My Wednesday

    I have begun taking a writing class with the Moutain View Los Altos Adult School. This is in line with my hope to write more this year. The following is a piece I wrote based on one of the given prompts from the teacher. I've highlighted the prompt in the writeup. 

    My eyes snap open at 7:25am with the melody of my alarm. I fell asleep early last night, and so waking up in the 7’s isn’t as painful as it usually feels. I remind myself to preheat the oven for my son’s breakfast, as I remember that today is the day he doesn’t like the school lunch. What will I give him? Yes -- we had discussed and agreed upon last night’s shrimp fried rice leftovers. 

“Remember to put tissues in your pockets,” I tell him, heading out the door. As we drive over to school, early enough today that I’m not cursing the woman in front of me who’s delaying me because she doesn’t know how to take an unprotected left, I use the opportunity of having his undivided attention to gently remind him of what else lies ahead in the day. 

    “Remember, today is your first cooking class,” I say. He moans -- the perpetual response I get from my newly christened middle schooler. As is with everything else, he didn’t want to sign up for this class. “Some of your friends will be there -- it won’t be so bad.” I list out the two other kids’ names I remember. Who else is in the class? I had texted the moms’ group to ask whose kids would be joining -- no one responded. Maybe I should send them another text when I get home? 

    But of course I don’t remember to do that. In the list of things to be done, this falls in the lowest of priorities.

    Prep for dinner, otherwise you’ll regret it when you come back home at 6:45 in the evening, tired from being on your feet for hours, hoarse from teaching your Gen Z and Gen Alpha students the merits of physical and mental discipline -- all packaged in a cultural context that they relate to only in the color of their skin, their names, and the food that they sometimes eat. Soak the rice now -- but set a 15 minute timer, otherwise you’ll never put it on the stove. Warm up a parantha on the grill for yourself, and set a 3-minute timer to flip it over. Remember -- if you want caffeinated tea, this is your window of opportunity. My saffron black tea vacillates between warm and cold several times in the next hour, as it makes its way back into the microwave, only for me to forget it’s there, and then be reheated again. I have never drank more than half a cup of tea. Something just beeped -- was that the timer on the stove, the oven, the microwave,or the new toaster oven that I’m still learning all the features of? I walk over to the pantry, and stare blankly at the rows of cans, jars, and packets of pasta in front of me. “Must remember to buy more penne. Put it on the list.” 

    Why am I here? Why did I walk over to the pantry? Retrace your steps, what were you doing in the kitchen before you walked over? Prepping the rice, the beans … My shoulders slump as I walk back to the kitchen, feeling like a failure for having such a poor memory. 

    “Kids," we marvel. “Their brains are like sponges! They soak up everything!” True. Our brains are very much like sponges. Except now our sponge brains are leaking out everything new that comes its way. Remember to make our dentist appointments. Pay that overdue bill. Cancel the credit card. Call the bank to inform them the new debit card never arrived. Pay the insurance premium, and make sure the old car has been removed from the list. Reschedule the math tutor. And only after that reschedule the Spanish tutor accordingly. Adjust the automatic sprinkler schedule. Remember that this week is recycling. Send a text to your cousin for his birthday. A phone call would be nicer -- but then you have to remember to do it in a timely manner. A text voice message can be the happy medium. Check to see if there’s extra toilet paper in the storage. Charge your Kindle. Return the library books. 

    Coconut Milk!! That’s what I wanted from the pantry! 

    Too much to remember -- and it's only 10am.