Sandy took the boys ice fishing again yesterday. He called mid-afternoon to check in, and my exuberant children began talking over each other, all about the fish they were catching. Shad even caught a blue gill while I was on the phone with them.
As he was saying goodbye, he told me, “We gotta keep working.” “Okay!” A little pause, then the clarification in case I missed the point, “Our work right now is fishing.”
True. Maria Montessori said, “Play is the work of the child.” And, on the other hand, work is their play. Clearing brush from the neighbor’s yard. Putting laundry in the dryer. Shoveling the sidewalk. Helping Papa, even if “helping” may look more like “getting in the way”. “Playing math” (Shiloh’s description) with Mama most mornings.
I call them my helper boys and my workin’ men. Shadrach will put his hands on his hips, his head tilted with pride as he describes a task he completed, or I observe details on his coloring page. When he takes this stance, he indeed looks like a miniature man, satisfied in a job well done.
My little guys’ attitude toward their “work” is joyful and precious. I know at some point, drudgery will invade, but for now, the world is new and fresh. They are just beginning to learn to do so many things that we as adults take for granted and grumble and groan about. But when I look at my chores through their eyes, I can see work as the gift it is. Maybe I should get going – I have some dishes to play with.
Made for Eternity 