Last night, as Daddy Troy was resting next to the little boys in an attempt to settle them down for the evening, they began competing over telling him about their day. Nick started sharing something that had occurred earlier but soon lost his train of thought. “I forgot what I was gonna say!” he said in frustration. While he trailed off, Adam took advantage of the opening and chirped in with a detailed rendition of his own. But several minutes into that, another breach in the conversation: “Hey, I unforgot!” Nick said, happy as all get out that his original thought had returned.
Unforgot. That’s one worth remembering, or, should I ever forget it, unforgetting as soon as possible.
So today, while on my way out to the soccer fields, thinking a million different thoughts about the upcoming weekend and running on the fly as usual, I complained to Troy that I had something important to tell him, but it had escaped me and there simply wasn’t enough time to recall it before parting.
“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll unforget it soon enough,” he said.
I think that wonderful word is here to stay. Mark it down, Webster, lest you forget it and have to unforget it.
Here’s another good one from the Nick corner. Tonight, I was reading the little boys what has become one of my and their favorite children’s stories: Piggie Pie by Margie Palatini.
Though this book came out in the mid-1990s, I somehow missed the memo of its arrival. Until recently, when Adam brought it home from the school library. It went missing a few days back, but we found it again today, much to the boys’ delight. So, they excitedly sat down on the bed to hear my lively rendition of the book (I am exceptionally good at reading witch parts…all those times in my youth watching the annual television feature of The Wizard of Oz have proven fruitful). Well, I hadn’t gotten too far into it, around the page when the witch discovers she doesn’t have the main ingredient for the pie — the piggies — and shouts, “Problem!” when Nick started squirming. He knew the story was only going to get better, and in order to fully enjoy it, he’d have to tend to more important business first. “Pause it, Mom, pause it!” he shouted. “I have to go to pee!” Like a well-minding electronic device, I stopped in my tracks and watched him dash off to the bathroom. He returned a few moments later, emptied and ready for the delightful adventure of one witch in search of eight plump piggies.
I think Nick’s onto something here. Wouldn’t it be nice if, whenever we needed a potty break, or just a little reprieve from something annoying or draining, we could press a pause button and the world would freeze for a while? I’m sure my kids would love it if they could really put me on pause at will. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind someone inventing a mommy remote — a device that, whenever her kids are annoying her or talking back, a mommy could just hit pause and their mouths would magically stop moving, and pleasant attitudes would kick in for the rest of the day.
Now there’s an idea worth unforgetting!