I come from a long line of incredibly hard working people, on both my mom's side (the Chadwick's) and my dad's side the Wielfaert's.
My parents are thee most hard working people I know and I always have felt like I couldn't quite ever be as good, not because they ever said that, but because I know the bar has been set very high. When I was younger I remember my dad coming home from work, helping my mom with dinner and things around the house and possibly helping us with homework. Then going over to the house they purchased (that we would eventually move into) to work. He would work until midnight or sometimes 2am and then get up around 6am to get ready for work the next day. It would be wrong to not mention how much my mom would have to juggle getting us kids to bed on her own, co-ordinating all of our schedules, carting us around, volunteering at our school, packing lunches, and generally making it possible for my dad to go work on the house. They both worked hard in what they were best at and traded jobs when needed. My mom helping with painting and re-sanding floors sometimes and my dad often cleaning the house or making dinner. Never the less, they both did the things that needed to be done.
My parents bought this "fixer-upper" when I was in the fourth grade. To save money my dad has done everything himself, new roof, gutted the kitchen, gutting both bathrooms, then redid plumbing and electrical throughout the house, painting, and resurfacing the hardwood floors. Let's just say it was a long grueling process that I resented as a child. That house meant my dad had to go work on weekends and evenings. That house also meant I had to stop dance lessons because the extra money was needed for the new house and that trumped my desire to be a dancer.
I hated that house as a child and I'm still not sure I like it, but what I do like are the lessons it provided. I think I'm still trying to prove that "yes I'm a hard worker too!). This weekend may have topped the cake or proved the point to myself. After working a full 8 hours at my day job I left work Friday to clean up my house as much as I could for my parents arrival, (they still set the bar high by driving 10 hours to help their daughter paint for one day, then driving home the next). At 7:00pm I had a great meeting with my yoga teachers who all happen to be supportive, awesome friends and colleagues willing alto attend a Friday evening team meeting. Followed by a short but nice dinner on the patio of cafe Europa with my parents to close off our day.
Saturday we hit the ground running. Up by 6am at the studio taking measurements by 8am, Lows hardware store by 9am. Back to the studio to start prepping to paint by 10:30am. We painted all day. Almost no breaks, but it was completed and everything was back in place by 9:30pm.
Today I was tired, but it didn't matter, there was much to do. After I saw my parents off I went to teach Power Flow, then back at my house I considered taking a nap, but decided there was too much still to do.
My back bedroom has been in a state of "painting in progress" for months. The walls needed one more coat of white paint, the carpet needed to be ripped out and the trim along the doors and base boards needed to be painted. So I got to work. Finished painting the walls, ripped out the carpet, took staples and nails out of the floor, and started on the trim.
It was 7:30pm before I decided I better call it quits and make myself dinner.
During the marathon weekend of work, I kept telling myself "I might as well do this, I'm not sure what else I'd be doing, but also thinking I might slightly be off my rocker while simultaneously feeling guilty for not find a way to get a run in.
I'm reflecting with a glass of wine in hand, and well, I still feel guilty for missing the run. I might be feeling guilt about missing my run, but I do finally feel like I work hard enough to fit in with my hard working parents. I couldn't ask for a better feeling at the end of a long weekend.
Happy Sunday Evening Everyone, -Alisha