Memory

So, it turns out Thing 1 really was checking up on me. Every night now she asks me what I’m going to do downstairs while she’s sleeping. Usually I give her one to three things on my to-do list: cleaning, relaxing, sewing, whatever. She repeats them back to me, perfectly. Then, the next morning, she asks me if I did each of them. She’s too little to see the dishes in the sink, so I can say yes. After all, in my world when The Cat’s gone getting the dishes to the sink counts as cleaning.

She’s not yet three, but I can’t believe how good her memory is. In fact, I try to avoid playing Memory with her anymore and stick to Candyland. I was tired of getting beat. It was so sad to see my four pairs to her eight game after game. I suppose I could’ve put more pairs out, but somehow I don’t think it would work out in my favor.

The thing is, I used to have a good memory. It’s the mommy thing that killed it. But I feel like I’m being a sore loser when I point out that she’s the reason I lose. Plus, the guilt trips don’t work that well at this age. Maybe in a few years…

I miss my memory, and I’d like it back, but at least I can take comfort in my daughter’s good memory. In fact, I plan on taking more than comfort, I’ll be taking advantage of it soon. I’m going to start giving her my to do list every morning. Then she can remind me what it was I was supposed to be doing. It’s not all bad for her either. I’ll have to get her a cell phone. That’s what every three year old wants, right? I just hope the preschool teachers don’t turn it off. I might forget to pick her up.

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