I always thought the phrase “I’m looking for my glasses” was interesting, mostly because I needed my glasses to find them. That’s how I feel about my mind as of late: I need to remember my mind, but I tend to forget it because, well, I need it to remember. Make sense? It does in this convoluted mass of tissue in the upper realms of my noggin.
Three kids. Two schools. One husband. We have yet to have two “normal” weeks in a row, which does not work for my pattern-finding self or routine-oriented children. Correction: JJ adapts, but oh the weeping and wailing of my middle child at not having school five days a week, or like this week, at all. The Little Miss could care less, except when her mother can’t figure out what she wants (like to be fed) or that she’s capable of more movement than army-crawling (like dumping out the cat’s food this afternoon — twice).
I was listening to a podcast of an author discussing his latest book on George Washington. The former president wrote in his will that all of his slaves were to be freed upon his death, which caused a problem because his wife brought a lot of slaves into the marriage, and they weren’t too hip with the idea of staying longer than the others. My first thought, “What would you do with all those slaves?” and then, “Oh, wait …”
I’ve taken to making a number of items in our home as of late: laundry detergent, yogurt, butter, preserving fruits and vegetables, bacon, etc. The energy and time I could spend doing something else, like writing or speaking to another adult, is used providing healthy, local, happy things to consume. Which is my choice to make/do. But I don’t know that my mind naturally works that way, and so I feel like I’m constantly racing — to preserve the food before it goes bad, to make more soap before the laundry becomes the ‘dee’s new Mt. Hood. And then I get grumpy: I sure hate being grumpy.
So if my hubby can buy more memory for the computer, can’t the world come up with more memory for our minds? That, or if someone wanted to move in and help me out: I’d pay well in cookies: that I rarely forget to make.