I’m full of
them. Life Nugget #16: No matter how tired you are, wash your face before going
to bed. Life Nugget #31: Never buy produce in bulk–you will end up tossing
some of it. Life Nugget #24: Perms are always
a bad idea. —
Little
bites of wisdom, droplets of know-how, morsels of helpful mental notes I’ve
collected in my 39 years that I think are important to point out to Kiddo.
These are Life Nuggets.
However, as
I found myself face down on the floor of our apartment, spread eagle with my
left arm caught under our couch, one Life Nugget in particular came to mind.
Life Nugget #7: Perspective is everything.
For a
moment, picture when you vacuum around your couch. You move it out from the
wall about a foot and suck up bits back there. Then you return it to its
position, and get the area right under the front where the vacuum head
thingamajig kind of fits. But there is swath of floor–maybe four inches wide
along the whole the length of the couch–that doesn’t get touched. I’ve
dubbed this land Dustbunny Canyon.
I inspect
the inhabitants of Dustbunny Canyon as I try to wriggle my watch free
from where it has snagged on the gray underbelly of the couch. The tally so
far: four ponytail holders (one yellow, one pink, two black); nine Squinkies;
four tokens for Hello Kitty Bingo; the left wing for Phil, our one-winged
pterodactyl; two pens; one sock; a string cheese wrapper; a health
questionnaire from my OBGYN from…wait for it…2009; and what I believe to be
approximately 39 tiny, dried pieces of rice (we love our Chipotle burrito
bowls).
How I came
to be in this position is a really good question, for which I have a really
embarrassing answer (though, according to Life Nugget #9: No one can make you
feel embarrassed but you). I was trying to find my tennis shoes. By this
admission, you now know it has been so long since I exercised this body o’ mine
that I can’t even remember where my tennis shoes are.
Why do I
need to find my tennis shoes? I signed up to do a 5K–a very special 5K–to raise money to find a cure for a rare genetic disorder called Epidermolysis
Bullosa, or EB for short. Those that suffer from it can’t produce a certain
protein that allows the layers of skin to bind to together, resulting in skin
so fragile that the slightest friction or bump will cause blisters and tears.
They are known as butterfly children, they do not live into their third decade
of life, and they live in constant pain–they are like Rafi, a little girl in Kiddo’s preschool who was diagnosed at birth with a severe
form of EB.
So, I need
to find my tennis shoes to walk to raise money to help find a cure for Rafi and
other children like her, yet I am on the floor searching for what seems like way
too long of a time. I start to get annoyed. Really annoyed. I am annoyed at
myself (for being a not-so-great housekeeper), at my husband (for buying me the
watch that is snagged on the couch), at Kiddo (for liking those
impossibly-small plastic things), at the makers of his couch (for building a
couch that has watch-snagging material).
Then Kiddo
(who likes those impossibly-small plastic things) bops into the room.
“What are
you doing, Mama?”
“Looking
for my tennis shoes.”
“You have
tennis shoes?”
Sigh. “Yes, I have tennis shoes.”
“I’ve never
seen you in tennis shoes.”
“Well, just
because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Nugget #11,
honey.”
“Like
Santa?”
“Yes, like
Santa. Or germs.”
“Do they
look like mine?”
“Your
germs?”
“Your
tennis shoes.”
“They are
white with a blue stripe…or maybe purple…I think.”
“You mean
the ones over there behind the umbrellas?” She points across the room, by the
front door.
I see them.
The left one peeks out from a black curtain of water-repelling nylon, taunting
me.
The stripe
is red.
My arm is
numb from being the same position for so long. I tug harder. I try to get my
other arm under the couch to undo the watchstrap. My neck spasms. I give it
one more huge tug and, with a loud rip, my arm is free.
I am now
more than really annoyed. I am full-on peeved, dirty and in need of some
Motrin with a wine chaser for this spasm.
I look at
Kiddo. She twirls about with my once-lost, now-found tennis shoes on her hands.
She goofs around, doing a hula dance with them, and bumps into her little
table. She keeps on dancing. Kiddo is without pain as she does this. I think of
Rafi and how she beams with a smile just like Kiddo, despite being covered
almost fully in bandages every day. I think of Rafi’s parents, who enjoy seeing
their daughter’s smile as much as I enjoy seeing Kiddo’s.
Dang. Life
Nugget #7: Perspective is everything.
I take a
deep breath. I’m no longer annoyed. I tell Kiddo to hide my shoes again as I
count to 10, and we will see if I can find them.
If only
finding a cure for EB were as simple as finding my tennis shoes.
If you want to know more about EB and the
First Annual Rafi’s Run on March 11, please check out the website.
I’ll be updating everyone on how it goes–and exactly how sore I am on March
12.
