I cannot see on top of the refrigerator.  Therefore, it does not exist.  But I can see the dust underneath the cupboards.  Folding the California King sized sheets usually requires me to look like I’m building a fort.  Adjusting the shower head?  Forget about it.  But my cheek lays perfectly against my husband’s heart.  No pasta will be cooked, and certainly not in any of my Pyrex dishes, unless Emma or Jason are home.  They are stored on the top shelf and on top of the cupboard, respectively.  Putting Jason’s clothes away is not my chore, simply because I cannot reach his shelves (they’re above mine), yet my arms are long enough to hug those that I love.  Changing batteries in smoke detectors, or the light bulbs that have blown out are things that I am not able to do.  I’ve never been the one to put the star on top of the Christmas tree, but I do get the best forehead kisses ever.  I have to tip toe on bicycles and only have to open the garage door “so much” to go outside. I can’t reach easily reach behind the couch, and sometimes my feet dangle when sitting.  I still manage to somehow give my kids piggyback rides.  I physically look up to most people, but I know that a lot of people figuratively look up to me – and that means a lot.  Emma likes to play the “high five” game with me and Alena loves to steal my shoes.  Going to a drive-up ATM in the truck hurts my armpit and I’ve been known to get measured for rides at amusement park.  I can’t reach the medicines, I lower all seat belt adjusters, and I’ve been known to ask a stranger to get something from the top shelf at the grocery store.  I’ve never backed down, I’ve always stood up, and don’t even think about intimidating me.   And those sheets?  They’re sitting on the dryer, waiting patiently for the tall person to put them away on the high shelf.