Enter the world according to Bonnie - the humorous ramblings   and reflections of a wife, mother, grandmother - but most of all - woman. My thoughts often revolve around family issues but also include my observations about everyday life.

Each week I'll post a new column about life as I see it from my  little corner of the world.

Hopefully you will find something that resonates with you or brings a smile to your face. If you do, pass it on to someone else.                                                                   

August 9, 2008

My Brain Has The Occupied Sign Out

In the beginning, women were created with a right brain and a left brain. Science tells us that one side is the creative, big picture side while the other is the logical, detail-oriented side. But I believe that mothers are designed differently so let me add a new theory to the mix. 

Mothers have two sides to their brain so that one can be used to listen to the children as we go about our daily tasks while the other, one hopes, might be left over for thought. Too often, though, both sides of the brain must be used to listen to children. 

In a typical daily tableau, children descend en masse, their tongues wagging a mile a minute: “Mom, can I have . . .? Did you see my . . .? Watch me!” (And of course, you’re hoping this last one doesn’t lead to a trip to the emergency room.)

I am amazed that dinner ever makes it to the table in edible form. I don’t believe I have put together a meal since the children came along without numerous interruptions – my brain being tugged this way and that. It is not unusual to find me standing before my mixing bowl wondering whether or not I have added the salt or the sugar.

Mothers are expected to operate like message machines, psychics and judges all rolled into one, most often while engaged in another project. (When isn’t Mom involved in another project?) Multitasking – women invented the concept!

The barrage continues: “Mom, did Sally call? What did she say? Where are my shoes? Jimmy took my ball and I want it back! Make him give it to me now!”

No one can wait for an answer or give you 10 seconds for contemplation – though lord only knows what in the world I would contemplate if my brain weren’t filled with chatter and demands. 

They don’t seem to understand that dinner will not cook itself. The magic scrubbing bubbles in the bottle really do not clean the bathroom by themselves, no matter what the commercial says. And, unless they want to go naked, someone has to do the laundry. Do I see any volunteers?

Am I harming my children by not instilling in them the values of patience and self-reliance? Joey could look for his shoes by himself. Suzy could read the note I left for her concerning Sally’s call. And they could all wait a minute for an answer.

In my preoccupation with whatever task I am performing, I rotely answer their questions and break up their squabbles. I have discovered it’s pointless to try and describe where they left their missing articles. They could follow the directions precisely, be standing in front of said item and declare loudly from the far end of the house, “It’s not here.” I will still have to take them by the hand, lead them to the article, touch it and then say, “Here it is,” before they see it. 

Suzy will have a million questions about Sally’s message. My note saying, “Suzy, call Sally,” is not enough. “Did she mention homework? How about soccer practice? Does she have my sweater?” “Yes, yes, no and why does she have your sweater?”

Whether it be the message or the shoes, neither issue will go away with a simple directive. It just makes my life easier and slightly more peaceful to put my brain on autopilot and deal with questions, retrieve missing items and solve minor disputes. Hope springs eternal that I will escape their childhoods maintaining some semblance of sanity.

A mother is expected to be more capable than a computer (or is that “faster than a speeding bullet, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound”?) But even computers, those marvels of modern technology, are only expected to handle one set of instructions at a time – albeit very complex computations. 

I know from experience what happens when the machine is moving too slowly – think molasses in January, slow – and impatience motivates me to continue piling on the operations I want it to perform. Believe me, it isn’t pretty and it’s definitely frustrating.

Occasionally my brain, like my computer, tends to go on overload – the constant barrage is too much. Error . . . error . . . error . . .  Copyright 2008 Bonnie Phelps