The other day I found myself looking at a woman in the museum who looked vaguely familiar. And indeed, she was looking right back at me – which, if I were a normal person, might have led me to assume that she thought she knew me, too. However, I’ve learnt the hard way that people mostly look at me in public because I am wearing my lunch all over my face.
This time it was different, however.
“It’s [NDM], isn’t it?” the woman said to me.
Somewhat overlooking the fact that she had just addressed me by name, I blurted out “Do I know you or are you famous???”.
Turns out, she was someone that I had met at a party three weeks previously and chatted quite amiably with for an extended period of time. Yes, only three weeks had passed and already her face and name had receded into the mists of my mind.
Admittedly, I live most of my life in a bit of a fog. But every now and then, however, that fog lifts and I am suddenly capable of anything and everything.
Why, just the other day, I ventured into the local monster mall with Tiddles “The Enemy Of Shopping” McGee. In just one hour, I managed to buy seven presents and three pairs of school trousers for two different kids at six different shops. And I still had time to buy and eat lunch in the food court – and by “eat”, I mean actually chew and not just swallow. I repeat: all in one hour.
Of course, transporting McGee around the shops strapped into his stroller like he was Hannibal Lecter on a prison transfer certainly helped.
Still, I was kicking goals and I let everyone know it, via the magic of twitter.
However, it didn’t take long for the fog to begin its descent again.
Because I had been so busy showing off to the twitterverse, I was slightly late for the school pick-up and ended up having to park closer to my house than the actual school. And by the time I got to The Pixie’s classroom with a regretfully untethered McGee, there was no sign of her anywhere.
A school-wide search ensued with several members of the CrankyPants family acting as lead scouts, recruiting others as they went. The Pixie was finally located, after about ten minutes, in a far-flung corner of the school, apparently having gone there to “save the environment by cleaning up a spill” (And no, I wasn’t so late that she’d made it as far as the Gulf of Mexico).
Anyway, I thanked the rather large search party for their help and made it as far as the school gates before I realised Mr Justice might not be, as I had assumed by his absence, at that playdate I’d arranged that very morning for the following day.
Yes, you read that correctly: for the following day.
And so I had to spin around on my heels and reenter into the playground where everyone was looking at me as if to say “Who have you lost now?” and I had to admit to my rather large oversight. Another CrankyPants-led search party set off and within 5 minutes, I received intelligence that Mr Justice had been spotted merrily playing soccer on the oval. I was about to charge out there and personally spear tackle him to the ground when MotherOfCrankyPants sidled up to me and whispered “Uh, isn’t [Mr Justice] doing that after-school sports program today?”
“Yes. Yes, he is,” I whispered back, blushing deeply. After all, it wasn’t like he’d reminded me of the fact about SEVENTEEN TIMES that morning or anything.
And as I set off on the long walk back to the car, I took some small comfort in the fog surrounding me. At least it shielded me from the looks of the other parents.
Not Drowning, Mothering. 
This makes me think child tagging/tracking would be great. It would save all kinds of embarrassment. I must consider it when mine is old enough to be let out…
I like your thinking. They could at all have those “key finder” devices attached so you could find them simply by clapping. Although in a crowded arena full of applauding people that might prove to be impossible.
You get to go to parties?
Not very often. I pretend it’s because I have small children but really it’s because I get drunk and make a fool of myself and people have stopped inviting me.
I tell ya, baby-brain is a permanent disability (there should be some sort of government entitlement for us sufferers). In recent days I have been chased down the street by the baker wielding a french stick…I had bought it then completely forgot about it. And don’t you hate when you get cash out then forget to take the cash, and when you go back to get it they look at you suspiciously, like you’re trying to con them. And this morning when I was making sandwiches I nearly tore the fridge apart looking for the pickles, and there it was….just sitting on the bench, where I placed it only 2 minutes before. This whole ‘fog’ can be rather frightening.
Oooh, I love the extended search for the item that’s been right in front of me the whole time. It’s such a valuable use of my time.
heh – heh, like Hannibal Lecter on a prison transfer.
Exactly. Gently tranquilized, and loaded on, easy-like.
Too right. It’s the only way it can be done.
Think of it as a force field, rather than a fog, NDM, and it won’t feel so bad. Then again, with the star wars reference, maybe they’ll skive off every day.
Thanks for your help out on the field, Mother of Cranky Pants – and for not laughing and pointing when you realised my mistake.
I really like the idea of an impenetrable force field – one that chilled bottles of wine can still penetrate, that is.
Oh, the fog, the FOG!! I had my own fog moment on Monday. I had taken my baby boy to the Children’s Hospital, where I had been informed he had a fractured collar bone. To do this I’d had to sandwich my car into the teeny weeny itty bitty car parks in the hospital car park, and carefully lift my poor little clipped-winged baby out of and back into the car with about a 15cm gap between me and the next car. I had of course, being conscientious about such things, already visited the pay station and paid for my parking ticket, carefully tucking the paid ticket into my bra as is my habit. Only problem was that when I got to the gate, the ticket was gone. A long line of harrassed drivers quickly developed behind me and the parking attendant came over etc etc I felt like crying out, as did Lola about her brother Charlie “But my baby’s b r o k e n!!!!!” but instead just slunk away as quickly as I could as soon as that boom gate was up.
Firstly, I am very sorry to hear that Master Zap has a fractured collar bone. Poor little guy! I hope he recovers soon.
Secondly, are you sure the ticket isn’t lost somewhere deep in that impressive breast-feeding cleavage of yours?
Oh, the dreaded brain fog.
It’s bad enough that I wander aimlessly around in it at home some days, but when it surrounds me out in the big wide world, you could ask me my name and I may just say NDM… *sigh*
Please don’t taint yourself with my brush. If you can’t remember your name, act all mysterious and say “I could tell you… but I’d have to kill you”. It’s what I do – and thus is another reason why nobody asks me to parties any more (see above).
“say” – please insert this word between ‘just’ & ‘NDM’
See, it strikes again!?
Done. But whether I did it properly is another thing all together. Damn fog….
Oh I know that fog. I know it well.
Are you the shadowy figure who hangs out slightly to my right?
I haven’t visited in so long and I’m so THRILLED to see you still have it! (“It” being the ability to make me laugh even at the dreaded hour when I should be sleeping). Even with the FOG, you still have it. And I have so been there… having no idea why I’m in the store that I’m in, why the person in front of me is addressing me like they know me, why my doorbell is ringing at 8 am even though the doorbell ALWAYS rings at 8am the first Friday of the month for the exterminator, and the list goes on.
I will be back soon… I need these smiles more often.
Glad to see your smiling face again, Becca. Drop by again… if you remember to, that is!
I’ve lost my car twice this pregnancy. The second time it took me 2 days to notice it wasn’t parked in the garage. When I did notice, I did what every right thinking pregnant woman would do and accused hubby of driving it and leaving it somewhere.
Turns out it was me who had driven it to the train station (too waddly to walk the 800 metres) and then walked home – directly past my car I might add.
Pregnancy fog is slightly denser than non-pregnant fog but people forgive you more readily for it. Perhaps I should carry around a pillow to shove up my jumper for the next acute episode?
I love you, NDM. You make me realise that even though my children will be very lucky to make it through childhood with such a flaky mother as me, at least I am not The Only One. And against all commonsense, that’s very important!
See, that’s my gift to you and to the world. I perform a very important community service by being so useless so very often.
I once found my car keys in the bathroom sink OF MY BEDROOM. I only found them when I went to brush my teeth that night. I’m pretty sure that we stayed home all day because of it. But I don’t remember
You have a bathroom sink in your bedroom? Perhaps you are so confused you’ve been sleeping in the bathroom. It happens.
I wish I knew how to strap The Boy “into his stroller like he was Hannibal Lecter on a prison transfer” – so effective, and the effect this visual spectacle must have on other shoppers sure would be entertaining!
I am most impressed at your flat-chat shopping and eating! Those bloody monster malls inspire the desire to tear your way through them and get the fuck out, I find
Having a twenty year old stroller bought fifth-hand at a charity shop certainly helps. Once those straps are done up, it virtually takes the jaws of life to get them open.
I also find with the monster malls they try to trick you into staying with their shiny-shiny signs and donut vendors. I managed to remain focused, however.
Ha, lol’d quite a few times. Especially the Hannibal Lecter bit. I still put my 3.5 year old in a stroller. He saw a fellow kindy friend at the shops the other day. “Mummy, how come Belle is allowed to walk?” I wanted to shout, “because Belle’s not a stinking little runaway” but I just shrugged.
Ah, and don’t worry, I forgot anyway, but last night was a mother/son night at his school. I got home late (fecking around getting lotto) and he said “Mum, I don’t want to go, Bondi Rescue is on tonight”. Phew.
I could list any number of similar episodes in my own fog, I mean, life. And my kids aren’t even at school yet.
And I must confess I sometimes strap my 4 year old into the toddler seat of the double-decker pram (while the 3-year-old is underneath). To those who stare disapprovingly I ask do you really want two hyperactive pre-schoolers running amok in the shopping centre? I am providing a public service. Maybe by the time they’re in high school I’ll be able to throw that pram out…
I’m celebrating the fog. It’s national fog week this week. And Fog day on Sunday.
Bring on the FOG..
For FOG’s sake.
Fog? Fog? I nearly kissed Boris Johnson at London Bridge the other day…
I think we loose brain cells with every child that we raise every day so that we are brain dead enough not to be rational enough not to kill our children when they become teenagers.
[…] The Fog | Not Drowning, Mothering. – May 05, 2010 · Oh, the fog, the FOG!! I had my own fog moment on Monday. I had taken my baby boy to the Children’s Hospital, where I had been informed he had a. […]