Memories that make me laugh and cry with love for my mom .

My mom was the hardest-working woman I knew. In my last post, I touched on that a little, but the older I get, the more I realize how deeply that shaped me.

There were times growing up when we thought she was almost obsessed with finishing jobs before moving on to the next one. Looking back now, I think part of that came from living beside my dad, who was always dreaming up the next project before the last one was fully wrapped up. My mom could not rest if something was left unfinished. It was like the loose ends pulled at her mind until they were tied up.

One memory that comes back to me often happened when we were putting up wood for the stove. Heating with wood was not just a hobby or aesthetic back then — it was work, and there was always more of it waiting.

There were still a few logs left up in the pasture on the hill above our house. They had already been cut into chunks, but they were big and heavy, and technically the job was not done while they still sat up there.

Most people probably would have looked at those last few logs and thought, “Good enough.”

Not my mom.

It was almost like her hands itched to get those logs down by the house so they could be split and stacked properly. So she talked my sister and me into helping her. We took the wheelbarrow through a stretch of woods and up the pasture hill to get them.

We could only fit two logs at a time in the wheelbarrow because they were so heavy. Once we wrestled them in, the thing was terribly top-heavy. Mom had us each walk on one side to steady it while she grabbed the handles.

And then we barreled and careened down that hill.

I can still picture it so clearly — the awkwardness of it, the weight of those logs, trying to keep the wheelbarrow from tipping over while Mom pushed ahead with complete determination.

There were many moments in our childhood where hard work turned into hilarity and laughter, but I honestly do not remember laughing much that time. I think my sister and I were too busy exchanging glances behind Mom’s back and rolling our eyes at each other, silently wondering why those last few logs even mattered.

But they mattered to her.

And somehow, those moments left an imprint on me.

Because what she taught us — without ever sitting us down for some formal life lesson — was that most hard things are not actually as impossible as they first appear. Usually, the hardest part is simply starting. Rolling up your sleeves. Getting your body moving. Refusing to let intimidation win before you have even tried.

“Just go do it,” was the lesson woven into our upbringing.

Sure, it might be hard.

Sure, it might be uncomfortable.

But more often than not, you find out you were capable the whole time.

I sometimes wonder if that grit is being lost a little in today’s world. The willingness to tackle the thing that looks difficult. The determination to finish what was started. The mindset that says, “I will do this if it gets the best of me.”. the truth is — most of the time, it does not get the best of us.

Most of the time, we are stronger than we thought.