Brain Damage

After almost 13 years of marriage, I'm beginning to rub off on Don, poor man.

I explained to him when I was pregnant with Deanna that pregnancy hormone (beta hCG, for those of you who know) kills brain cells. For some reason, when you're pregnant, you forget major things, like to turn the water off in the sink after brushing your teeth and before leaving the room and closing the driver's door on the car after exiting it. Don would just shake his head at me.

And the memory loss isn't limited to while you're pregnant. This morning, Deanna asked me if she could leave her hair down for school or if she had to put it up. I know she gets tired of "doing her hair" every single day, but that's what happens when you have long hair.

"Honey, I know it's easier to leave it down, but it's really hot, and if you leave it down, it's just gonna get in your hair."

Long pause. "Mom," she started, hesitatingly, "it IS my hair."

I stopped slathering mustard on the sandwich I was making, thought for a minute, then began to laugh. The boys had paused with their forks halfway to their mouths, unsure if this was funny or if Mom was just losing it. Perhaps I understood something that they were too young to get and my sentence made perfect sense. My laughter convinced them that, yes, Mom was losing it.

A couple of years ago, I purchased plastic boxes to put under the Parson's bench in the mudroom for the children's shoes, since they always seemed to end up in that general vicinity. I used a Sharpie and put each child's name on their box, then informed them that any shoes left in the kitchen area had to go in their box.

They seldom make it into the boxes, so I've started charging Dane $.50 everytime I find a pair of shoes out of the box or his closet. He has to pay me $.25 for his bookbag if I find it anywhere but on its hook. Deanna's pretty good about her shoes. Unless they're wet and she leaves them in her box to dry, she puts her shoes in her bedroom. Daelyn leaves his everywhere. I'll have to clamp down on him next, but right now Dane's the one in intensive training.

So, Sunday, we're all sitting around the kitchen table eating lunch after church. Don was commenting about the children's seeming inability to pick up behind themselves.

Says Don, "You don't even seem to be able to manage to puttin' your shoes in the box Mommy bought for you."

"Puttin'?" says I, with one eyebrow raised. Deanna choked and came dangerously close to nose-squirting. The boys cracked up. Don, who NEVER laughs outloud, threw his head back and opened his mouth as if to let loose with a whopper. Instead, he silently laughed, which tickled us all the more. He was really laughing - not with sound, but with his body positioning and his mouth. Finally, he regained his composure, looked over at me, and shook his head.

"See," I told him, "I'm rubbing off on you. That's the kind of thing I'd say."

At least we provide cheap entertainment for our children.