Friday, March 20, 2009
My husband is convinced that I have a terrible memory. He'll bring up a conversation we had six years ago and express mild annoyance when I don't remember the incident. It's true that he remembers much more than I do about our shared past, but what he fails to consider is all the other, seemingly unimportant, minutia that is stored in my brain. Like, for instance, the respective shoe sizes, clothing sizes, and underwear sizes for our three daughters. Or when our oldest girls have library or a spelling test, or what day someone is bringing a friend home from school. Or the contents of the downstairs freezer than must be recalled at the grocery store when I'm planning the night's dinner as I shop. And that's just the "mom stuff." I also work part-time as a school psychologist, serving an entire small school district. I don't think mothers get enough credit for the incredible amount of planning and organization that is required to raise even one child, much less three. So, yeah, I don't remember that offhand comment I made six years ago, but I do (usually) remember who's signed up to bring cupcakes for the school Valentine's party.