Getting Help

I  scoured the inside of my fridge. Something smells. It's clearly inside my fridge, but it's none of the individual foods. I hope my neurotic cleaning takes care of the stink.
My counter tops are visibly dirty.

My mom really wanted to come over this week to help me with anything that needed helping and have me try on clothes she and my dad bought at a store they love that just went out of business. I had a few projects that I wanted to get done before HDS got here and my brother is home for the summer.

I wanted to finally hang my dining room chandelier even if that was all we did.

That's all we did.

But it's up and it's beautiful and my dining room is finally beautiful and ready for dinner parties and the arrival of HDS.

I enjoy basic creative problem solving, working with my hands, doing things myself, etc. My mother was clearly trying to be helpful and said more than once, "It's your house." Trying is good. Still, she complains, shoots her misery from the corners of  her eyes and sighs. She makes sure you are well aware of her martyrdom, being there and helping you out. Then when she's really sick of waiting, she offers to take my cousin out to dinner if I have him do it.
We are not bribing my already overworked cousin with a meal to come fix my chandelier.
This is why I feel weird asking my friends for help. It's this whiny bored refusal to use the thought and energy to do anything. Then as soon as a task or project gets labeled  "I can't," it's devalued and outsourced.

I feel weird asking friends for help because my family doesn't return favors in kind or kindness, they use money. I'm trying to figure out how to be a good, real, equal friend.