Life with Ladybug: What did I forget again?

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By Shannon Magsam, co-founder of nwaMotherlode and mama to 1 little lady(bug)

My memory is shot, y’all.

If I don’t write it down, set my iPhone alarm – or the timer on the oven, when I’m cooking – I’m toast. Burnt toast, on those occasions I forget to set an alarm.

Actually, toast is pretty safe, since it doesn’t require my attention for the final pop-up. But you can bet there are some nights when I’m cleaning the kitchen and, as I wipe down the stove, notice a stone cold piece of toast still waiting forlornly in the toaster from breakfast.

alarm clockIf I don’t set an alarm, it – whatever “it” is — just usually doesn’t get done. Well, either an alarm or getting it written down on my to-do list.

I update my to-do list every night so it’s fresh and un-jumbled for tackling in the morning.

I also have an old-timey calendar hanging by my desk and it’s full of notes in those little squares with the day’s date. I make sure to check that calendar multiple times a day in case I may have forgotten something.

My memory has always been a little tricky. It seems like the childhood memories that stuck with me are all associated with a strong emotional event.

Or, as I tell my husband, my early childhood was pretty low-key, without too much turmoil, so the days may have blurred together a bit.

It went something like this: play with friends or siblings outside in the woods, eat lots of delicious food that my mother cooks without fail, sneak into my daddy’s truck for an extra Little Debbie’s sugar hit, visit the grandparents, play with the cousins. Rinse and repeat.

The teen years are a little more memorable. See above: strong emotional event. I think many of my memories are tinged with emotion from about ages 13-16. (Sorry, mom.)

Sometimes I get so frustrated, I have to look at the bright side of my bad memory. If you insulted me, for instance, back in 2005 I may have already forgotten it. It’s easy to forgive and forget this way (what a peace-loving perk!).

My mother’s memory, on the other hand, is elephant-like and she often brings up stories from my teen years that embarrass me in front of my husband. I’ll look blank, and she’ll say, “Don’t you remember that?”

Way too often the answer is a big fat no.

Of course, there are those times when I can remember things that my mom, brothers and sister can’t, and those occasional memory wins make my day.

I like to think that multi-tasking is the reason I sometimes feel so scattered. I know I need to focus on one thing at a time, but that concept strikes me as the impossible dream.

I started this blog, partially, as a way to remember. I love to look back over my posts and see what my little Ladybug was doing when she was 6 or 8. I like to read about my state of mind at the moment. It’s good to keep records. I may not be able to remember everything and I won’t always be around to remember – or forget — but the stories will stand.

In the meantime, I’ll I need all those bells and whistles.

Do you have a good memory? Any tips on how I can hang on to my remaining memory cells? Or, you know, whatever those things are called. How do you ensure you don’t forget and drop one of those important household/work/kid balls?

Blue dress, shannon, croppedShannon is co-founder of nwaMotherlode, and married to John, awesome dad to their 12-year-old daughter, Ladybug. If you have any comment about your memory, lack thereof, or tips, feel free to leave them below! Comments are the marshmallows in Shannon’s Cheerios (or something like that). Have a happy Thursday!

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