Living in a fog

I said to Darren shortly before bed last night, "Dangit, I forgot to put the sheets in the dryer!" But out in the garage, I was bewildered to find those blasted sheets just sitting there in the washing machine: no water, no detergent, just sitting there with the lid up, mocking me. What the heck? I remembered eventually what had happened: before starting the machine earlier in the day, I went to retrieve the accompanying pillowcases, scattered about the house by my helpers. Distracted by someone or something, I forgot to add them to the waiting load until, well, 9:00 or so last night.

And that is just so typical of how my days go lately. I'll walk into the kitchen and stop, shocked to find the dishwasher open, lower rack pulled out, half emptied of its contents, but with no recollection of having started the job. (And I've got to remember to begin with the knives from now on; those black handles horrify me every time I see them exposed like that in plain view and easy reach of small hands.)

Sometimes I'll catch an unsuspecting glimpse of Meghan's bare bottom beneath the hem of her dress, the briefest flash of skin, and it takes me a moment to register the fact that many minutes earlier (I won't say hours) she had asked me for a dry Pull-Up.

Once, a few weeks ago, I walked into my bedroom and experienced a flash of panic when I didn't see Kristen in her crib. Where on earth could she have gone?! Oh, but wait, of course: she was seated in the living room, settled happily in her Baby Papasan, where she could watch her big brother and sisters while I got ready. Two nights ago, while dining with my in-laws out on our back patio, I kept finding myself performing random, mental head counts of my children and worried once when I came up one short...and then realized it was because Kristen was nuzzled up to me, nursing contentedly beneath a blanket!

I wonder sometimes how much of my children's recent bad attitudes can be attributed to their Mommy's absent mindedness. Please, somebody who's been through this: tell me there's an end in sight! Tell me it won't always be like this! And please, for the love of all that is holy, please tell me I am not the only mother who has ever allowed chocolate cake for lunch at two o'clock in the afternoon. (A one time occurrence, I assure you.)

(ETA: Just after publishing this post, I went to check on how Dylan was doing with his school work. I found my cup of coffee waiting right where I left it...two hours ago. I drank it anyway.)