Occasionally I forget something, or more accurately forget to remind the children to remember something important like their lunches or their homework.
Something that they should remember unbidden but don’t.
I fear that the primary reason I am unable to recall certain things is that a disproportionate amount of my memory banks are already occupied.
That’s right, my memory is getting full.
Regrettably it’s filled with all the wrong the things.
Sometimes a song will come on the radio that I haven’t heard in three or four or 20 years (from when I was nine). Halfway through the song I realize I’m singing along.
And not just half-hearted singing where you kind of hum/mumble your way through the verses because you don’t really know the words.
I find myself actually singing along. Accurately. From start to finish.
I can not only recognize what song it is from the first few notes, I usually remember the name of the artist or group.
And all the words.
I cannot begin to explain why I retain this otherwise useless information, especially since it seems to be at a high cost because it displaces other more current and more useful information.
And I never play Name That Tune and put the information to good use.
Other mysteries of the memory are more handy, albeit every bit as hard to explain.
Phone numbers tend to stick in my brain. I can still remember all my neighbour’s numbers from growing up. This comes in quite handy given that we now reside in the same neighbourhood and I have occasion to phone them.
Hubby used to make fun of me for this and mock my memory. Of course that was back in the day when he didn’t realize my recollections were accurate.
This was due in part to me stating that somebody’s phone number was “yadda-yadda, I think.”
He would then proceed to look up said number and find I was correct.
He has since learned to embrace this weirdness and use me instead of the phone book.
I had more to write about regarding memories, but I can’t remember what it was. Maybe if I sing some song from the ’80s it will jog my memory.
Although, as I’m pondering the crap that fills up my memory banks affecting my ability to parent my children, it does bring to mind some mysteries of the children’s minds.
For example, they can’t remember from one day to the next that one must turn on one’s alarm clock every school night. It’s June and they still neglect it most nights.
They forget to put on socks. They forget that when they come home they should unpack and subsequently put away their backpacks.
They make their lunches and then somehow while zipping their lunch kits shut they forget to put their lunches in the fridge overnight lest their luncheon meat make them ill.
They forget so much stuff that I’m left wondering what actually occupies their memories to the degree that leaves no room for the things I want them to know.
Yes, the memory is a mysterious thing.
Perhaps, if I remember, I can research some memory courses and find one that will help me customize my memory banks to squeeze out the trivial stuff such as words to songs I don’t even like to make way space for grocery lists, to-do lists, kids stuff and the like.
It’s either that or install a new memory chip to expand my capacity. Now that’s got some potential.
Krista Waters is a freelance writer from the Caroline area.