Sweaty and tired, I slap the teak oil onto the chairs. It’s getting dark, and I don’t care anymore. I just want to be done. One thing. I just want to finish one thing today. Well, one thing besides the housework and the dishes and the laundry and the constant cooking.
“Those will look nice when you’re done,” my neighbor encourages from over the fence.
“Thanks. I’ve been trying to get this project done literally all day.” I respond with a tone of irritation.
“Oh, I remember those days,” she says.
“Is it too much to just start and finish a project in the same day?” I wonder aloud as she smiles.
We are on different sides of parenting, she and I. Our swing set went up the summer theirs came down. Three kids, the last one a senior this year, she has walked roads I haven’t even considered yet.
We chat politely, even as I envy her manicured lawn free of plastic toys.
“I saw you and the kids walking to the pool the other day. Boy does that bring back memories! Those were good days,” she continues, with envy in her eyes.
And as the sun sets, I finally finish the one thing I’ve been trying to do all day. I know she is right. These are good days. Long. Hard. Messy. But so good.