I blame social media, and also motherhood.

by | May 11, 2011 | General | 12 comments

post office floor

So this is what I have come to.

Taking pictures of the post office floor, and posting to Instagram.

Classic avoidance behavior in these, the days of social media.

I was making haste into the post office today. No time to waste. Until I saw her.

A friend, but can I really call her a friend since…


Enter: extreme avoidance behavior.

I killed a little time by heading in the opposite direction – to check out the shiny p.o. boxes. Until people started looking at me sideways. I did look rather suspicious — Who was this strange woman in paint-stained yoga pants… teeth brushed, yet hair… disheveled… at best… peeking around corners?

O.K. The peeking around corners probably did look a touch ‘spicious. The rest was just a bad look for me.

One man’s cross-glance had me worried. The man with the Grizzly Adams-esque beard looked at me in such a way as to say, “Do I need to call the ATF Young Lady?” Hitherhencetofore, I left and made way to… the part where one mails packages… where SHE was.

Sure… I could have left. Sought refuge in my car… yet I couldn’t. I HAD to send a package.

To my mom. For her birthday. That was 3 weeks ago.

Her mother’s day gift will have to wait another 3 weeks ormore… I don’t want to break my pattern of consistency.

I digress.

Upon entering the retail area of my local post office, I looked straight down. Took out my iPhone and got social. In a long line of real people.

You see, I am SO tired of forgetting names. I couldn’t BEAR to see this very kind, very name-remembering person.

Let me put it this way… there are names one can forget. It’s not comfortable, but it is what it is.  And there are names one should not. Ever. I don’t care if you haven’t seen them in 2 years. You like them… You care about them. They were meaningful to you at during a pivotal season in your past.

Say, when the children were very small. Basically, during a time of war. You two served in the trenches together.

See? Meaningful.

But life ebbs and life flows. Closeness wanes. Not because of a rift, nothing ugly, nothing painful… just tides of life. You’re not friends on Facebook. You travel different circles.  I might add – even if we were friends on Facebook… I can’t find out because — I CANNOT REMEMBER HER NAME!!!)

So. In an effort to not look like a total jerk, I looked down and played on my phone.

To be honest, it was a relief. But it also makes me SO MAD.

I know enough about her to ask specific questions. I know her son’s name. Her sister’s name… BUT NOT HERS.

The heck?

And I blame 2 things (in no particular order):

  • social media
  • motherhood

I blame social media because my brain is over-ful with names and faces. From Facebook to Twitter to conferences to people who know this site and can pick me out like a sharp shooter because of my dang pink hair. Which I LOVE when it happens, because it feels so celebrity… but also…


Or stupid.

Or the jar of my name remembering is all filled.

I need a bigger jar.

Or a new brain.

Which brings me to the other thing I blame – MOTHERHOOD.

It all started when I was 2 months pregnant with my first. I was at the store with a GOOOOD friend. We ran into another friend, that was more of an acquaintance (who actually doesn’t and never did like me, but I digress)… And I forgot my GOOD friend’s name.

“Hi Gal Who Doesn’t Like Me But Maybe My Sparkles Will Eventually Win You Over Or Not… This is my friend… Um… This is…”

I looked at Becky.

She looked at me.

I looked at the other gal.

Becky broke the awkward silence, “WOW. You MUST be pregnant!”

The other gal said, “YOU’RE PREGNANT!!!”

And then I had to lie to her. Because we weren’t telling people about the pregnancy because of that whole “telling the grandparents” timing thing… but I HAD to tell Becky because a girl needs support… So Becky knew, but she was so thrown off by me not knowing her name…

Oh the tangled web we weave…

Maybe that’s why that gal never came around. Because a month later, the truth HAD to come out, and… *sigh*


Since that day… my brain has never. NOT EVER. Been the same.

If it’s not pregnancy brain, it’s baby brain, if it’s not baby brain it’s – THE REST OF MY LIFE. Well, because it isn’t just pregnancy or the baby years. Kids are awesome, but they are brain leeches. From activities to constant talking to questions to reminding THEM to do, oh… almost EVERYTHING…

Who has room in their brain for names when I have 3 kids and I need to remember which donuts each one prefers.

It’s pressure, people!

I mean really. There are teeth to brush, and lunches to remember. Oh. And shoes. Don’t forget the shoes, kids!!!

For real? For real. SOMEBODY has to remember to make sure there are shoes on for school. That somebody? MOM.

And the permission slips, and the birthday presents for birthday parties and the TOOTH FAIRY… and how long to microwave the chicken nuggets. And WHERE ON EARTH DID I PUT THE THERMOMETER? Play practice, family reading night… and somewhre along the way the kids decided Tuesdays would be taco night. But I can’t remember that! So we usually have Taco Tuesdays on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday or Monday. But rarely Tuesdays.

Geeez. So. Much.

It’s terrible. Names.

I try. I really, really try. It is beyond my control. But my babies made me do it!

My poor, poor brain.

So. It’s not MY fault.

If I forget your name… It’s not personal. I am a prisoner. A victim.

Once… I forgot my own name.

You don’t even know how much I wish I was kidding.

Lucy has been in 1/2 day kindergarten ALL YEAR, and I finally figured out what time school let out last week. I finally asked. A co-class mom. WHOSE NAME I DO NOT KNOW. *inser big surprise here* But I HAD to ask when she walked up… because I had been waiting 20 minutes. I just thought everyone else (even the teacher ???) was running late.

At least I wasn’t late.

There’s always a bright side, no?


Now. I can’t remember how I was gonna wrap this up. Go figure.


I almost forgot – You could win, like, a $100 Shutterfly.com gift card. But ya gotta go here.


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