Posted on: Wednesday, October 29, 2003
Parental memory banks can become overdrawn
By Annette Clifford
Gannett News Service
Howls of dismay from the other occupants of the van alerted me to my blunder.
"What are you doing, Mom? Back up!"
The smirk of the drive-through clerk told me all I will ever need to know about getting old and forgetful.
We had ordered milkshakes on the way home. I had paid through the window and received my change. But instead of waiting for the shakes, I put the car in gear and pulled off. An unthinkable breach of drive-through etiquette.
Umm, sorry guys.
They shook their heads in disbelief — as if to say, "What kind of creature could possibly forget something as crucial as a milkshake?" — and then slurped away, temporarily lost in the moment.
But I know the goof will come back to haunt me.
"Mom," they'll say, "do you remember the time you drove off without our milkshakes?"
It will become part of the family mythology. A defining moment.
I guess I had it coming, turnabout for all those times I scolded them for forgetting their homework or lunch boxes, or leaving shoes at a friend's house or jackets who knows where.
Besides, it's good for them to see their mom is fallible, as if they didn't already know, and able to laugh at her foibles, right?
So, I might have just shrugged off the milkshake incident, except there have been so many all too similar incidents of late.
The forgotten doctor's appointment. The missed school meeting. The time I was driving someone to one place and sailed right past it toward the grocery store.
"Mom, where are you going?"
Oops. Guess I forgot and slipped into grocery store groove.
Who knows how many other things I haven't even realized I've forgotten yet? The situation seemed a little scary, so I consulted the experts, the sisterhood of females over 40, and boy, were they there for me.
They told me I was normal. They do the same kind of stuff all the time.
Walk away from the ATM without waiting for the card to come back out. Go upstairs to get something and forget what they went for. Stumble when someone asks the name of last year's teacher. Their ability to remember names, like mine, has tanked, which is why you'll hear them repeating a new acquaintance's name ad nauseum as they try to imprint it during that first conversation.
"Yes, Jill. Nice to meet you, Jill. Where do you work, Jill? Care for an herbal supplement said to enhance the memory, Jill?"
Poor young Jill, she probably thinks we're all batty.
The received wisdom is that mom memory lapses are related to the M-word. Or the PM-word. You know, peri-menopause, which was invented so that boomer moms could commiserate earlier than previous generations about the M-word.
But that's giving menopause a bum rap. Massive middle-aged overload of female brain circuitry is more likely to blame.
Mom forgets the milkshakes and drives past the turn-off because she's 10 steps ahead of herself at any given moment. She's remembering she needs to find batteries for the kids' calculators and sew that patch on the sports jersey before the next game.
She's reminding herself the dog needs his monthly meds, the computer needs a better filter for that nasty spam, and while we're on the subject of filters, the AC whatchamajiggers need cleaning before they get so clogged they damage the compressor.
She's instructing herself to remember to mention that whine in the car's transmission to the spouse. She's making a mental note to have the right kinds of bills on hand for lunch money, send the check for the field trip by Friday, find bigger, black dress shoes for next week's performance, buy more kid vitamins, call the exterminator, and see about getting a less expensive cell phone plan.
There's the gift for the friend who's getting married, the overdue mammogram to schedule, the neglected exercise regimen to jump-start, and she really needs to keep in better contact with parents, friends, kids' teachers and some daring individual ready to take on an incredibly complex pedicure session.
Stop the world, I want to slurp one more milkshake before I'm senile.
Thank goodness the kids are telling me to do so when I forget.
