I’m kind of a wuss. The list of things that I shrink or shirk from is…well, it’s none too brief. I not making excuses, and I’m not proud of it, but there it is.

I fear that I’ve gotten so used to asking for help, or simply assuming others will help, that I don’t even think about it anymore. I (only half-jokingly) tease Dad about always making Stephen the designated gofer, but the truth is, I do it too. I’m a lot less direct about it, and I always couch it with “If you have the time”, but I know he’s far too polite and he won’t say no. So I end up doing less and less things for myself. He carries my heavy bags and backs my car out of tight spots. He does it with a kiss and a smile, ladies. A definite keeper.

But back to my being a wuss.

This morning it was snowing fairly heavily. Aside from Dad in the shower, at this early hour I was the only one awake. Out in the front yard, the songbirds were flittering around the feeder. The empty feeder. And I’m not proud to admit that my first instinct was to wait until Stephen woke up and have him trudge out in the snow to refill it.

But it occurred to me that, not only wasn’t it very fair to make him do it, I was awake and perfectly capable of the job. So, resolved to take on this task, I put on my sweater and boots and I fed the birds. All by myself. And it only took me until the age of 23.

As it turns out, Stephen woke up feeling pretty sick and didn’t have the energy to get out and shovel the driveway. I should add that it’s a job he’s paid for, but here’s another fact I’m not too proud to admit: I have shoveled the driveway exactly ONE time this winter. It has snowed approximately 12,973 times. Stephen shovels. Mom shovels. Dad shovels. My 87 year old grandfather shovels. And given my spaghetti stamina and past whining about it, I honestly think they’ve given up on asking me.

So there I was – Mom was at work, Dad was at a doctor’s appointment, and Stephen had dragged his run-down self out the door to go play a gig with the band. The driveway was covered in that thick, wet snow that will affix to the driveway like cement once it freezes. Faced once more with my own wimpy-ass desire to stay inside and let someone else take care of the hard work, I realized that it just wasn’t right. I was there. I was able.

I went out and I shoveled that driveway.

Well, until Mom got home and helped out. But the point is, I’m a wuss. I know it. I also know that I can change it. Today, the driveway. Tomorrow, I may even carry my own grocery bags.