The God of Thunder

It is Thor's Day, the god of thunder. I wish I could dislodge the little trivial knowledge I have and replace it with important stuff, like, how old was my son when he got the chicken pox? I sure as hell don't remember writing it down and if I did, I don't know where I put it. I remember he got it from one of his cousins on his father's side, right? Who am I asking? I certainly am not one to ask, these days. My memory's not quite as stellar as it once was and now I'm kicking myself for not taking advantage of the time when it was good. Why didn't I try harder in Spanish? Why didn't I practice my scales in Piano? Why can't I remember what we ate for dinner last night?

Is it in the water? It could be. I don't want to get all "conspiracy theory" because the government is most likely reading this, but doesn't it seem like everyone's memory is getting worse. Or maybe it's just because, like myself, most adults I talk to are getting older. I don't want to attribute poor memory to age. I'm only 31 for heaven's sake.

That's why it's important to talk to children. They can remind you of what it is like to have a good memory. Christian has a fabulous memory. He remembers all the things I don't want to. The people I dated, the colors I dyed my hair, my mental condition. I'm glad that I'm creating new memories for him. Memories that I'm proud of. Memories that only he will remember.

I love you! And don't you forget it.