I started to call today’s entry “stack,” but I already used that one. So pile it is.

We had a cord of wood delivered today. The truck dumped it at the end of my driveway, and I hired out my oldest to stack the wood under the porch, where some older paper birch has been piled since last year.

When I came home, I discovered my son had subcontracted with his sister, and the two of them were busy at work. He gave me a big wave and a smile. He was obviously quite pleased with his progress.

The wood, however, lay in a low-slung chaotic heap. Yes, it was under the porch, but in nothing resembling a wood pile.

He was obviously disappointed with my redirection, though he understood the reasoning once I explained to him why, come winter with its snow and its ice, we will want neatly stacked wood, not a tangle of logs.

He got to work re-stacking. I volunteered to help, reassuring him that he would still get paid for his work.

About twenty or thirty minutes in, I sent him and his sister inside to eat dinner (I had already eaten at a reception at work and decided to keep working through the family meal.) As it started to get dark, I started to reconsider my decision. No, not because I was missing a family meal, but because I realized that I had managed to take away from my son a chore he had taken pride in doing–even when he realized he would have to redo it.

So I went in and told him to finish the job tomorrow. More importantly, I think, I told him to finish the job based on his own judgement on how to finish out the wood pile.

And regardless of how he chooses to finish out those stacks, I am sure it will be a job well done–for both of us.