Flightiness

Have you ever opened the trash can and noticed a fork sitting on top of the trash? Not a plastic fork, but an actual fork? And then realized that you were the one who put it there? And then wondered how many other things you have accidentally thrown away? A coffee mug? Your kids’ pacifiers? Dollar bills? How many items have gone the whole course from the trash can to the curb side to the dump truck, never to be seen again? I often assure Zuzu that something she’s looking for will “turn up.” I should add the caveat, “unless mommy took it out with the trash last week.” Let’s just hope half a ham sandwich doesn’t turn up in the toy box.

The other day I pulled a knife out of the knife block, used it, and then returned it to the knife block. Ten minutes later I looked for the knife in the sink, wanting to use it again. It wasn’t there. I looked on the drying rack next to the sink. I then saw it in the knife block, and as I pulled it out I desired fervently for it to be clean, hoping maybe I’d washed and dried it without remembering. But it was quite obviously dirty.

Whenever I have an experience like the fork in the trash can or the dirty knife in the knife block, I feel nervous about my entire life. Do I run red lights without noticing? Do I RSVP for events and then forget to go to them? Have I shoplifted??

I don’t even have to ask myself whether I forget birthdays—yes, everyone’s, all the time—or if I’ve ever left a tray of cookies in the oven for an hour (you can’t hear the timer beep in the basement, but eventually the smell of burnt peanut butter will waft down).

I’m pretty forgiving of flightiness in general. Even when flightiness results in cost, which flightiness usually does, whether of time or money. In fact, I tend to take flightiness for granted. It’s my opinion that 1.) we’re all a bit crazy and just going to keep getting crazier the longer we live; 2.) mistakes can usually be fixed, or turned into better things, and 3.) all material goods are sort of transient art, like wedding cakes and sand castles: maybe beautiful, expensive, sentimental or important, but not meant to last. Stuff is gonna break or get colored on with markers. Or accidentally thrown in the trash can.

I try not to be flighty. But I have a suspicion that I’m as not-flighty as I’m ever gonna be, and that, despite my best efforts, the only direction I’m likely to go is towards increasing flightiness.

I’m called on as a mom to be patient with my two-year-old when she forgets where she put something two seconds after putting it there. (Children, it turns out, are remarkably flighty. For having young fresh minds, they sure do forget a lot.) Other adults, I call on you to be patient with me. And if you’re feeling flighty, come over to play at our house … you’ll fit in.