I am not a forgetful person. I write everything down, I keep three calendars, and as previously mentioned, I a super organized.
Lately, however, it feels as though my brain is full of Laffy Taffy and a few scratch -n- sniff stickers. This status does nothing for me since this is the first week of school and I have volunteered for eight hundred and nine school activities this year (Burrito Breakfast anyone).
I knew I was in trouble when my daughter came up to me and said, “I don’t think these underpants fit me anymore.” She looked like a small, female plumber, wearing something akin to a Tinker Bell thong.
That’s when I remembered I was supposed to buy new underwear and socks. Like a month ago.
People like to be quippy and call this form of spaciness, “Mommy Brain.” I would like to beat the sh*t out of those people. Mommies are the few human beings who actually have it together. They are multitasking masters.
No, I am afraid I have something that is a cross between Alzheimer’s and a hangover. It is a severe case of the dum dums.
You too may have a case of the dum dums if you exhibit the following symptoms:
1) Go to the store specifically for milk and come back with scotch tape, a pencil sharpener, and five navel oranges. No milk.
2) Sit studiously at a school meeting taking notes and realize you left the dog outside.
3) Perpetually look lost. So much so that store clerks go out of their way to make sure your “find everything you need.”
4) Constantly remark how tired you are, but when asked, cannot remember what you did that day. Or week.
6) Sort coupons. Put coupons in purse. Go to store. Buy stuff. Never use coupons. (This phenomenon also works for re-usable grocery bags).
7) Run around the house looking for sweater. Yell about the inability to find sweater. Blame all those in close proximity for moving sweater (dog included). Curse the day. The day is ruined. It is too cold to sit in a movie theater without a sweater. Panic for no reason. Find sweater in pile of clothing where it was left.
8) Write important notes to yourself such as: hair plugs, and recycled burrito. Both misspelled.
9) Forget what number nine was.
Instead of chastising myself for my absent-mind, I am calling it a gift. My father cannot hear in one ear, and the other ear is questionable. When all of the grandkids are yelling and screaming at a yodeler’s level, he can fall asleep. Right next to them. That’s God’s gift to him.
Lately, life has been off the chain for me and my family. I feel so beat down at times, that I forget what I am doing right in the middle of the act – allowing me to focus solely on the amount of Cheez-Its bags in the house (school lunch tomorrow?), and America’s Got Talent. Neither of which I truly partake in.
So this is my gift, to forget. Forget the crazy, forget the worry, forget the anxiety. To just float a bit.
Now could someone tell me where I put my calendar, because I have no idea where I am supposed to be right now.