Put a group of moms together in a room, and we could solve the world’s problems in under an hour. Countries that talked out of turn, refused to share or got too big for their britches would be given a time out.
Put a group of moms together in a room and we could solve the world’s problems in under an hour.
The only problem? We wouldn’t remember anything we said.
A primary symptom of having young children is Mom Brain. We can prepare lunch for four different children and remember who is allergic to what without skipping a beat. We can pack diaper bags that rival Boy Scout Troops in preparedness. We can tell you (down to the day) when each child started sleeping through the night.
But ask us what we read in yesterday’s newspaper and we’re lost.
Mom Brain is the reason we stop mid-sentence to wipe a nose and then can’t remember where we left off. It’s the reason we are spotted cruising down the highway with a Target slushee cup sitting on the roof. And it’s why we call our children by the wrong name and our husbands by the dog’s name. There’s simply too much information about too many people floating around in our heads and we’re bound to have a traffic jam up there sometimes.
Recently, a friend told me that she made a special trip to the store to buy milk. She returned home, brought the kids inside and promptly forgot about the milk. When she realized her error hours later, she went to the store for milk once again. She got home, unloaded the kids and — yep, you guessed it –– left the milk in the car again.
Her husband has taken over milk-buying duty.
So at this point, one wonders how the next generation will survive to adulthood, while being raised by such flighty mothers. The great news is we actually have our acts together for the most part. We take care of the important part, like keeping our kids alive — sort of.
Just last week, in the amount of time it took to change my clothes, my 20-month-old pushed a stool up to the sink, grabbed a near-full bottle of infant’s Motrin and opened it. (In case you wondered, those child-resistant caps don’t keep the kiddies out. They just cause adults worldwide to curse while struggling to open them in the middle of the night.)
I found my child and the empty Motrin bottle moments later. After a call to Poison Control, I learned that one bottle of Motrin doesn’t do more than cause a bellyache. She actually would have needed to drink four bottles of the stuff in order to require a trip to the hospital.
Thank goodness. I might be flighty enough to leave one bottle lying around, but I’m not so absentminded as to let her chug four of them.
All that said, moms do have some pretty redeeming qualities. We’re expert taskmasters, managers extraordinaire and chief mediators. In fact, if we could get enough uninterrupted moments to finish a thought, we could possibly tackle some major world issues. They might not be as pressing as, say, slowing global warming, but I think they would improve the quality of life regardless.
If moms ran the world:
Extravagant, you say? Hardly. Someone has to remember to buy the milk.
Elizabeth Davies column runs Sundays in Life&Style. She can be reached at email@example.com.