When it comes to the minutiae of parenting, I consider myself pretty adept.
You know, remembering the small things, like making sure the kids actually brush their teeth instead of just sucking down a tube of toothpaste or filling out the baby book sometime after the “baby” hits age two.
But there is just one task in this great world of parenting that I just can’t seem to get a hold on.
For whatever reason, I can just never seem to remember to clip my kids’ nails.
Usually, my memory will jogged when I hear the dragging of nails along the wood floor, or catch a glint off sunlight off the daggers protruding from my daughters’ pinkies. There’s also the ever-popular “who-can-claw-her-sister’s-face-off-first” game that usually gets my attention.
I will then realize, with horror, just exactly how long it has been since I last clipped their nails and feel burning shame for the terrible mother that I am.
The really puzzling thing to me too is that it seems that I am always clipping their nails, but then somehow, I turn around and the darn things are six feet long again.
I guess you could say it’s a weird thing to get used to, this whole being responsible for everything about another person’s (or three persons) life. It sometimes boggles my mind to think of all the things we do as parents. Not the big things, but the little things. The butt-wiping and the booger-picking and the diaper-bag-packing. It’s crazy to think that my parents did all of these things for me, and that someday, my kids will leave all of this behind. They will never know of the countless hours I spent brandishing tiny fingernail clippers and singing ridiculous songs while pretending to give them a manicure so they won’t get scared by the fact that I may, in fact, cut their fingers off.
No sirre, they won’t remember a darn thing about all that I did for them.
Which also means…
They won’t remember all the things I forgot.