If my brain were an animal, it would definitely be an overly excitable dog on a walk through a neighborhood with an inordinate number of squirrels. I’m thinking some kind of Terrier with wiry, unkempt fur and a high-pitched bark. One minute it’s happily plodding along, enjoying the fresh air and contemplating what’s for dinner – and the next minute – SQUIRREL! It’s engulfed in an imaginary argument – with itself – about how best to solve Africa’s water crisis. And it’s winning, to be sure.
For more evidence, consider this brief scroll through my Notes app which reveals the following entries:
- Discipline ideas from Super Nanny that I can use on my terrorist toddler. Ok, this one seems reasonable. Not sure whether I’ll remember to calmly refer to this entry next time my 3-year old throws his shoe at my face, but my heart was in the right place.
- Articles I’m working on. Again, pretty legit since I run a blog. The aisles of my neural pathways are more cluttered than the clearance section of a Walmart. Everything not written down dissolves into a chaotic blur, so literally every decently productive thought I have needs to be transferred to paper – fast.
- Banana. That’s literally all it says. What in the world? I can’t even.
- A friendly suggestion to lose 10 pounds. This note went on to say – and I quote – “It’s not that hard.” Right. I can only assume I was on my third glass of Malbec when I wrote this.
- A daily schedule for my kids and me. LOL. Have I even MET me? I hit my alarm’s snooze button so often it would be well within its rights to file a restraining order against me. It practically stops beeping by itself out of habit.
If only my body had as much – or even a fraction – of the energy my mind possesses. I’d be a female Richard Simmons, running circles around the furniture in a neon leotard. “Do the pony!” I’d yell maniacally.
On second thought, that might be kind of annoying.
To be fair, my muddled thoughts have always organized themselves this way (which is to say, not at all). But I truly believe parenthood has kicked these tendencies of mine up a few notches. Where it used to be difficult to remember to get the oil changed in my car and take my vitamins, it now seems virtually impossible. How can I be expected to remember that crap when I now must also keep track of my kids’ haircuts, doctor’s appointments, and swim lessons? All this, on top of fretting about whether they’re getting enough vegetable servings, avoiding food dyes, making sure they don’t run out of clean underwear, and –