Not edible.

I found this in my fridge. I don't remember purchasing it. Nor do I think it necessarily needs refrigerated. Hm.



So, yesterday would make the third time that I have failed at taking the garbage to the curb on time in a month. THIRD. I don't know why. Perhaps I am leaking brain cells somewhere and they all have to do with remembering to take the ding-dong garbage can to the curb. The first time, I just flat out forgot. I only remembered when I heard the garbage truck drive by, felt a tingling in the back of my brain that triggered the "oh, crap! I never took the garbage to the curb" thought, and then I ran outside to watch our giant purple garbage truck leave our street. (Yes, it's purple!!) No big deal, I'll wait till next week.

Next week, I get the garbage can to the curb. Then as I'm piddling around, doing SAHM things, I fill up another bag and decide to add it to the can. As I'm putting the bag into the trash can, the big purple garbage truck PASSES me. I start running down the sidewalk, waving my arms, trying to get them to stop. They do not. Now, I can either 1.Take it that they passed me by because I'd forgotten last week, so they just forgot me this week on accident or 2.I am so freaking fat that I COVERED THE ENTIRE GIGANTIC GARBAGE CAN FROM THEIR VIEW, therefore making them not see that they should pick up my trash. I chose to believe it was number one (for my self esteem's sake), called the company and told them to please turn around and come back since I would now have two weeks of garbage sitting by the side of my house. Ew.

This week, I don't know what my problem was. Maybe it's because our week was messed up with Evan's trip. Maybe it's because I depend on him texting me in the morning to remind me it's garbage day. Maybe it's because I'd been doing such a good job of remembering for six months that I need to start sucking at it now to bring balance into my life. Who knows. All I know is, I took the can out later then normal, and I must have missed them because it was still sitting there full at the end of the day.

It's not just the garbage. I think that, deep down, I'm kind of a ditz. With some things. Not all things. Like, when we lived in DeKalb. I worked at the same day care that Elisabeth attended. So, everyday, Elisabeth and I would walk out to the carport to my 2001 Ford Focus (sniff, sniff. loved that car) and I would put Elisabeth in her car seat, buckle her little three year old self in, and then go straight to my seat. It was a 2-door hatchback, so it's not like I had to shut her door and then open mine up, I just pushed the seat back and sat down. I would start backing out of our carport, begin going forward toward the street, and then hear all these loud booms from the roof of my car towards the ground. Turns out, I had left my things on top of the car. My coffee, my library book, my everything. The first couple of times, I would say a couple of choice words and rush to pick everything up before someone behind me ran them over. After maybe the 5th time, Elisabeth, my short, spunky three year old, began going through a check list with me before I even put the car in reverse. "Mommy, do you have your coffee?"
"Yes, Elisabeth."
"Your books?"
"Yes, Elisabeth."
"That box you were holding?"
"Oh, crap!" And then I'd hop out and grab it before it became road kill. Once Elisabeth was satisfied that we would not be spilling my things all over the road and endangering our safety, she would say, "Okay, Mommy, now you can drive."

How sad is it that I need my three year old to make sure that I have my crap together? Yeah, I know. Sad. Very, very sad.