Forget Me Not

One of my most vivid and unpleasant memories about school life was waiting to be picked up after school. It would start with seeing the school compound gradually empty out as parents came by to pick up their kids, teachers leaving school and the school attendants starting to close up the school. It would be at that point that I would know for a fact that someone had once again forgotten to pick me up from school. Often, I would be rescued by the teacher on duty who had to stay behind to make sure every student had left before allowing the school attendants padlock the main gate shut. I would have to sheepishly explain that I was waiting to get picked up but had a recalcitrant parent who hadn't arrived yet. There were times I was given 10 cents to call home (I always forgot to keep 10 cents on me in case of emergency and this was deemed as such) and other times the teacher would offer to give me a ride home. Thankfully, the latter never happened because it would be at that opportune time that said recalcitrant parent would drive up apologetically.

I swore I would never do that because it was a most miserable feeling to know at the back of one's mind (I think that's when I discovered that there indeed was a gut instinct and it was usually quite spot on) that I would be the last to get picked up.

Unfortunately, yesterday, I threatened to do that to Muffin. Thankfully, I wasn't late and he didn't realise it but I had driven right past his daycare all the way home into our carpark before turning around, looking at his empty seat and it dawning on me that I had forgotten to pick him up.

Thankfully, his daycare is a 5 minute drive away and like I said, he hadn't realised it.

But I did feel awful that I had forgotten about Muffin. Unintentionally, of course. But still.

There was also the epiphany that my parents probably didn't forget me on purpose but had been pre-occupied with something (In my case, I was nursing a pounding headache behind one eye and was exhausted from waiting for 2 hours to see a doctor).
























There really is truth to the whole Mommy mushy brain syndrome. It takes me longer to remember or realise things. It takes less time to forget things. And I feel all the time disorganised. Can Mommy brain be cured? I haven't a clue but as long as I don't forget the children's or Packrat's name, I could live with it. I just need to remember to pick my kids up when I am supposed to.

How did my parents overcome forgetting to pick me up from school? They bought me a bus stamp and taught me to take the bus.

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