In case I pass out from exhaustion one of these days and someone from forensics discovers me collapsed on the floor (and subsequently trips over a mountain of unpacked-away toys), I thought it was prudent to convey a few of my inner-Cinderella confessions: Read the rest of this entry
Lately everything I have been doing is completely absent-minded, forgetful, and verging on negligent.
I am so out of it that I am beginning to think that either I must be going senile, or early demetia has set in? I know it cant be ‘baby brain‘ – how could I possibly claim that as an excuse 2 years after the fact?
Even the most mundane things are complicated for me to process, I am struggling to set my brain on track and the exhaustion from having an almost 2 year old who has harnessed the power of the tantrum and can sustain all night no-bed strikes for the entire night every night is probably not going to help!
I really, really hope that this is not permanent damage and that things will improve because I can’t continue on this path of destruction – denting and pronging my poor old car every time I’m in it, not concentrating, being short with my kids
and husband and anyone else who looks at me funny at any given moment.
Worst of all is that for a control freak, I’ve completely lost control – I’ve been letting bad language slip, letting my temper get the better of me (Jon Jon, go the F?@@?@” to sleep so I can get this off my chest!) which leads to bad skin, lost keys, leaving the car unlocked whenever I park, leaving the car door open and almost having it blown off by an oncoming car, daydreaming and staring into space when the preschool teachers are giving my child a dressing down , walking confidently into the grocery store with my skirt tucked into top of my stockings at the back with not a soul to rectify the situation and then getting back to the car park and wandering around in the abyss of the carpark combing each level for my poor, old, lost car. Then I finally get kids home by getting them to remember for me by rote learning the number of the carapace where we parked.
But it gets better, because then I get home, haul them into the house and try to run the bath water while cooking dinner. Then, I hear the sounds of torrential fooding and notice water seeping through the cracks in the staircase wall. Little did I know, I’d let the bath water overflow through the whole entire house. At the time it was pouring with rain outside so I innocently thought to myself “Ahh, must be a leak in the ceiling”. Nightmare. Classic example of too much multi-tasking gone bad.
Actually, there is a definite pattern in this brain deterioration. It is always triggered by a series of multi – tasks which, when put into overdrive in conjunction with exhaustion leads to a spiralling situation of chaos and lost marbles. Like a few weeks ago when I was cooking a huge fancy Friday night dinner and I as doing the washing, roasting food in the oven and cooking rice on the stove, taking out the rubbish and chatting to a friend. Next things I know, the fire alarm is beeping like a lost firetruck, the house is consumed with smoke (both kids upstairs aasleep for their lunchtime nap!) and then when I finally dash into the house, disconnect the fire alarms and run around like the a mad march hare opening every window and door I can think of I hear the front door slam behind me while I’m outside. I then start hyperventilating and sprint around the side to jump the side wall and thank Gd the backdoor was unlocked because I had forgotten to lock it earlier that day! Needless to say, there was absolutely no rice for dinner that night, and the house smelt like a stale nightclub for the better part of that week.
So, if anyone, anyone at all has seen my lost marbles, please, please let me know before I do anything else to render me commitable to a place where all the others have permanently lost their marbles!
I’m convinced that my washing machine and dryer are in cahoots and have a little scheme going to drive me clinically crazy. I’m sure I’m not alone and that there are tons of overworked moms out there wondering the exact same thing as me – where do all the odd socks go?
I’ve reached a point now where I’ve stopped trying to be perfect. In fact, it’s become so bad that now my poor husband’s top drawer is like a mini lost property bin, teaming at the brim and struggling to shut as a result of being stuffed so tightly with black, navy, faded black, almost black, once was black and new black, partnerless socks. Now I don’t even bother trying to find the partners to any of the socks unless they have matching, easy-to-find Buzz Lightyear / baby Gap / Lacoste motifs, failing which, I hope that the odd socks will one day be returned to their original partners later on in life, perhaps in some sort of sock heaven, probably in a warm patch behind the tumble dryer, or some other place in the world where all the odd socks end up in the end.
Sadly, I don’t think we will ever solve the mystery of where all the odd socks go. However, I do hope that wherever the odd socks end up, let’s hope that all those hours and hours of wasing, hanging up, drying, taking down, folding, sorting and packing away were worth it in the end. Finally my hope is that the 20 or so odd socks lined up on death row on the mantle piece in front of my TV will one day either get worn again or put out of their misery being chucked away, relentlessly or mercifully – by accident, now that would cut down a bit of laundry time!