This Is My Brain On Kids

I finished pumping my gas and jumped in my car when the blue of my husband’s truck caught my eye as it pulled up beside me. I rolled down the window because, well, sometimes I have to talk to him (I probably wanted money). After our so-engaging-that-I-can’t–remember-it conversation, I proceeded to roll up the window with my right hand (in a Saab, the buttons that control the windows are in the middle between the front seats). I continued to roll the window up until I felt the crushing pain of my left hand being wedged between the window and its final destination. Yes, I rolled my own hand up in the window. It took me a minute to process what  happened before I made any attempt to free myself.  Twitter patted, I reached down for the button but instead of rolling it down I accidentally rolled it up sending another wave of crushing pain through my hand. Once I finally got my hand out from the window’s clutches, I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed my moment of utter lunacy – the coast was clear. I rolled out of the gas station with a new awareness – my brain was mush.

For the last nine years I have gradually been losing brain cells. A slow deterioration from board games, cleaning, shuttling and bathing that has killed any intellectual thought with the constant restriction from being expressed. My brain is now reserved for elementary level homework and the precise stacking of folded socks into a pyramid.  

Magazine and web content articles have come up with a cure for scrambled egg brain – a hobby. An article in Parent & Child magazine entitled, “Like Riding a Bicycle”,  listed tips on how to find yourself again “in the sometimes messiness of motherhood.” Author, Amy Levin-Epstein, provided several tips in categories like “Be A Role Model”, under which she states “maybe you [the mother] should join an art class, a sports team, or a foreign language-learning club.” Her suggestions continue in the “Think About The Long Run” section where she proposes “…waiting tables on the weekends while your little ones are at soccer practice.” This is it; this is supposed to rebuild the pile of mush occupying my skull? It is hard for me to believe that having a mommy hobby or obtaining a stressful job as a waitress for an hour while my kids are at practice will add enough value to my life to be meaningful.

Being a role model is more than finding a diversion from a hollow life and if I have to think about the long run when I am an empty nester, I don’t want to be left with hobbies – I want a career. I want to live by my definition of success which extends beyond raising productive members of society. I realize success doesn’t happen overnight and I first need to resuscitate the part of my brain that has been longing for intelligent conversation but where do I start?

As I write this paragraph I am sitting in an uncomfortable chair at a table in my local bookstore. To my left are seven women ranging from late 40’s to late 50’s who have obviously gathered for a book club meeting, well, that was their intent. However, with some eavesdropping I heard a little discussion of the book, followed by a lot of laughter and they are now they are running wild on a tangent. This is what I need; a group of women  my age discussing anything other than children and cleaning. My mission: to find such a group. I vow not to talk myself out of it, to fight the urge to cower in my closet from the fear of leaving my comfort zone and not to let the motherly routine hold me back. I must fix my mush.

To be continued…