I'm Officially THAT Mom

Do you get names wrong too?

“How ya doing, Pat,” I said to my son’s landlord.

He smiled.

Hubby Jeffrey, son Dylan and I entered his 3-story dwelling; my son’s rental on the top floor. As we climbed the narrow steps to what was probably once an attic, I caught myself and whispered to Dylan, “Wait, is his name Pat?”

“No, it’s Dave.”

“What? Why did I think it was Pat?” I said out of breath from the climb.

“He does kinda look like a Pat.”

When we left a few hours later, we bumped into Dylan’s landlord a second time.

“Good to see you again, Pat,” I said.

I hopped in the driver seat, hubby in front, Dylan in back, both chuckling, and I

realized—

“I just called him Pat again, didn’t I?”

“Yup,” said Jeffrey.

And then I burst out laughing. I couldn’t start the car because I was wheezy and coughing from laughing so hard.

“You really got a kick out of that,” said Jeffrey.

“I’ve become that mom!” I said through hilarity.

Dylan and Jeffrey did not get the humor of the situation but later when I told my daughter Samantha, she relived it right along with me and we had a good chortle for the next five minutes, eyes tearing.

Jokes aside, I do occasionally worry about my memory. It’s not just Dave becoming Pat, I’ve noticed a difference when I speak and write. Words vanish like they’re on vacation. I imagine my former vocabulary sitting on a beach in Maui, sipping a Pina Colada, toasting, “Here’s to a much needed holiday from Carissa’s brain.” (Or maybe it’s staying at the White Lotus.)

My brain fog from 30 years of an anti-depressant and thyroid medication, an auto immune disease, a dash of ADD, inattentive, menopause… has induced me to pray that this is the extent of an oddly selective memory. That it won’t turn into dementia. My elderly dad would have remembered, “Dave,” as he has a photographic memory, still, at the age of 91. Mom’s hearing is challenged so she might not have heard the name in the first place, but she knows there’s a Friends and Family Sale at Saks Fifth Avenue on President’s Day.

“About 1 in 9 people age 65 and older has Alzheimer’s…. Approximately 95% of Alzheimer’s disease cases are sporadic (not directly inherited in a simple Mendelian pattern), with age being the most significant risk factor.”

While some scientists believe depression is a direct cause of dementia, the facts are muddled when it comes to whether anti-depressants can help or hinder the “forgetting-disease.”

I’m behind the times

I’m out of touch. My kids are grown so any present-day kid-related culture is an unknown. I can still sing the Barney song but all I know about Miss Rachel is that she’s an antisemite. Are Teletubbies still intriguing toddlers? I have no idea.

This contemporary culture was flaunted in my face this past Halloween…

An inflatable red round costume came a knocking.

I said, “What are you a tomato?”
“No, I’m a Pikachu.”
“A what?”
“A Pikachu,” he said as he gleefully helped himself to three more candy bars.

Our Springer Spaniel, Apollo, was curious and tried to sniff this costume—maybe he thought it was a tomato too! When the kid turned to leave my head jutted forward to get a better look at the backside of this red bulb. It had a built-in fan! I kid you not. At first, I thought it was a heater as this Halloween night was blustery and chilly. But Jeffrey heard the hum from the costume too and said it was a device to keep it inflated.

Apollo and I looked at each other, dumbfounded.

I hoped that the next time the doorbell rang, the kid would be dressed as an actual tomato. Something easy and recognizable.

Ding dong.

I opened the door to a kid with mini tires attached to his sleeves.
I held out the bowl for him to choose and said, “And you must be a truck.”

“I’m a Transformer.”

Own it

I don’t always remember names and have never heard of certain cartoon characters, and that’s okay. I decided it’s time to own it and love it. I’m officially that mom.

My makeup might have streaks because I didn’t blend it well enough, my smudged glasses might need cleaning, I might have missed a hair protruding from a freckle on my face, lipstick on my tooth and I do forget words to the point where I will fill it in instead with “thingy” or “what not.” And it’s okay!

If this occurred when I was 40, I would have been embarrassed, appalled and bothered for the rest of the day.

I’m free! There’s a liberation from shame as you age. Finally, a benefit of growing older, especially as a woman. You don’t give a crap about inadvertently offending someone for forgetting their name. I will do my best to get it right next time. But if you don’t correct me and you’re offended—not my problem and it won’t ruin my day. What a gift. Besides, Dave is around my age and probably didn’t give a hoot either that I called him Pat.

I just need to always remember to turn off the gas on the stove.


This bugs my family I can tell

My daughter has eighty-two besties and as much as I try to recall their names I can’t keep up. Same with her schedule. She and her hubby have travelled to more places in their 20s than Jeffrey and I in our 60s. I think my kids are used to my ADD, inattentive, confusion due to aging, menopause, years of the aforementioned meds and the auto immune disease that is known to cause a marine layer in the brain. But when my daughter says, “Don’t you remember? You met her like ten times,” I feel bad that I don’t. Her eighty-two besties are important to her.

I haven’t confused my kids’ names yet. My mom has-- with her 3 daughters. Though she corrects herself quickly. Sometimes my middle sister calls me by her son’s name. When he was little, she told me he reminded her of me. There is one big difference biologically, but I think it’s sweet when she calls me, Ethan. I’m honored.

A word to you young people

Don’t be offended if someone gets your name wrong, or your gender for that matter. It’s not on purpose. Who knows. If your name is Dave but someone calls you Pat, you might enjoy it for a day.

I hope you enjoyed my…uh….my…you know…this blog thingy!

1. Can you relate??

2. Have you ever forgotten a name?