Memory, Milestones, and The Toothbrush Penis Joke

Sometimes I really wish I had a time machine. If I had one, I would crank that dial back to a whole different time in my life.  Like the one where I had toned thighs and could remember what I was planning on getting out of the refrigerator when I opened its door.  Yeah, one of those times.  I realize that some folks would pick a time with dinosaurs or some major historical event, but I’d be real happy just to see a glimpse of myself before I started falling apart with such abandon.

Halloween Cat

Halloween Cat (via Playdoh!)

Take for instance this blog draft that’s been sitting in my draft box for nearly a year.  “Toothbrush penis joke.”  Apparently there was a time when I really thought typing those three little words was all it would take to jog my memory into recollection of what must have been a real rip-snorter of a moment in my world.  I mean, three kids like mine and this is the stuff of a normal dinner conversation.  Toothbrush penis joke.  Yeah, I have absolutely  no idea.

And that just makes me sad.  When did my memory start working like this.  Talk about capricious.  I can remember where every stray sock is in the house, but cannot for life of me remember at what age the last kiddo started walking.  I am going to have to add a wee tag line to the first page of his baby book:  A Work of Plausible Fiction. I always start out thinking I’m going to write about absolutely everything my babies do, but then I get so dang sleep deprived that I forget what his/her name is, let alone when they hit certain milestones. If I didn’t take photos of each of their quirky little moments, I’d really have no idea.  Take this picture for example.  I think my oldest son made this out of Playdoh last Halloween, but I really have no clue.  But that sounds good, so I’m just going with it.

Makes my own rather brief baby book seem a lot less like a testimony of a mother’s love and more like a miracle more divine than any smiling Jesus visage found on a piece of toast.

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