I don’t know how I do it. How can I forget something that I thought of just five or ten minutes ago?
And just hold your tongues out there. This is not the age thing, because it has happened to me my whole life. I think it has more to do with just being a mom. People don’t realize how many things we have to remember.
This is an example of how it happens …
My daughter was at a meeting that ended at 5:30 and I was supposed to pick her up. I looked at my watch at 4:30 and thought, “I have to pick her up in one hour. I have time to fold this load of clothes.”
I looked again around 5 o’clock and reminded myself, “You need to leave in about twenty-five minutes.” I mean, I’m on top of this thing, and I’m ready to go.
Ten minutes passed, and I thought, “Five more minutes … I’ll just get dinner started.”
The phone rang, my son walked in, the dog started barking, and all memories of whatever I was supposed to be doing escaped the weak thresholds of my brain.
At 5:40, my throat began to tighten as I realized, “Omigosh! I’m late! I did it again!” As I grabbed my keys and purse with one great swoop, I dashed out the door towards my car. But it was too late.
There was a car pulling in front of our house as I was leaving. Somebody else had brought her home. She looked at me with those big sad eyes and said, “You forgot me again.”
How can I explain that I didn’t forget her? I remembered her at 4:30, at 5:00, 5:10 and at 5:40. I only forgot her at 5:25. One out of five isn’t all that bad, is it?
My mom tells a story of when we were younger. I was one of six children and there was a year when we were going to five different schools. That involved ten different take- and pick-up times, along with a myriad of carpools and after-school activities.
She was forever forgetting one of us somewhere. I would wait after gymnastics lessons until they had turned out all the lights and the coach would be waiting patiently with me. He’d eventually offer, “I guess we’d better call her.”
One time I had to stay after school for something, but she was still supposed to pick up the rest of the kids in my carpool. She didn’t show. She wasn’t just late … she had forgotten.
The rest of the kids didn’t know what to do. Tom, one of the guys in the carpool, finally got voted on to go call my mom. She answered the phone, and he asked, “Are you coming to get us?”
There was silence on the other end. My mom didn’t recognize the voice as one of her own. Her mind was racing with numbers and schedules and other possibilities.
Finally, she inquired, “Where are you, and more importantly, WHO are you?”
I know just how she feels.
