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December 10, 2004
DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH Short-term memory loss - it must be ChristmasBY MICKI BARE
Sorry, but seniors are not the only ones to routinely experience "senior moments." What mother in the history of the world ever remembered the name of the child in big trouble during mid-reprimand? "Johnny, go straight to your room!" "I'm Carl. Johnny is at basketball practice." "Well, whatever-your-name-is, go to your room anyway. And Johnny can go to his room when he gets home from soccer practice!" "Basketball." "Don't you talk back to me, young man! Now take out the trash!" "But you told me to go to my room." "I said no talking back, George. Now you're grounded for the weekend, too." Considering the stress of parenting, coupled with lack of sleep, we're lucky we remember anything at all. My middle son just recovered from scarlet fever. I didn't even know people got scarlet fever anymore. I spent a week making sure he ingested fever-reducing medicines around the clock to keep the fever from getting high enough to burn the hair on his head. That meant giving him medicine, setting the alarm, getting up to give him more medicine, resetting the alarm, getting up, resetting the alarm, and so on. The first night he didn't require medication every other hour, my youngest crept into my room at 2:45 a.m. complaining of a nightmare. For days, I've been walking around like a zombie, working and keeping up with the usual busy routines on only a few hours of interrupted sleep and a pot of coffee. Meanwhile, I stopped trying to address my children by name at all. Stressed out sleep-deprived parents are the ones who coined phrases like, "Hey you!" I've been calling my children things like "Buddy," "Buster," "Big Guy," and "Mister Man" for a while, now. When I get some downtime, I'm seriously considering digging out their birth certificates to find their actual names. But it's not just the names that elude me when I'm in a frazzled state. I know I bought dog treats when I was at the store a couple of weeks ago. I distinctly remember being in the pet food aisle reading ingredients on the backs of the treat bags. But where did I put them when I got home? I blame my husband for losing them because he helped put the groceries away. Then I blame the bag boy at the grocery store because he probably forgot to put the treats in my grocery bags. After searching the entire kitchen, I give up and toss the dog some leftover ham. Two days later, the treats appear on the counter under one of last week's newspapers. I'm sure scatterbrained parents invented good intentions, as well. I meant to provide snacks for my second-grader's class, but I forget to throw crackers or brownies in my cart when I'm at the grocery store. My husband would look great in his winter sweaters, but I don't think about dropping them off at the dry cleaners when I'm rushing around in the morning getting kids to school and trying to get myself together for work. (Head slap!) That reminds me, I bought my grandmother a sweater for her birthday. It's still sitting in a bag on my dresser. Her birthday was weeks ago. I guess I should pick up a card and get that present in the mail sometime soon. Which reminds me, I'm truly grateful to the stores that erect 10-foot displays announcing the latest holidays, including the day, date, and 1,000 matching greeting cards between the entrance door and the milk. If it weren't for bold marketing tactics like that, I would have missed Mother's Day, Father's Day, Grandparent's Day and Halloween. My husband has been running errands for me lately, though, because my work schedule has been so hectic. He's the one who's been stopping to pick up milk and cheese on his way home from work. He's the one who can't remember if he bought more tea bags or where he put the toothpaste he knows he bought on sale because he had that red-white-and-blue coupon from Sunday's paper. I keep meaning to get with him about those 10-foot store displays, because I sense that there is a big holiday creeping up on me, but I can't seem to put my finger on it. Oh well. I'm sure it'll come to me in another week or two. Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C. She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is eeem@asheboro.com. |
