Forgetting

I had something to blog about and I just now forgot. I remember sitting on our bed last night with Dear Sir, reading books, and saying, "I'm going to blog about that." But I am still getting a complete blank. I forget everything. I was telling Ann that yesterday.

I will be setting the table, everyone will be eating, and I stop in the middle of the kitchen and think hard. "Now what was I going to get?" I think. I even say it out loud while rubbing my chin. I look around desperately. I see the table and find that nothing "appears to be missing." I look to the cupboard for clues, I look in the fridge and I see the milk. "Ah, yes, the drinks." I say. Eventually though, I have done this enough times for Dear Sir to just get the drinks automatically because he knows that I will indeed forget them or the napkins. I do this continually in my small, cramped, little life. Dear Sir says it is because I can not multi-task and I try to do too many things at once, but come on, I have to at least TRY to multi-task. He often says to the kids (I hear it in the corner of my subconscious) "Don't try to talk to her while she is playing guitar. She won't hear you."

The man knows my faults. I know his too, but mine are more in your face, so to speak. "My toes are numb!" I would say to him. "Wear socks!" he would say.
Last night he said, "Heads up!" and threw the Neutrogena Norwegian formula in my hands. "Put that on your hands. You have to get in the habit of taking care of them."
"I don't feel too well," I would say. "Here is a drink," he would counter.
Here is the famous one---"You're chewing." And he would bump my offending hand in a swift whip.

I remember when we were first dating I had a terrible cold. I worked at a department store and did not even THINK to bring tissues with me. In fact, I would go to the bathroom (I have a small, cramped, little bladder that prevents me from living a normal life) and grab some rough, coarse paper towels and use them. The man came in to take me out to lunch and we sat in a restaurant and he saw the paper towel I grasped with my hand, all wet and harmful-looking.
"What is that?" he said. "Your poor nose! You can't wipe your nose with sandpaper!" Later that day I am almost sure he had gone out and bought me some tissues infused with aloe and lotion and brought them to my door.

This is a man who, when finding rough spots and rashes on me, will put cortisone cream there. This is a man who, when seeing that I am tired, will usher me to bed, tuck me in, and provide white noise so I will not hear the kids. This is a man who has adapted himself to making my life easier because I am indeed not a multi-tasker and in constant need, it appears, of someone who will care for me because I FORGET EVERYTHING, including myself.

Huh. I forgot to eat breakfast. Can't miss a meal. Gotta go.