But it's fall - here in Pennsylvania that means leaves out the wazoo, to be dealt with on a weekly basis, and in spite of dropping into the 20's this past week, we're still mowing grass too. Our lawn crew at it's largest swell only numbered two, so when it shrunk by one, manpower was down 50%. For the past month I've watched my husband head out every single weekend to fight the battle - rake leaves, haul them off to the back of the property, then mow the entire lawn, only to have to do it all again the next Saturday. He did it week after week with no complaint or comment.

At my knee checkup this past week the Doctor's orders involve a very bizarre shooting up of Rooster's Comb, but that's so rich as to deserve it's own post. Bottom line the doctor told me I could proceed with caution, and he'd see me once a week for five weeks starting in three weeks, after which I may become someone's wake-up call! Since I've been useless for the past month, DH just assumed he was on his own again, slaying the leaf monster for yet another weekend.

I could have stayed inside on the sofa. I even spent a few minutes justifying it in my mind. I'm busy knitting him a beautiful charcoal-colored scarf for Christmas out of Alpaca Wool, and could have convinced myself it was okay to sit there knitting away, while he worked all afternoon by himself.

Alpaca Wool with recently purchased beautiful circular needles, sipping tea, listening to some nice music - or put on my beat up sweats, long sleeved t-shirt, stained hoody, the tennis shoes that are so nasty they never come inside the house, and fire up the Toro? Hhmmmmm - hard decision - which to choose?

So I, being over thirteen, and at least more than 50% of the time being mature enough to make the non-selfish decision, pulled on my lawn attire and headed out. I asked him, "so where can I start, to help you the most?" We ended with me poop-scooping (two ponys make that a regular party around here), then mowing the lawn. While I was mowing the back, he'd be busy gathering the leaves in the front. When I was done, I headed back inside the house, and checked the clock. I'd been outside for two hours, he was there when I started and was still at it when I finished. When he came inside he told me, "Man, I really appreciate you helping today. I thought it would take both days this weekend, and we got it all done. It was such a big help. Thanks."

How easy it would have been to lie to myself, tell myself what I wanted to hear. That my "gift" justified staying inside, taking the easy out. He would not have questioned me not helping. But I would have known.

Being the mother of a boy, sometimes I'm struck by the thought that my husband is someone's little boy, someone a mother dearly loved, had such hopes for - of a full, rich life that held all he was dreaming of. I'm a part of that package, and I need to respect the preciousness of his life, his one shot at it all. He married me knowing there would be responsibilities, the drudgery of day-to-day chores, concerns, but it's okay if that mother's little boy has someone to join him on his journey who will love him beyond making a scarf. Rather she will fire up the Toro and work outside for a measly two hours when she knows it's the right thing to do.

Scary how easy it is to almost miss the important stuff in the little moments of life. How easy being self-serving comes to us all. God, keep my eyes open - my mother had hopes and dreams for her little girl. Help me remember that his mother had the same for him. Help me honor that one life that he's dedicated to me and us. When Christmas morning comes, and I hand him the gift that holds the Alpaca scarf, I want to do it with a happy heart. Today it meant two hours walking behind a Toro and wearing dirty sweats and a hoodie.