I’m infamously terrible at sticking to that saying you can’t pour from an empty cup. Admitting my cup is empty and I need space to fill it up requires asking for — wait for it now — help. I’m not proud of how hard that is for me. There’s independent and then there’s stubborn enough to drive myself into the ground before calling in reinforcements.
Case in point: the other week I posted about not cooking distracted because I’d managed to set a plate down on a burner that was still hot. One of my knuckles pressed against the burner and pain shot through me, a giant red bloom that clouded my vision and sent me running to the sink.
Here’s the stubborn part. The fettuccine sauce was at a critical point so I quickly ran my fingers under cool water, wrapped them in a damp paper towel, and HEADED BACK TO THE STOVETOP. It took about half a second to realize there was no way I could hold the strainer with my injured hand to dump those noodles into the skillet so I called Bear and asked her to transfer them for me. This alone was a hurdle for me but when Bear asked what else she could do I just blinked at her. My very wise child said:
Mom. Ask for help.
This week, for a variety of reasons, my cup was bone dry so I took Bear’s advice and asked for help. My family really stepped up to make this happen. I’m a lucky girl indeed.