Attack of the Post-It Notes

One thing I have always prided myself on is my good memory.  I have always been able to recall dates, specific details of important memories, to-do lists, you name it.

Until now, that is.

When I was a child, I noticed that my father needed a little help remembering things. His solution was to place post-it notes in his car. They started off near the stereo, then near the gearshift, and finally they migrated to his steering wheel. At the height of his post-it mania, they were pretty much all over the driver’s side interior.

The best part about the post-it notes, in my child’s mind, was that they inevitably lost their sticking power.  If there were enough on the steering wheel, they came off on my dad’s arm! Sometimes they fell onto the floor or came off on other things. Always, I chuckled.

Photo Credit: ApartmentPilot.Com

The older I got, the sillier I thought the notes were.  Wasn’t there a better way of keeping track of things?  How could this be helpful when he always ended up with an arm full of them, and then they inevitably disappeared?  I was sure I would never need to write notes to remember every little thing. I had it all stored up in the ol’ noggin.

It started in law school, which was in my late 20s. I began to forget simple things – I’d leave my rule book at home or forget a notebook.  It was easy to chalk this up to the overabundance of things I now had to recall – dates, cases, rules, etc. Surely when school was over, I’d have a more manageable life and my stellar memory would feel normal again.

Except then I started a job where I had a long commute each day. By the end of the drive home, my mind had turned to mush.  Sometimes I was so tired I’d wake up in the middle of the night struggling to remember what day it was and what court I had to go to in the morning. Fatigue and stress were stretching the limits of my memory. 

I bought a planner, hoping it would help.  Between my office desk calendar, my personal planner that also had work stuff in it, my assistant’s faithful reminders, and the office’s computerized calendar for all of the attorneys, I managed to keep things straight….for awhile, anyway.

Then, along came Anna.

If I thought the law school multitasking days were tough, or the long commuting days, I had no idea what was in store with the arrival of this beautiful baby.  Now I had the ton of things on my to-do list, my long drive, AND night after night of broken sleep.  Heidi and I tag-teamed the middle-of-the-night feeding and changing of diapers, but still, it was a challenge.

And as you all know, there are so many new things to keep track of when you have a kid.  Did I remember to bring the diaper bag?  Are there actually diapers in it? How many?  Do we have wipes? Formula?  Burp cloths?  Jars of food?  Extra binkies?  A hat if it’s cold?  Mittens?  Clean bottles?  An extra blanket?

I was almost ready to break down and buy the post-its.

Photo Credit: 3M Corporation

We did have some around the house, usually on the kitchen counter, and we used them for grocery lists, phone numbers, or “I love you” notes. I told myself that this was okay. It wasn’t like I was using them for other reminders or to write myself notes.

But then I began to stand in the middle of the living room, scratching my head and trying to remember what I came out there to do or get in the first place.  The post-its watched me intently from the counter, their very presence almost taunting. Hahaha, you need us! You do! Just write yourself one little note….

Their fluorescent colors in the corner of my eye, it became hard to ignore the reality: I was becoming forgetful.  Not of little things here and there, not occasionally, but a lot. What was the harm in writing down a little note to remember? As long as it didn’t end up on my steering wheel, it was okay…right?

So I caved. I did it. I began to write myself notes.

I wrote down to-do lists, reminders to pay bills or call people, even reminders of where I was supposed to be in the morning. I believed that the act of writing them down seared them into my memory.  Quickly realizing that wasn’t so, I grudgingly decided to carry them in my pockets. Then only I would know they were there.

Unless I forgot them.  Then I was really screwed.

My own Post-it mania began the process of facing the fact that, indeed, I am getting older, and more and more like my Dad.  That’s not a bad thing at all, because he’s a good guy, so I don’t know why the whole note-writing thing freaks me out so much.

I guess it’s just hard to admit that things are changing as I age, that I can no longer recall things as easily or multitask as efficiently as I used to, and I don’t like it.  The scary part is that I’m only “thirtysomething”  - what will it be like when I’m 40? 50? Older?

I’ll write myself a note to revisit the issue in the future.

Photo Credit: Floria Hildebrandt via asubtlerevelry.com