Memory Girl and Spotter Girl

String Bean has become my memory lately. She finishes my sentences for me, recalls my shopping lists for me, and when I wander into a room only to find I can’t remember why I went there, she’s right behind me to say “You were going to feed the dog,” putting me back on track. She’s very proud of this skill and likes to call herself my “memory girl.” I think it’s fitting that she’s my memory now, since I had an excellent memory right up until the moment I gave birth to her, and it’s been slipping ever since.

The other day in the car she was reminding me what a great memory she has by remembering something for me (I honestly can’t recall what, I’ll have to ask her later), when Peanut tried pitching in and helping, by providing a list of nonsense words that just confused us all. String Bean pointed out that Peanut isn’t much help in the remembering department, but that she’s great at spotting things, like bugs no one else would see or planes so far away they’re practically invisible. This is a nice balance to her sister, because while String Bean can remember crazy things like what color shoes you were wearing when she met you two years ago, she can’t find her own shoes even when they’re sitting right next to her.

“I’m your memory girl, and she’s your spotter girl,” String Bean proudly proclaimed, and for the rest of the day, that’s what they were. They took turns showing off their impressive skills, with String Bean remembering things I hadn’t even forgotten yet (“don’t forget to feed us lunch!”) and Peanut spotting things that didn’t even exist (a bug that turned out to be a piece of lint, which she refused to believe no matter how many times I showed it to her). It devolved into a silly exercise of patience on my part, with having to acknowledge all of that remembering and spotting, even when I didn’t need it.

It’s remarkable how few things get truly lost in our chaotic house of too many things. Either String Bean vividly remembers watching someone kick it under the couch three months ago, or Peanut, at a glance, can spot it in the shadows between the couch and the wall. Overall, they’re handy things to have around: a memory girl and a spotter girl.

Horses

When I was a little girl, I wasn’t so much into dolls and playing house and other girlie activities as I was into horses. I had a collection of Breyer brand horses (http://www.breyerhorses.com), the hard plastic kind that were designed to look quite realistic. My mother recently found my collection under her house, and brought them down when she was visiting this past weekend. The girls divided them equally (there are 10 in all) and spent the entire day making up little horse adventures and having little horse conversations (think: lots of neighing and whinnying, mixed in with English translations of these sounds).

String Bean’s style of playing is pretty rough, with horses jumping around each other, crashing into each other, and yelling at each other before they run screaming away from some invisible monster or evil witch. But Peanut’s horses are quiet types that eat together, go for walks together, and give each other kisses before laying down to sleep. She takes her time to pet each horse, talking to them in soothing tones as she cares for them, and each horse already has a name. Peanut’s version of horse play is exactly the same as mine was as a child, and it takes me back to watch her. In those quiet moments, as I replay my own happy childhood memories while watching Peanut creating her own, I’m reminded of another great thing about motherhood.

There are so many insignificant little moments from my childhood that I’ve forgotten over the years, silly little games I used to play, joyful songs we used to sing in preschool, quiet moments where I felt completely content with the world around me. Seeing Peanut totally entertained in her own little world is a nice way to go back to those forgotten moments. So often since having kids I’ve felt like their existence somehow saps my brain, making me forgetful, distracted, much more absent-minded than I ever was pre-kids. It’s nice now to see that they also have the ability to rekindle my memory, and refill all of those empty spaces in my mind that they’ve created these past few years.

School’s Lasting Impression

This is Peanut’s third week of preschool. I think she’s doing well, since she never cries when I drop her off, and is always smiling when I pick her up, but I don’t really have a sense of how she spends her days. I realize that she’s only two, and while String Bean gives me the run-down on her entire school day in the car after I pick her up, she was pretty mum about the particulars when she was only two, too.

I still ask Peanut about her day, but I don’t get much from her. When I ask, “What did you do today?” she says, “Nothing.” “Did you have a snack?” “No.” “Did you go outside to play?” “No,” (at which point String Bean sets her straight, since she can see the playground from her classroom, and always notices when Peanut is out there). Last time I picked her up I asked: “Did you color or paint today?” and she said “No.” “Then what is this green stuff on your hands? It looks like paint or ink,” I told her. She looked at her hands and nodded. “It’s paint. I painted.”

I don’t know if she can’t remember her day or if, as chatty as she is, she just doesn’t feel like reliving it. When she’s calm and focused, I’ve asked her if she likes school, and she always says yes, so I’ll assume that whatever she does remember from her bi-weekly morning sessions there, it’s positive.