Yet another weekend...
It's scary to think how close I was to having to ask for help. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with asking for help. I just didn't want to do it. I remember the elementary school counselor asking me if I needed help around the holidays... I of course told her no. That Christmas, the kids got very little. Not much of what was on their list was under the tree that year.
They knew what was going on, and they knew the situation, and I hate that they had to know. I wish they never had to know. I wish that they never needed to know that anything was different. I guess when their dad leaves, and we are eating Mac&Cheese with tuna or hotdogs almost every night, there isn't any way to hide it from them. About that time, my mom started having us for dinner every night. We ate there almost everynight for 3 years. She let me believe that it was easier than picking up the kids and going home to cook dinner, and I let her believe that we were doing it so that she could feel like she was helping. She pretty much saved us.
Now, whenever I can help someone who might be where I was, I do. I know how scary it is to live day to day... to not know where your next dinner will come from, or what you might eat. To want more than anything to keep your secret. Guess it's not a secret anymore... That's why I volunteer at the food pantry. I know what it's like. I've almost been there.
Funny... 8 shots of vodka will make you able to talk about anything... please excuse any typos... Thanks.