“That’s what we do in this family. See things and ignore them,” my youngest daughter said a few years ago.
I don’t remember what she was talking about. It may have been a piece of paper left on the stairs for too long or it could’ve been something she’d noticed about her sister. Either way, I agreed.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago.
My Nutribullet stopped working. I had already piled everything in it: frozen fruit, kale, Vega One, and kefir. But when I twisted it in the little motorized thingee, it wouldn’t start.
I was also running late for yoga. I didn’t have time to figure out what had happened. So, I left it on the kitchen counter, ordered Tropical Smoothie, and rushed out of the door.
When I returned, of course it was still sitting there. It was mine to take care of; however, when I tried to unscrew the base, it was too tight. I sat it to the side. That was Monday.
On Tuesday, the contents began to separate. All the fruit rose to the top. Water settled toward the bottom. I asked Dwight to help, “but not right now,” I added. I have an adverse reaction to wet food and didn’t want to get sick.
By Thursday, the broken Nutribullet was still sitting on the counter. I started to say something to Dwight, like hey…maybe you should unscrew it today so we can throw it away. It was trash day, and I even ran into the garbage men and had a thought to just hand it over to them.
But I didn’t. Dwight knew it was there, he’ll unscrew it when he’s ready. I said nothing.
Then, Friday night came. I was just settling into a deep sleep when I heard a thud and a pop. I’d left Dwight downstairs putting together a bike rack, so I thought maybe he was in trouble.
“Did something fall?” I asked when he came back in the house.
“Fall?” he repeated.
“No,” he said.
Back to bed I went.
“Quite a mess downstairs,” Dwight said Saturday morning.
“Yep,” I replied.
“Yep?” he asked. “Don’t you want to know what the mess is?”
“Boxes and sh*t,” I answered, assuming he was talking about the bike rack’s packaging.
But no. That wasn’t it. A few minutes after I’d gone to bed, Dwight looked to the left because there was a vomit-like smell. When he turned on the kitchen light, there it was. Monday’s smoothie splattered all over the blinds, kitchen, and stove. The Nutribullet had exploded, hit the ceiling (apparently), and left six-days’ worth of rotten fruit all over.
All I kept thinking about were my daughter’s words: That’s what we do in this family.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Maybe I’ve learned to ignore all of the things, until situations explode into a vomit-filled mess that has to be faced. Now, that’s an analogy for you.
Either way, lesson learned. Deal with everything as soon as possible. Otherwise, you’ll be scrubbing moldy kale and mangoes off one panel at a time. And that, my friends, is no fun.