Feed on

There has been no better alarm clock this summer than a small boy climbing out of bed, slamming his door and hollering somewhere in the hallway, “MOMMY, TIME TO GET UP!”  And all this before seven.  Which wouldn’t be so bad, I suppose, if I went to bed the second I felt tired around six p.m.  Or simply collapsed when he napped. Which I’d do, I guess,  if my house was presentable, no one needed to eat later, and I didn’t have another child requesting a craft.

But enough of the hypothetical.  What I was really trying to say is that all this fragmented sleep (at best) has made my short term memory anything but reliable. Which is really my problem these days.  Remembering anything.  

And it really got out of hand yesterday.  I needed hamburger from the freezer in the garage so I could make chili and there I was sifting through the refrigerator part making eye contact with everything.  Only none of it seemed right.  So as I closed the fridge, I saw the cat with his head hidden in the cat food bag and put it together that someone ought to feed him.  But I didn’t have an old yogurt container to scoop the food out with, and I didn’t want to grab it with my hands, so I went inside to get one.  Only I heard the oven beep that it was ready for me to put something into it.  Which I figured were the cookies that I’d neither started nor found the recipe to yet. Only it wasn’t the oven, it was the washing machine.  But since there were clothes still beating around the dryer and all the clothes baskets were upstairs, I walked out of the laundry room with the light still on and started chopping an onion somewhere in the kitchen.  Which is when I remembered I still wasn’t holding any hamburger. 

And which time I sat down, wrote out the recipe for ‘ice water’ and taped it to the fridge. 

Well, I didn’t.  But I should’ve. 

I’m counting on remembering who I am today.  But if things get sketchy…I’ll think about a name tag.  

I probably wouldn’t need to check it more than twice.


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