I guess my boys were in Junior High when they first started standing next to me to see who was taller. We would stand back to back and someone would measure and I tried to stand as straight as I could and my hair was puffed up but they would put their hands up there and hold my hair down and before you knew it I was the shortest one in the family. One Spring Break I had to work and Dennis took the boys with him to St. Louis where he was on a consulting job. They were only gone a week but before they left Jake measured against me, nothing new, and when they got back he was taller than me.
And now it's happening with my grandkids. The oldest ones are eyeing me, pushing down my hair, sidling up next to me to see if it would be worth measuring. I think they are going to be having the advantage though, because it seems I'm shrinking. Ever since I was a grown-up I have been five feet, three and three-quarters inches tall. Then someone said, "Enough with the quarter inch, it is five-three and a half." Now at the doctor's I'm suddenly just five-three!
It was inevitable, I guess. I got my mom's short genes and when she and I stood together we were the same height. Then one time some years ago I noticed I could look over the top of her and by the time she died last year she was more than a head shorter than me. What's up with that? Is gravity just pulling us down toward the earth, trying to suck us into the ground? I have to admit there are certain parts of me that started heading south sooner than the rest but I guess if you live long enough you wind up looking puppies in the eye!
When you are short you learn to compensate pretty early. One of my prized possessions is a rolling stool, the kind they have in libraries, which I keep in the kitchen. I went to Office Depot looking for one a few years (OK, decades!) ago and it was $50 so of course I didn't get it. That week-end, though, I found one at a garage sale for ---I'm not making this up---forty-five cents. I roll it all over the kitchen and laundry room when I need anything above the second shelves and carry it into the rest of the house frequently.
When I stay at Josh and Jerilyn's I can't take my stool so if I'm there with just the grandkids I'm in trouble. I used to pick up one of the kids and stand him or her on the kitchen counter so they could hand me things but at seven and eleven they are a little too big to lift up there now. Last week I finally found the stool that Jerilyn had gotten for the kids when they were toddlers so they could reach the bathroom sink and I carried that around the kitchen. They have those fashionably high ceilings with cabinets to match so I can hardly reach beyond the first shelf. So the toddler stool is mine at their house now. There's something wrong with this picture!!!
They say that the average height of women in the United States is five feet four inches. Where are they? And since every one I know is, like, a foot taller than me, wouldn't there have to be a lot of pygmy-size women running around to make the average work? And do they design things to fit this mythical "average" size woman? No way. I have to wear a seat belt extender in my car to keep the seat belt from strangling me since my neck is apparently where everybody else's shoulders are. One of the good things about our current car is that there is a button on the steering column to raise the pedals so my feet can reach them, but the default setting, of course, is for someone at least six inches taller than me.
When you are short you have to be inventive. I have two sets of barbecue tongs in my kitchen. I use them to grab things that are too high for me and pull them down. And at Wal Mart the other day I was trying to reach a package of diapers (they were for Gus, our Yorkie---another blog some day) and they were at the back of the top shelf. There was absolutely no way. I only even spotted them because the shelf looked empty and I had backed way far away to try to look in. I tried stepping on the bottom shelf to boost myself up but that didn't work. While looking for someone tall enough to reach in I found a broom, took it back to the shelf, stood on my tiptoes and swept the diapers to the front of the shelf.
I do know a few women who are shorter than me. My friend, Pam and my niece, Christina are both about five-two I think. I like being around them but here's the deal. They are teeny all over. I don't know this for a fact but I'm pretty sure that neither of them would be able to give blood according to the Red Cross. There is a minimum that you have to weigh before they will let you give.
It is clear that there has been a mix-up somehow. Those kids never should have gotten taller than me. It's very simple really. I have checked the guidelines and according to the height/weight charts, for my weight I should be six feet-three.
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