Lamenting My Lost Brain Cells

I have long felt that my brain cells are slowly dying, rushed prematurely to their deaths by each of my pregnancies.  This evening I had a rude awakening, and I saw just how far gone I really am.  My son Energy, who is in 6th grade, came to me with a question.  He was really just making conversation and the words he was spouting sounded vaguely familiar, but I really had no idea what he was talking about after the first sentence or two. 

The question was this:  "Mom, what is the atomic number of an oxygen atom?"  He then proceeded to discuss protons, neutrons, electrons and isotopes; and atomic mass vs. atomic number of a hydrogen atom.  He was wondering if I could tell him the same information for an oxygen atom and explain how they were different.

Ummm, no.  I couldn't.  I did take chemistry, both in high school and in college and I'm pretty sure I used to know the answer to that question, but today after the first sentence I felt my eyes glazing over and my ears going on vacation until I heard nothing but gibberish a la Charlie Brown listening to his parents.  Also, I'm pretty sure I did not know the answer to that question in sixth grade!

I knew this day would come eventually, when my kids would be smarter than me and sigh in exasperation when I told them to wait 'till daddy came home to get help with their homework.  But I honestly didn't think it would happen this soon.  The math questions Energy comes home with are similarly perplexing, and even Mellow, my fourth grader, had one the other day that Energy had to help him with because I had no idea how to do it. 

So today I am lamenting the loss of my gray matter.  We had a fun ride and I hope it has not all turned to mush yet, but the day's events are leading me to believe otherwise.

After my children were all in bed, however, I got to thinking and realized that, although I can't tell my son what the atomic number of an oxygen atom is, I have still learned a great many things since my days of sitting in a classroom.

For example, did you know that spit up, even the clear kind, can leave a horrid stain that will never come out unless you immediately remove the clothing and soak it in Biz or OxiClean before washing it?  I certainly didn't learn that from school.  I have also learned, since my classroom days, how to make really awesome homemade rolls.  In fact, I made approximately 120 of them just today and put them in the freezer in preparation for the Thanksgiving dinner I will make for 9 adults and 10 children in a few days. 

I now know that it is possible for me to run more than one mile without dying.  I know how to shovel snow effectively from my driveway.  I know how to make a hermit crab Halloween costume.  I know how to restore and repaint an ugly old piece of furniture to give it new life and spice up the decor in my home.  I know how to snake a toilet after one of my children has been using their imagination with the toilet paper.  I have mastered the art of changing a child's sheets in the middle of the night with only one eye partially open so I don't have to fully wake up.  I've learned that pasta roni is a side dish (and not a very good one at that), NOT a full meal.  I have learned how to artfully arrange a bookshelf so it's contents are aesthetically pleasing.  I know that I can do well on a standardized test for graduate school.  I know how to play Bach's piano invention number 8 by memory and kick it's booty.  I've learned how to kill a spider without screaming (though when the kids aren't around to watch, I usually do anyway--old habits die hard).

The list just goes on and on.  But mostly, as an adult, I have learned that I can do hard things.  I can be brave.  I can look at a challenge and, knowing that failure is a possibility, agree to attempt it anyway.  I never would have done that as a youth.  In fact, whenever I heard adults telling me as a teenager to dream big and I could do anything, I always felt deep down that they were lying.  I stuck to dreams that were safe.  Not easy, mind you, but ones I was guaranteed to succeed at if I put in enough work and didn't need any luck.

Now as an adult, I am finally starting to accept that the world is full of possibilities.  If I am willing to put forth the effort and not be afraid of failure, I can accomplish great things.  Knowing that I have made it through five pregnancies gives me courage, since those were five of the hardest things I have ever done.  I have earned my battle scars.  And though my textbook smarts have faded over the years, I am grateful for the lessons life has taught me and wouldn't trade them for anything.  For now, it's okay that my kids tease me for not being as smart as them.  They will understand someday.