Honesty is the best policy, of course, but sometimes those little white lies sneak in:

My water intake always exceeds that of Gatorade.

I would never eat the whole bowl of popcorn by myself.

Starting the day before the rooster gets out of bed is exciting.

I need that new pair of shoes.

I know I’ll find it here again.

But the biggest lie I tell myself is “I don’t need to write it down, I’ll remember it.”

It’s not a lie I’ve used sparingly either. That little lie has seemed to play on repeat throughout my life.

“That is such an easy phone number to remember. I don’t need to write it down.” Days later, scrambling through the phone book hoping to remember their last name.

Biology class: “That concept is so simple there is nothing to write down at all.” Called on in class later to explain the process, I find myself stammering, flipping through empty notebook pages, hoping to remember at least one key word.

Making a mental grocery list also seems like a great idea — until I come home and realize that the sale on milk or eggs had distracted me, and I’d forgotten the two main ingredients I was going after.

My kids will say or do something really funny, and I momentarily think I should write it in their baby books — but it’s so funny that who could forget it? Then that night, trying to repeat the story to my husband, I find I am lucky to even have a general idea of what the incident was about.

Or standing at the parts counter wishing like crazy you would have at least written the filter number in the dust on the side of the pickup.

The worst for me is writing material. Something funny will happen, and immediately I’ll think of a great anecdotal story. Sometimes I’ll even share it with my husband, and we’ll laugh and brainstorm about where I could go with it. Then days later, I will pull out my laptop and my notebook where I attempt keep my day-to-day notes — and I will discover that I never wrote those thoughts down.

There is little point asking my husband. His long-term memory storage is filled with equipment stats and commodity prices. His short-term memory is basically just to determine if it’s worthy of being in long term before being deleted. He probably couldn’t recall the color of hat I wore yesterday, but he’ll never forget 14 years ago when I threw out the new Fastline instead of the old one.

Now I will sit in front of an empty screen and empty baby books — wishing I would have taken more time to write down the funny stories, the amusing quips, the hilarious snapshots of our life.

Maybe I should pick up a bottle of ginkgo biloba next time I’m in town — that’s supposed to be good for one’s memory. I think I’ll make a mental note.

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