I Was One

I was coming back from errands today, and I passed a woman holding a sign asking for help. She needed money to put food on her table for her kids.

I'm kind of jaded. Kind of. But I realized I didn't want to be. I didn't ever want to be so jaded that the sight of a person asking for help for her children didn't touch me. I didn't want to be the kind of person who assumed she was lying, or that she spent all her money on cigarettes, booze or meth. I didn't want to be the type of person that would turn away from another person in need.

So I watched her.

Maybe I shouldn't have, but I did. Now, I almost wished I hadn't...

See, I already know the lengths I would go to for my children. I know that when it comes to providing for my kids, I would have no pride. There is nothing I would not do for them...I would borrow, beg and steal if I had to.

What I didn't know is how I would feel if I made that appeal -- if I reached out to others -- and I was ignored.

She was crying. It wasn't an act. Because I was jaded enough to analyze her actions to see if it was an act. She didn't know I watched her hide her face behind that sign she held so no one would see her wipe the tears that were falling.

Three lanes of cars drove by her, and I was one. Still now, hours later, I am fighting tears because I was one.

I wish I had the money to give, because I would have turned the car around and given it. But I didn't. Half the money I had, I had to ask another for, because I didn't have enough for groceries. My car may be coasting into the station on fumes on Monday because I don't have money today. I was still trying to figure out any way I could rearrange my finances so I could give her five dollars of what I had, but I couldn't even do that. And it broke my heart.

Maybe I'm being naive. Maybe she really did spend all her money on cigarettes or alcohol. Maybe she was just looking for a way to make a fast buck.

Maybe.

But, then...maybe not.

After thinking about this for hours, I've decided I want to be the type of person who gets taken in. Even if it's over and over. I want to be the Pollyanna type who wears her heart on her sleeve, and gives pieces of it away to strangers as they need it. I don't want to be cold and heartless. I want to be the type of person who believes that the woman standing on the side of the road swallowed her pride to scrounge up enough money to feed her children.

Times are tough. I know. I work a full-time job and I'm trying desperately to get a small business off the ground, and I didn't have anything to give. I know there are people who desperately want to work, but no one is hiring.

Times are hard, but I don't have to be. And I don't want to be. And I won't be...

There are people in this world who would give you the shirt off their back if they thought you needed it more, and I have decided that I want to say...

...I was one.




Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons

Boys In the Kitchen

Did you ever have one of those Mom moments where, after slaving away in a hot kitchen to prepare a delicious meal, you watch as your teenage sons stumble from their rooms, bleary-eyed and blinking from the harsh glare of light...any light, to the dinner table. And as you watch your children shove food in their mouth, you realize --

Your children have no survival skills, whatsoever.

I realized that the other day.

I know it's partly my fault. I have an obsessive-compulsive side (although you wouldn't know it to look at my housekeeping skills...or lack of). I like things done my way. When they are done my way, they are done quickly and efficiently and I am happy because they are...my way.

So I don't often invite my kids into my kitchen. Because my children are neither quick nor efficient. I actually nicknamed my oldest son "Sloth". That boy will take the long way around to go anywhere.

But I realized that when I was their age, I could cook whole meals. I knew how to preheat an oven and I knew how to use a timer. I could cook, fry, boil, broil and bake.

I decided my sons need to learn their way around the kitchen.

So tonight, they will be cooking me dinner for a change...they just don't know it yet. I will supervise, of course...and provide band-aids and burn gel. They will season and prep, cut and chop, boil, broil and bake.

And then they will learn to clean up after themselves.

I'll post pictures and we can all laugh and laugh and laugh...





Photo Credit: julosstock/sxc.hu