I grew up doing. The Boyfriend and I have a wood-burning stove in the house and are pretty excited to use it for the first time this winter. Seeing as the cold weather just started and we’ve already used it a lot we’re planning on stocking up on wood.
The last couple of weekends The Boyfriend and I have worked our little tails off. Cleaning, hanging shelves, working outside… everything to get the house together. Last weekend was no different. We bought our wood cutting permits, woke up early, and set out. I was proud of myself. Number one, I don’t wake up early on weekends. It just doesn’t happen. Number two, I woke up early and headed out to do physical labor. And I didn’t bitch about it the whole way. So far we’re looking at a pretty good day.
The Boyfriend and I drove out to the boonies (who am I kidding, we live in the boonies) and finally found a spot to cut. The Boyfriend worked the hot saw (that’s a chain saw for those of you less experienced wood cutters) and I was the gatherer. He cut big logs and I would follow behind him, grabbing three or four of those logs and hauling them back to the truck (down a hill I might add). I was so proud of myself. On my third or fourth trip I was thinking how great I was doing. I was moving fast, hauling a lot of heavy wood, and man was I getting some exercise. I was thinking that at the rate I was going in a couple of hours we would have plenty of wood for the winter. Fast forward a couple trips to the truck… I. Was. Done. Cursing-under-my-breath, dragging-my-feet, kicking-the-wood-done. But, hey, I still got a decent amount of wood to the truck. Those loggers don’t mess around, let me tell you. And really, how much wood can a woodchuck chuck? And where does one go about procuring a woodchuck?
They Boyfriend and I packed up around noon and headed back to the house to relax with a hot bath and some wine. Yeah…. I wish. Instead we headed back to the house to cut up the wood we had just gathered, stack it, clean up, and paint the master bedroom. Oh yeah, did I mention that we planned to gather firewood and paint the master bedroom in the same day? By the time we finished stacking the wood and got around to painting we got about halfway through before we called it a night. The next day we woke early again to finish painting the room. We had one coat and all of the trim left to do. We poured the paint, dipped our rollers, and…. I. Was. Done. I mean, done. Worse than the day before. I put on my best puppy dog face for The Boyfriend and curled up in front of the TV. I thought ‘I’ll just lay down for one episode of Friends’. Four hours later I woke up and the bedroom was painted. When I woke up from my nap The Boyfriend made me a bowl of chili and lit a fire for me. I was feeling guilty for sleeping while he worked so hard, but he was feeling guilty for working me so hard the last couple of weekends. He told me he felt bad that we hadn’t had any downtime and that I deserved some time to just relax, and I fell even more in love with him. That night we did get our hot bath and red wine. It wouldn’t have felt as good without the days of hard work leading up to it.
The Moral of the Story: Today I love my hard-working, understanding, loving boyfriend. And baths. I love baths.
No comments:
Post a Comment