Sweet Memories ( or any would be fine)

I used to have a razor sharp memory. I mean I could remember licence plate numbers from cars that my parents drove when I was growing up. And I could remember important stuff too like when I had to be somewhere, or even where I had to be.

My memory is shot. It's shit. It's almost entirely non existent. Of little consolation is the medically proven fact that HcG, the pregnancy hormone that is responsible for almost every intolerably awful thing that can happen to you when you are pregnant, has worked its magic again. So just when you thought the worst thing about HcG was not being able to go more than 7 minutes without peeing, or apres birth when levels of this hormone dip so low you are convinced that you will never enjoy sex again (or even have it, let alone enjoy it), it reminds you who is in charge once more.

I say consolation because of course the good news is that I don't have early onset althzeimers. My sister can stop calling me Iris, and my husband can stop plotting his week long Madden tournaments thinking that I'll be too "out of it" to understand that these aren't my family but are in fact a bunch of over-age football obsessed morons high on Pabst and cheese curds.

So it isn't my fault. It's the hormones fault. But that just doesn't translate into the real world, where, as a wife, mom of three and professional I have to remember countless things all the time. I've tried lots of different ways to remember stuff too. Outlook, my blackberry, a calendar on the kitchen wall, a calendar on my home computer, a paper diary in my bag. All to no avail. I've written lists (grocery, to do, kids names, best looking guys in High School Musical in desending order) but its pointless. I don't remember where the lists are, or what I was writing it for, or frankly what the point of anything is. I just can't remember.

I do however, find it a fascinating quirk of the human brain, that your memory can suddenly come alive at the most useless of times. Remembering that your daughter has a bake sale as you leave the house on the morning of the bake sale is no good to anybody. In fact, I'd rather not be reminded of that at all. Remembering that you didn't call your mother in law back to tell her what size feet your 3 year old has is probably something you should recall AFTER your husband has finished kissing your neck and nibbling your ear. (You're going to have to trust me on this one - mood killer).

So what am I meant to do? I'm open to suggestions, but short of walking around like Alan Alda in "Hannah and Her Sisters" recording everything into a mini tape recorder ("Idea for movie.......") I'm at a loss. I may have had flashes of genius to solve this problem, but I can't remember any of them anyway. Hell, this was meant to be a blog about something really important. I just forgot what that thing was.

I Hate NY

No, its not a typo. I used to "heart" NY. Now I hate NY. And although I know that New York has changed considerably since I first moved here, I have to admit that it is I who has changed a whole lot more.

The biggest change is that I now have children, three of them to be exact. So all of those things that I used to love about New York - the theater, late night movies, great dive bars, fabulous gay bars, trashy 80s themed parties at fabulous gay bars, art galleries - yes, all of those things are now but a distant memory.

I am also (shriek with horror) more than ten years older than I was when I first moved here. So I can scratch the "80s themed parties at fabulous gay bars" off the list anyway (loud, crude, allergy to rubber and intolerance for bitchy queens).

I've noticed lately how rude the people are. Ok, I didn't just notice that. New York is famous the world over for its abundance of impatient and hostile residents. I enjoy the brusque manner of the counter guys at Katz's Deli as much as the next person. What I can't stand is that there are so many sodding young people here. Where the fuck did they come from? And what do they expect to find here? As I have learned the sidewalks are not paved with movie deals, publishing deals or any other bloody deal for that matter.

Oh my God. I have just realized something. I'M GETTING OLD. It's happening. I can't stand young people. They get on my nerves with their boundless energy for gay bars, museums, art galleries and late night movies. And they are really annoying me with all their childlessness and freedom. So this is why people move to Westchester! It's not for the great school system (although I hear its spiffy). It's so that we don't have to live with the daily reminder that our lives did not pan out as we had once hoped, and that with children in tow for the next 18 years, its going to be pretty damn close to impossible to get our lives back on track!

These young people all have age appropriate airs of entitlement and are just oozing with ambition, ambition that they still have time and energy to fulfill. And its turning me into a curmudgeonly old bird. Just like a REAL New Yorker.

Hey! Fuck you! I'm walking here!

Now you see me (Now you don't)

Kids are really fast. No joke. You might be childless and reading this (in which case, can I refer you to some other websites), and you're thinking "They can't be that fast, they only have tiny weeny little legs". Think again my friend. Those legs are short and stumpy, but when in motion, freakishly quick. I mean circus sideshow fast.

Case History One (in a series of over four thousand instances of close calls): Rite Aid, Hair Care aisle. Holding my then three year old by the hand. Sure John Frieda is a little more expensive, but I bet its good. Still holding child's hand. Where is the conditioner that goes with it? Still holding child's hand. Why can't I ever just find stuff and get the hell out of a store? Why does everything take so damn long? CHILD GONE. That fast. Gone. Not in this aisle, or the next aisle. Now I am that mom that I said I would NEVER be (you know, the one you have in your head before you actually become one), screaming at the top of my lungs but still trying to appear calm and in control.

I have always been lucky. These situations have ended well for me. In that case my daughter was pulling boxes of Trojans and Durex off a display near the pharmacy. I got lucky. Again.

Tonight, coming home from an event at my daughters school, a little boy cycled passed us saying 'Daddy, Daddy, Daddy". I thought that was vaguely odd, but nothing else. Two minutes later a man ran passed us yelling and crying "Have you seen a boy on a bike?". I felt like shit that I hadn't stopped the boy and said "Where's your Daddy?". I really hope that situation ended well. The boy was cycling towards a main road. And I didn't stop him. What is wrong with me? I just didn't want to interfere with a little kid I guess.

It takes a village to raise a family. I learned a really important lesson tonight. Stick your nose into peoples business. The worst that could happen is that somebody will tell you to stay the fuck out of their lives. From now on I'm going to risk that. I would really want somebody to do the same for me.

I really hope that little boy found his Daddy.