Chop Wood, Carry ... Wood

Today I felt like I'd been for a run and to the gym. I haven't though; not either. Not running because mild shin splints (medial tibial stress), and last time, when I kept up the running, it took ages to improve, and didn't really until I rested it properly. So this time I'm being sensible. I had intended to go to the gym, but since I felt I got in a pretty good (and exhausting) workout in the garden, I didn't bother.

So what did I do? (I'm glad you asked...) Down the back of our place, since we moved in, there's been a pile of wood: chopped-up logs/stumps/whatever the word might be. Anyway, I took the log-splitter down, and set about splitting them into fireplace-sized bits. Then I was faced with the task of getting near on a cubic metre of wood from the very back of our section, up to the front and into the garage. I attempted to recruit the help of my children, but was only half successful. Missy-moo did bring up a couple of small armfuls of wood, but then decided she would rather look through some soil in a bin in the garage in search of worms. The young master, however, carried on. And on and on, as seen here. You should be able to see his effort in the hair, a little plastered down with sweat. He kept going though; he stopped twice for drinks of water (and one bikkie...actually, I've just been informed it was three Krispies), but came back out and grabbed more wood.

Here he and his armful are larger.

I had told the kids when trying to enlist their aid, that by helping, they would gain an "extra helpful" tick on their charts, which would translate into an additional 50c pocket money. Yes, yes, yes ... slave labour, I know. I felt a bit bad about how much work he was doing for so little, so when his pile (of the lighter pieces) was getting small I told him that he had already got that tick and 50c, and if he cleared his pile entirely (and I did help him out a bit), he would get a bonus 50c. Oh, did he like that. 8) I also took him out to the local ice cream shop, and we had gelato (don't tell him; he thought it was ice-cream xP ). His sister was rather put out that she didn't get to come, but as I told her: it would hardly be a special treat for Mstr5 if she got to come too, despite not doing anything to earn it.

I'm reading Salt, Sugar, Fat: How the Food Giants Hooked Us, by Michael Moss. It's truly horrifying - though as noted in the review I've linked to, not really surprising to anyone who's been paying attention.