Those were the words of Demigoddess the Elder this morning. She was rushing around the house trying to locate a very, very important (per her troop leader) registration form for Girl Scouts that she needed me complete so she could bring it to school today. She had the form in her hand when I picked her up from play rehearsal late last evening, but by this morning had absolutely no recollection of what happened to it.
Sadly, this is not the first time this week that she has misplaced an important something.
On Saturday, she lost track of her winter coat. I don’t know how it happened, or exactly when, but she had it when we were out running errands in the afternoon, and by Sunday morning it was gone. Fortunately, the weather has been unseasonably mild, so the backup, not-exactly-winter-weight jacket she has been wearing all week will suffice in the short term.
Monday night I took her (in her backup jacket) to the library so she could finish a project for science class—-something about Jupiter, with writing and pictures of the planet. She worked hard on it, finished, and then, on the way to class yesterday, dropped it somewhere in the hallways at school. The teacher said she’d still get full credit if she re-created the project and brought a note, testifying that she had truly completed the first version on time, from me.
So this morning, I wrote her the note, and then waited for her to produce the very important form so I could complete that, too, but it was nowhere to be found. She ran from room to room, loudly lamenting her inability to keep track of anything, before finally rushing out the door late for the bus.
A few minutes after that it occurred to me to check the refrigerator, and there, as I suspected, was her forgotten lunch.
I just barely managed to get it to her at her stop before the bus arrived. And I was halfway to work before I noticed the registration form on the dashboard of my car, right where she left it last night.
Her father occasionally gets on her case about her absent-mindedness, but she is by far the hardest on herself. I usually try to offer helpful suggestions—“Just calm down and try to remember where you were the last time you had it…”—but that is really only an attempt to ease my guilt at having passed on what is apparently a genetic affliction.
I have never forgotten what I was doing in the middle of drinking chai, a-la Fluid Pudding, but I can totally understand it happening. The number of times I have walked into a room with absolutely no memory of why I was there is beyond counting. And then there was that thing with the car key.
Sorry, sweetie. I’m afraid you inherited that particular mental disorder from me. But you have lots of other, very endearing qualities, too.