As a mother of a four-year old girl, my memory isn’t what it used to be.

In fact, I think my hippocampus began decomposing when I was four months pregnant with Rae. You know what they say about pregnancy making you forgetful and everything. Well, I never recovered. Two pregnancies and I am well on my way to early Alzheimer’s.

While it doesn’t really bother me as much as it does my husband because we seem to be looking for our keys all the damn time, I wished I remembered all the times Rae or Sky said something hilarious. Short of hanging a notepad and pen around my neck the whole day, the best I can do is find 20 minutes in the day to restart that old hippocampus a few times and quickly blog about them. Most of the time, that happens after the kids go to bed. By then, whatever adorable anecdotes would’ve been forever lost in the deep, dark abyss that serves as my memory.

Which is why I will be the first to volunteer if they ever need to test human hard disk implants.

Anyway, what was it I wanted to blog down?

Oh yea.

I was serving Skyler bananas for her after-nap munch and I turned to ask Raeven if she wanted one. Very coolly, she turned to me, in her sunnies, and said, “Dudes don’t eat bananas. Dude.”

Phew. SO glad I managed to remember that one.

And today, at the supermarket while wheeling them back to the car with our load.

“Mommy! Look at that romantic piece of rock!”

“The what?!”

“The romantic piece of rock! Right there! Behind that car!”

Despite being in a huge hurry to go home and cook, I stopped, not daring to laugh because I did not want to spoil it. And who could resist finding out what a ‘romantic’ piece of rock looked like? And so I retraced my steps and found myself staring at a dismally ordinary chunk of stone somebody had left to possibly stop a trolley from rolling back.

“How is it romantic, Raeven?” I asked. A half-smile escaped.

“Uh…,” she stared blankly at me. I could see wheels turning in her little brain.

“HUMONGOUS! It’s a HUMONGOUS piece of rock, Mommy!” she said, genuinely apologetic.

“Heh, sorry,” she grinned.

I seriously don’t know where she learns all these words. It’s definitely not from me. God knows I haven’t used those words in a while.

 

You know what I mean.