Memoir

Has my brain atrophied?  I was looking back at this blog last night... three years since my last post!  Not possible!  People speak of the onset of "Mommy brain" as if it's a sudden transformation that occurs when you see that little blue plus sign on the stick, but I'm beginning to think it's more like a very slow, subvert degenerative disease.  I go through our daily tasks and appointments and by the end of the day have little energy, physically or intellectually, for anything more than a glass of wine and the Real Housewives of some godforsaken place.  Wow, that was a depressing paragraph, can you tell it's January and we haven't seen the sun for the better part of two weeks?

I so loved re-reading all the memories I had wiped clean to make room for mundane details of the current version of our lives.  I vow to force myself to make time for writing once again!  I'm blown away by the amount of amazing moments I have forgotten in three, four, five short years.  I don't want to forget the amazing anymore.  I love our life too much to let it go.  This is our family memoir.

Everyone is three years older since my last post... three years smarter, three years sassier, three years taller.  An anecdote for each child:

The other day Maggie had the flu and apparently it caused her to time travel to the 1950s.  jeepers and gee whiz    When showing her a particularly cool bit of science on the internet she exclaimed, "Jeepers!" and slinked back to bed.   Jeepers?  Where did she even hear that word let along hear it to be able to apply it appropriately.  A few hours later she was rolling her eyes at something her sister did, I'm sure it was soooo annoying, and exclaimed, "Gee Whiz!"  Again, I ask you, what bobbysoxer has been in my house teaching my kids arcane white-bread slang?  

On to Catie, this one is far more succinct.  While eating dinner the other night she asks, "Mom, how old do you have to be to wear a jet pack?"  I look at her.  She's completely serious.  She therefore deserves a completely serious reply.  "50 years old," I tell her, my face as straight as I could possibly maintain.  Never mind the fact that a jet pack is not really an actually "thing"... I love that she thinks about alternate forms of transportation.