Pig Latin For Old People

Genetic Freefall… it’s all the rage after 40.  Dontcha’ know?

My 42nd birthday is creeping up here super stealthy-like. Waltzing in all November-ish and brazenly nudging my calendar toward a specific date. I don’t remember asking it to crash my 2013 Party.  Then again, I don’t remember much these days that I haven’t explicitly asked Siri to remind me about.  And even then, she talks to me in some 2X Chipmunk Speak that I have to listen super hard to be certain of.

Sigh…

But, the good news is that, as I age and become more forgetful, people start to take notice.  No, wait, stay with me here. You see, this buys me moments of time to truly try to remember why the person I’m speaking with is staring at me like I’ve suddenly started speaking in Pig-Latin.

Which, in some instances I do.

On purpose.

It discombobulates (that is SO ten points for that word, right?) them enough to buy me some more precious minutes to remember All The Things.  Or even just, The Thing.

For example, if one were to make a phone call; and one were to be so excited to talk to the person on the other end.  But one completely blanks out when the person on the other end has the audacity to ask who is calling.  And one forgets to answer because one is fighting the good fight to remember who in the blue blazes she picked up the phone to call in the first place?  Pig-Latin. It stays the dreaded “Missy?  Is that you?” question for a time.

Or, if one heads out to the grocery story all armed with one’s list and feeling all super-confident because one actually remembers to bring her list.  Only, she reminds herself twelve times to add kitchen sponges to the list because she has none left?  And she gets to the store and manages to locate Every Single Thing on that list and leaves feeling uber-confident in her ability to remember All The Things. Only to get home to see that she still doesn’t have kitchen sponges.  Pig-Latin.  It keeps little ears from hearing what you’re really thinking.

Sweetman suggested that I start playing some memory games online to boost my memory-ability.

I logged on and forgot why.

Ooot-shay!

For those well versed in Pig Latin, you know that it takes a moment to process each word.  Those moments are necessary and critical for those of us in genetic free-fall.  Every second counts.

Especially as it relates to emory-may.  Oh, yes indeedy.

And, if you happen to be on the other end of that phone call, could you help a sister out.  Start speaking Pig Latin until it all comes back to me.  I’d be eternally grateful.

My Preferred Language of Late

My Preferred Love Language of Late

Missing Food and Mama

The pickins looked slim inside the refrigerator when we returned from our trip.  And we all know what that means.   A Mega Grocery Store Run was in my near future. You know the ones – you literally have to stop in each and every aisle to get at least two or four necessary items because being gone for two weeks means the eggs are shady and the lettuce is all yucka (I still maintain that is a technical term.).  I don’t enjoy these major grocery runs.  They always seem to eat up too much precious time that could better be spent… doing anything else, really.

Needless to say, I put it off for as long as possible.  May it never be said that I can’t procrastinate with the best of em’.  Indeed.  However, when the box that delivers the “Magic Stars” cereal has been upended and found empty, a wild look settles in the eyes of my sweet children and I know I need to head for the hills.  Or, the grocery store. Rats!

But, praise God from Whom all blessings flow because Sweetman worked from home today and offered to let me go do the Mega Shop alone.  Alone!  Oh, the joy! Only, I are tired (having just finished our first day of Church Camp Week).  So, I half-skipped and half-dragged my tired rump to the store.  (I did perk up when I realized that I could peruse the produce without any interruption.  It’s the small things, right?)

I usually grocery shop in about an hour. Round trip.  I have it all plotted and planned out and I surely do know how to get in there, get the goods, and get out quick.  Due to the Mega Shop, though, I didn’t make it home for about two hours.  And this is what I heard as I entered the door laden down with 8 bags of groceries (because, I’d rather get a couple of blood blisters than make 3 trips back and forth carrying in “loads”!):

“Mama! You’re back! You’ve been gone forever! It’s been like 2 whole hours!” 

It’s nice to be missed, isn’t it?

Until the above proclamation is followed by:

“Where are the Magic Stars?”

Indeed…