I am fried. My brain is fried. That egg in a frying pan is not a brain on drugs, it’s the brain of a mom with three kids. I can not think straight, see straight and apparently I can not talk straight either. I can never get my kids names straight. I mix them up and mess them up all the time. We have a Rebecca, Christopher and Alexander. We have a Mookie, Griffie, Owie, Zowie, Boo Boo. Who knows which name will come flowing from my mouth at any given moment. I may turn around and see Alexander sticking his fingers in the outlet when I shout out “Rebecca, stop it! Stop it now!” At first, I confess this really confused the heck outta the kids. Let’s not even go into the mixing up the genders and names, but now they have adjusted well. So I may have blurted out Rebecca’s name, but she continued doing whatever it was she was doing and the child who was incidentally thisclose to getting electrocuted stopped what he was doing. Christopher never hears anything, so it doesn’t matter what I call him. He is always in some sort of zone… when he is not in a zone he ignores me, so does it really matter what I call him? I am so lucky I have only 3 children. Honestly, I have no idea what I would do if I had more. Maybe I would number them instead. Like Doctor Seuss, I would have my Things. Thing One, Thing Two, Thing Three and so on and so on and so on. But knowing me I would get those numbers all screwed up too. So while I really meant to reprimand Thing One, poor Thing Seventeen was sent up to her room. Speaking of Seventeen… I honestly want to know how Ol’ Mrs. Duggar (and you can not even pretend to claim you have no idea who the heck she is) remembers the names of her children. Not only does she have seventeen of them, but by gosh, all the names begin with the same letter!
Names were given as a means of identifying people and I wonder who this person was and if he had children and whether he ever one of them by the wrong name. (I am absolutely certain it must have been a man, you see, because I know a woman would have found a better method… unless she had born at least three children already and her brain cells were shot…)
Sometimes it really is better to say Hey There! Or, You! Not only have I developed an inability to remember my kids names, but apparently the few brain cells I have left are rapidly dying because yesterday I was sitting on the grass at the playground with the kids after school talking to a friend. We were trying to arrange a play date for the boys — easy to say boys as there are no names involved. And for the life of me I could not remember her kid’s name. Her kid is a very good friend to my kid — my eldest male offspring… and I called him, not my kid, but the friend’s kid, Whatshisface! I called another boy Whatshisface! And the best part is that she has just one child. One little name, which came back to me, Henry. That’s it. One kid to shout at. One kid to nag… one kid to tell it’s time to go to bed or get up or eat breakfast. One kid. One name. One easy name. One easy monosyllabic name. Henry. Henry get up. Henry get dressed. Henry do this. Henry do that. Man, my friend Sally just doesn’t know how good she’s got it… perhaps George Forman was on to something after all!