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always believed that if you worked hard enough and managed carefully enough, enough would take care of itself.
Enough food. Enough warmth. More than enough love, even when everything else was tight.
What I had not fully understood — not until a Tuesday night in late spring — was that enough was something I had to argue into existence every single week. I argued with the grocery store about what we could afford. I argued with the bills about which one could wait another seven days. I argued with myself about whether the numbers were going to work out and what I would do if they didn’t.