J's World

Every time my children are assigned to speak, pray, or read a scripture in church, I forget. It's inevitable. It doesn't matter if I penned a note on my palm. It doesn't matter if I wrote myself a reminder on a small paper and clutched it until I got home to my calendar. It wouldn't even matter if I slipped that small paper in my bra. I'm sure I'd forget it was there and wonder later that week whose tissue went through the wash.

With each new addition to the family, my memory has worsened. And though I've been reminded this week that J is supposed to give a 5-minute talk in primary, here it is Saturday night, and I have again forgotten. Of course, I really should be helping her right now instead of writing in my blog, but some things simply must be recorded, like our discussion tonight. It went like this:

Me, lamenting: "Oh J, I'm so sorry I forgot your talk. I can't remember anything."

J: "That's not true mom. You remember lots of things."

Me: "Like what?"

J: "Like one plus one. And that my name is J."

At this point M (8) jumps into the conversation: "Actually, J, I don't think Mom's good at remembering our names."

Sigh. No vacancies in this brain.

Don't worry. My self-image is still intact despite my early dementia and dreadfully honest children.

Look for more on motherhood and memory loss later. I guarantee it's coming. And someday you will get to read my dissertation on why mothers forget things but in reality have cumulatively superior memories.