It has become an occasion in my life to hold drywall over my head. Not voluntarily, out of context (I’m not a weirdo), but having consistently lived in a house-in-progress, or rather, house[s]-in progress, I have found myself, more times than I can count, on a ladder, assisting with a ceiling. It is odd, how suddenly you find yourself questioning whether in fact you would survive on a deserted island if you can’t hold your arms above your head for longer than forty five seconds. Clearly my mind does not stay on the task at hand. But it is a great feeling when you do survive and put your arms down, descend the ladder, and look up at an accomplishment. Hard work really is its own reward. And it is this reminder that I come back to when my kids struggle to have a desire to stack firewood, or write an essay. It seems too hard. After just beginning, your life flashes before your eyes, and you start questioning whether you should have applied yourself more as a toddler. Your arms get wobbly, and you garishly compare yourself to a 4th century martyr. But when you finally print the essay, or see the wood out of the driveway and neatly in the wood rack, or the finished ceiling, what a reward.