Monday, September 16, 2019
Let me paint the scene. I leave work early to nerd out with my son at a mandatory Model UN meeting at the school. I run home to drop him off and then haul ass to the grocery store to make it in time for my Walmart pick up window (can we please get a hallelujah for Walmart grocery pick up? Yes, Lord. Praise be.). While in the house, I ask my middle daughter (14) to brown some ground beef for me. I’m making a casserole that requires ground beef and this will save me a step. Sean hears and says, “I can do that for you.” He is desperate to help.
“OK,” I say. “Don’t put the burner on high.”
I haul ass to the Wal Marts and wait for my groceries to be delivered directly to my trunk. Did you hear that, folks? The groceries are delivered and placed INTO YOUR TRUNK. How are there people on earth who don’t use this service?
I arrive back at home and yell at all parties to go unload the groceries while I work on dinner. It’s pushing 7 now and I like to be in bed by 9:30. I go to the stove top and find a pound of ground beef, broken into roughly six pieces, each of them burnt on the outside and medium rare on the inside. I attempt to break up this dry beef mess and salvage it into dinner. As usual, it would’ve been easier to do myself.
Help is not help. Help is extra work for yours truly.
The pie (yes, it’s a meat pie. I was feeling my British heritage that night) is in the oven and I am in a crappy mood now. Sean knows he screwed up and he doesn’t want to be the source of my resentment. He wants to help. I try again to put him to work.
“Sean,” I say. “Would you please go downstairs and turn the dryer on?” As he heads down the stairs, I have to stop myself from adding, “Don’t run the washer or take anything out. Just turn on the dryer.” He rarely puts the detergent and fabric softener in the right slots and he always runs them on the wrong cycle.
In a rare moment of clarity, I remind myself of a few simple facts: clothes are just clothes. Dishes are just dishes. Burnt beef is barely noticeable when it is hidden under in a layer of eggs and cheese, and Sean is still Sean. He just wants to make things easier on me.
Help may not be help. But, on the right day, accepting it can look a lot like love.
Another Gray Hair 