“Remind me again, what’s the name of our dentist?” he asks. “Isn’t his name something like Dr. Tooth?” I try to keep a straight face knowing that he actually thinks there’s a dentist in the world named Dr. Tooth and tell him to look it up in his Blackberry. “How can I look it up?” he continues. “I don’t know his name.” Good point. “By the way, in the time it took you to tell me to look it up, you could have just told me.” He’s right, if only it were just this question.
The words “Remind me again … ” seem to get used more and more often in my house these days. Remind me again, where’s the gift for my dad? Remind me again, when’s that appointment? Remind me again, what did you ask me to pick up? And sure, it takes only a few seconds to remind him again, but it’s not me reminding him again, it’s reminding him again and again.
You should know that I’m not married to one of those “TV” dads who walk around with a beer in one hand, a remote in the other, calling me “Mother.” He’s not a Jim Belushi kind of guy. He’s successful, involved, and smart. He even has two Ivy League Degrees. I think he had to get two because he misplaced the first one and didn’t have anyone ask where he put it. While he functions at a high level, he can’t seem to remember anything related to how we function.
We’ve been together for the better part of a decade. At this point, I’m fairly good at remembering what my husband will forget. If I ask him for help with an errand, I know he’ll forget unless I write it down, email him, and call him on the way. Left to his own devices, he’ll leave with a simple grocery list of “chicken and asparagus” and return two hours later, exhausted, with a hummingbird feeder and a big screen TV. The task of him dropping off the dry cleaning would be no problem were he to actually leave the house with the clothes. Yet if I say to him, “Did you remember to take the dry cleaning?” he’ll look at me with one eyebrow raised, accuse me of nagging, then tell me that yes indeed he had forgotten to take the dry cleaning. His daily questions make me both organized support staff and a nagging parent all at once. Neither of which are jobs I applied for.
Baby stuff seems to be the hardest on his memory. While he loves to spend time with our son, he can’t remember what time to do anything with our son. Though our baby is on a very simple schedule, eating at the same times everyday, my precious free time is constantly interrupted by my big boy, holding my little boy, tapping me on the shoulder asking, “Mommy, can you remind us again what time we eat?” I don’t mind answering, but I do mind the expectation that I’m all-knowing, have all the answers, and never need time off when I can stop reminding and start relaxing.
