Children: like brain eating zombies but cuter

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Yesterday morning, I was halfway through with a shower when I honestly could not recall if I had already shampooed my hair. People have learned valuable skills with the combined amount of time I’ve wasted staring blankly at the wall in a room I just entered in hopes that the reason I went there in the first place might occur to me. Additionally, today, I pissed away a solid five minutes trying to remember Kelly Clarkson’s name.

I don’t even CARE about Kelly Clarkson.

What I’m saying is I CAN’T REMEMBER SHIT.

Things used to be great. I knew phone numbers. (Most of the ones still taking up space in my brain have likely been reassigned two or three times by now, yet they remain as today’s technology does not require me to override them with numbers that matter. I could not recite my sister’s phone number for 8 gazillion dollars.) I knew birthdays and addresses and state capitals.

It all went downhill after the birth of my first child and snowballed with the second. What follows is a running list of the temporarily important yet almost eventually guaranteed useless information that is clogging my mental real estate.

  • The selected track listing of Sesame Street Platinum hits. Play 1,2, and 3. Skip 4. Play 5, 6, 7, 8. Skip 9 and 10. Play 11 and wait to see if the backseat DJ busts a nut. Skip to 12 if so, otherwise let it ride…
  • Current state of my children’s bowels.
  • The date, time and location of 3 different birthday parties.
  • The words to a Beatles catalog-esque volume of children’s rhymes and songs. Including 6 verses to London Bridge that I never before knew existed.
  • The resting place of at least 2 dozen items which on any occasion could suddenly be deemed THE MOST IMPORTANT MATERIAL POSSESSION in a certain toddler’s life. Hazy idea of the locale of at least 450 more which could be desired with no warning whatsoever.
  • Foods which will currently be consumed, however making no assumptions that they are the same as yesterday.
  • Which dresses are “pwincess dwesses” and which are “fairy dwesses” because GOOD LORD LADY THEY ARE NOT INTERCHANGEABLE.
  • The exact ratios that render greens slipped into smoothies undetectable.
  • The rating on a scale of “better than my house” to “just hope no one is slumped over dead in there” of 3/4 of the city’s public bathrooms. And which ones have changing tables.
  • The names of the characters of several dozen children’s shows and why I loathe at least half of them. Just for fun: Muno, we know you’re actually a dildo. Kat (of Sam and Kat) your voice makes me want to hang myself with an electrical cord. Gerald (of Sid the Science Kid), sit down. Shut up and STOP WALKING LIKE YOU SHIT YOURSELF.

The likelihood is high that even when all of this is no longer relevant, I’ll retain at least a portion of it. So when you throw on top of that the unshakeable knowledge of every Full House plot line, the lyrics to songs like Meredith Brooks’ “Bitch”, and 3 different friendship bracelet making techniques, I’m just going to have to hope that in my old age that I’ll never have to keep track of dentures.

The satisfied smirk of a brain eating toddler.

The satisfied smirk of a brain eating toddler.

amateur comedian, professional bullshitter. will take pay in baked goods once already rich.