The stroller thing makes for a good story, I guess, but I'm starting to worry about myself. A week ago I blanked on the fact that I signed up for a Drumlin Farm program called "Cheese, Glorious Cheese" for Summer. We simply didn't go. On Friday, Alissa asked me to bring two sticks of butter to work. I put the butter by the back door. Paging Rod Serling: the butter is not in the house, the car, or the office. Where is the butter? Last night, after changing Charlie into his pajamas at my book club meeting, I left his clothes and shoes under the hostess's coffee table. And today I forgot to go to Charlie's music class, the one that happens every Tuesday morning. I LOVE Charlie's music class. What is wrong with my brain?
Well, I did manage to bring Disney Princess valentines to put in the 19 heart-shaped envelopes labeled with the names of each child in Summer's preschool class. And I sent a 60th birthday card to my mother's former cleaning lady. Is the problem simply one of dimensions? Maybe my brain just cannot contain everything a part-time-working-mom-of-two needs to remember, so some things leak out. The butter had to make room for the birthday card. Or is it an age thing? Is this what I have to look forward to--a brain that works about as well as Michelle Kwan's groin?
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