Time to come clean. I have a major flaw. *Gasp.
I hate asking for help.
This is not a good trait for anyone, but especially a mother and a wife of a Soldier. I insist upon doing everything myself, and as quickly as possible. Last August, when we found out Richard’s deployment had moved up six months, I immediately went outside in 110 degree weather, and mowed the yard. I am surprised I didn’t pass out. Boy, was I in trouble when the husband got home. But, it needed doing, was bothering me, so I did it.
This morning, I decided to scrub down the entire kitchen. A lofty goal, yes, but not impossible. I broke it down into smaller tasks and was lenient: I gave myself the entire day. I would wash the countertops, put all the dishes away, move appliances and clean behind them, and pull everything out of the fridge and freezer to sort it all. I was motivated! I began my task and was just reaching my stride, when it happened. I went to clean the disposal with citrus fruit, and the entire unit fell into the bottom of the sink, spewing orange pulp water everywhere.
Then, the adventure started. I pulled everything out from under the sink, only to realize there was significant water damage from a previous leak. Bummer! I began sopping up moldy, citrus water and wringing it into buckets. My daughter was penned up, but demanding my attention. Once the mess was contained, I stared at that blasted appliance lying under the sink mocking me. I was going to fix this. By. My. Self.
I called my brother, who instructed me that “all I had to do was lift the disposal back into the sink and twist the collar.” Ha. “Watch out. They can be heavy.” Not too heavy for me, I thought. I went into the kitchen and lifted it. I got it maybe six inches in the air, and it weighed heavy in my arms and I put it back down. Crouching in a new position, I tried again. I got it back into the sink, and attempted to twist the collar. It wasn’t lined up properly, and was too heavy to maneuver. It came crashing down. Onto my knee cap. I let out a tirade.
I can’t do this, I thought horrified. I need a second set of hands. Hence, second tirade against appliance for deliberately breaking while the husband was gone. I stared at the royal mess in my kitchen. Not even my stubborn pride was strong enough to fix this. I looked at my gash. Well deserved, I thought. I should never have thought I could lift that thing alone, especially pregnant (and my back has suitably punished me for this all day, as well).
“Hello? Adrienne?….Oh, of course! Let me call your dad. We’ll bring some dinner over and we’ll help fix it!”
They came, with hot food and two sets of hands. It took the three of us to figure out the problem and reattach it to the sink. It’s fixed, though. And in less than ten minutes. And between the three of us, there were no backs thrown out or knees gashed. Go figure.
So, hopefully, this has taught me a valuable lesson. While I have gotten better, I still struggle with asking for help. It’s not my pride, completely. It’s also a guilt of imposing on others. Imposing on those who have spouses with whom to spend time, their own problems to fix, and not a lot of free time. But, when I do ask for help, the most surprising thing happens: people usually say yes!
So, I will continue to work towards squelching my pride, and working on my humility. Because gashed knees and aching backs…well, they are just not worth the stubborn pride. At all.