I Can't Remember What I was Going to Title This

Remember Aunt Bethany in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation?

Sometimes I worry about myself.

It's a good thing that I'm a writer.  I keep a notebook in my purse.  I write down everything.  Names of people, information about whatever I am experiencing, details of what I am supposed to do, when, and even why.

I input information into the calendar on my phone, with the alert set up to remind me the day before, an hour before, or a few minutes before depending on what it is, and how much time I'd need to scramble in case the reminder really reminds me of something I would have otherwise completely forgotten.

There was an incident last week when I awoke to the reminder on my phone of the PTA event I was supposed to participate in.  In 1 hour.  With an egg casserole in hand.  Oops.

As a young wife and mother, I discovered, along with my group of girlfriends, a organization/home making guru, Emilie Barnes.  We read every book, attended every seminar, and spoke Emilie Barnesenees fluently amongst ourselves.  She taught us how to be organized, stay organized, and get more hours in our day, all while wearing a lacy apron, a lipsticked smile, and a bouquet of flowers on the table.  We devoured her.  We were proud disciples.

Then life happened.

Sometimes I wonder whether it's the Crisis my family and I endured that fried my brain, whether it's age, or whether it's just me, and how I was predisposed to be.  Either way, it's become my very own thorn in my very own side.

I do acknowledge that the Crisis years have taken a toll.  Case in point, I have a very hard time remembering dates, facts, and details of the years between, I have to stop and think about this, 2005-2010.

In fact, it was 7 years ago today that our life as we knew it was shattered.  The only reason why I know that so solidly, is because we've been reminded all over the news that today is the 7 year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina hitting land.  

The kids and I were in California on vacation from our home on Nebraska.  While we were here visiting family for a few weeks, we camped with my parents, siblings, and family friends in Carlsbad for the weekend.  My husband urged me to not worry about calling home while we camped.  Thought it would be nice for the kids and me to just let our hair down, and enjoy being with my side of the family.  It was so refreshing.  He had never said that before.  Had always insisted on me checking in, or being available when he checked in with me.  I was usually so nervous about that need of his.  He'd be so mad if he couldn't reach me, or if I didn't try to reach him.  So, when he urged me to relax, have a great time, and not try and call, I was happy and actually proud of the growth in our marriage.  I thought, after 18 years of marriage, he is relaxing. Calming down.  Not as rigid.  But, what I didn't know at the time was this:  He had other plans for the weekend, too.  He wasn't going to be home, either.  And he wasn't spending the weekend alone.

So while we happily camped, New Orleans was being devastated, and my family was being ripped apart.

His relationship became public in our small Nebraska town, and before I knew it, the kids and I were back in California.  This time, for good.

The trauma did something to my brain.  The trust I had in him, and the trust I believed we shared for our family, was violently betrayed by his act of deception and betrayal, and something inside me broke.

Those years are a blur, and had it not been for the journaling I did during that time I wouldn't remember any of it, or at least, very little.  

I don't remember Lee as a toddler.  He asks for stories of his first words.  Funny things he said, or did when he was little.  Thankfully, his siblings can fill in blanks for me, which satisfies him, and helps me to remember.  Thankfully, I have notes I can reflect upon.  But still, I don't remember his 1st birthday, his second birthday, his third birthday, or his fourth birthday.  Likewise, I don't remember the other kids' birthdays during those years, either.  I vaguely remember Chuck E. Cheese one year for Lee, a Red Carpet birthday party for Abi, as well as a sleepover birthday party for Abi once, but I can't remember for which ages.  And I remember Danielle's 17th birthday--her first birthday with us, and her first birthday party ever.

Birthdays are huge for me, which is why this is so painful.  I remember every birthday my kids had before Crisis.  I'm grateful for that, and am even more grateful that I remember their special days now.  

This is one reason why I love Facebook so much.  It's a visual journal.  And as people comment, it only solidifies the memory and etches it more permanently into my poor, challenged brain.

I'd be a raving lunatic if I told myself that all of my memory challenges are caused from Crisis, though.  Hugo hasn't suffered Crisis, yet when we park in parking lots, we wander the whole lot in search of the car.  It sucks, too, when we get a great parking space, and then wander out to the south 40 looking for the car, only to find it up by the door.  

In parking structures, we take pictures of where we parked.  Sometimes, I even take pictures of our walk from the parking structure, to the elevator, to the floor we're going to, etc.  It's pathetic, I know, but what's even more pathetic is that we utilize my visual map to get ourselves back to the car.  Works like a charm.  Otherwise, we'd be wandering through the whole thing, carrying a goldfish in a plastic bag.  (Seinfeld reference.)

So, our life is a little chaotic at times, and I really think that this has A LOT to do with my memory melt-downs.

THIS MORNING:  

Hugo and I wake up at 6:15.  Abi wakes up at 6:15.  Hugo gets into our shower.  Abi gets into their shower.  Danielle wakes up at 6:30.  Abi's in the shower.  Abi's usually in the shower at 5:30.  Wednesday is late start at Abi's school.  Hugo finished his shower.  Reroute Danielle.  She gets into our shower.  I get dressed into exercise clothes.  Put the load from last night into the dryer.  Put 4 English muffins into the toaster oven.  Make Hugo's turkey sandwich.  Make Lee's PB&J sandwich.  Give Abi wardrobe suggestions.  Listen to Abi tell me about her dream last night.  Hear that Lee is up.  Find him dressed and brushing his teeth while Hugo's doing his hair.  Give props to the Papi for rocking it.  Give Lee his meds.  Make our bed.  Pack sandwiches and lunch stuff into Hugo and Lee's lunch pails.  Tell Danielle and Abi that they need to revamp our Wednesday morning schedule so that they don't stumble over shower times.  Abi needs to make her bed, so Hugo gently reminds her, saying we need to leave in 10 minutes.  Abi freaks out.  She isn't ready.  She's always ready.  She thought we were leaving later.  We had decided that we needed to leave earlier than she had been originally informed.  Oops.  I might have forgotten to tell her.  Develop Plan B.  Hugo drops Lee and me off at his school so that he can log in another day of education, and so that I can log in another day of torture walking with my torture walking buddies.  Hugo goes back home.  Grabs the now-ready Abi.  Drops her off at school.  Drops Danielle off at school.  Commutes with a million other people on the 210, to the 134, to Glendale.  Gets to his office.  Thinks about lunch, so he takes a peek to see what he has.  He finds a PB&J with the crusts cut off.  Lee's PB&J.  He's not a fan of the peanut butter.  (Another Seinfeld reference.)

It could be worse, I tell him over text.  It could have been Aunt Bethany's Jell-O with the crunchy cat food folded in.  Or, I could have packed the cat.

I need to break out Emilie Barnes' books again.  Revamp my M.O.  Trouble is, I can't remember where I put them.