Searching new wrinkles for missing items: socks and brain cells.

I lost my keys in Ohio at Christmas; it took us over two weeks to finally find them securely zipped in the pocket of my husband's jacket. I recently ran out of diapers for the baby; I had no diapers in the house except the one he was wearing and we had to make an emergency pre-catastrophic trip to the store. Yesterday I attempted to take a running leap and show my son the proper way to sled down a small hill. I ended up ear down in the snow with a golf ball-sized purple bruise on my leg this morning. I am beginning to wonder; have my kids sucked the last bits of sharpness out of my brain with a twisty straw, or is this what happens while coasting across the proverbial post-thirty plateau?

On top of my recent brain lapses and new physical “developments,” I have completely lost the ability to tell the age of anyone older than ten. I think high school students look like they are about 7 and to me, people in the 18-24 range look barely old enough to take driver's ed. I am also slowly losing my ability to navigate quickly through the latest technology, but I am an expert at cleaning puke from of the tiniest carseat crevasses. If I ever had a sense of what hair or clothes are in style, I don't anymore, but I can lock and load the coffee pot with one hand while talking on the phone. Easily.

Not long ago I was organized. Not long ago I could blend in as a young student on any campus. I could instantly fold and put away laundry, and I could remember online passwords without looking. I have to question these new developments taking place in my life.

So far the 30's are not what I expected. It's not about matching polyester suits or SAS orthepedic shoes (yet), but it is about Oil of Olay and hair dye and irregular but much needed trips to the dentist for fillings.

Shortly after the new year I read this article about things babies born in 2011 will never know and it made me wonder whether anyone will really miss electrical wires or encyclopedias or watches or cursive (sorry mom!). What will this article look like 30 years from now? Will we be saying goodbye to musical instruments or classrooms with teachers or horses (I am always worried about horses since they are an expensive pet/hobby and serve no real purpose other than as animal actors in westerns and old pre-car movies.)

Then my mind naturally wandered and I started thinking about life expectancy. Did you know that in Medieval Britain if you lived past age 30 you were older than most of your neighbors? Even in the early 20^th century few people lived past age 45. I know that I'm young, this is mostly tongue in cheek, but at the same time can you imagine what most of those people had accomplished in their entire young lives vs. most thirty-somethings today? Excluding people like Mark Zuckerberg, of course. And Alexander the Great, king of Macedonia, and the creator of one of the largest empires in history, died when he was only 32!

For you Mathemeticians (I am personally a math-hater), here is a helpful complex equation to help you figure out your own life expectancy:

All of this, as always, naturally turns my thoughts to the great women of the plains: the Pioneer Women. Maybe because I was born in South Dakota I always glamorized the idea of being a pioneer. I focused on the wild expanses of prairie and the fresh air and the outdoorsy-ness of it all. I always wanted to be like Alexandra Bergson in O Pioneers!, one of my favorite books by Willa Cather. The Pioneer woman was the female version of the cowboy. She represented a hero venturing into unexplored territory, searching for new life and amazing adventures. She was armed with a bonnet and a sod house and a fire stove and I never thought about the daily labor and filth and sleep depravity that must have been normal to her. It never occurred to me that there was probably a trail of dirty diapers following each poor Pioneer woman across the endless plains and infinitly bumpy roads. I didn't think about the lack of boxed macaroni and cheese, the absence of microwaves and dishwashers and deodorant. It wasn't very glamorous at all.

At the same time I have a feeling if Sarah Plain and Tall or Laura Ingalls Wilder had been faced with the daily task of running “quickly” to Wal-Mart (i.e. helping 3 kids eat, dress, wash, buckle carseats, find a place in the cart allowing for enough spots for each child and toilet paper, milk and fruit snacks then hurrying back home before meal or naptime) she might have needed a to-do list and a pumpkin spice latte, too.

Since brain cells don't regenerate (we are born with a certain amount and they steadily just die from doing daily activities—all of which is accelerated by lack of sleep, stress... sound familiar?) then what are we to do? As a thirty-something mom of three beautifully vigorous kids steadily sucking the brain cells out of me, I must choose to be thankful for diapers to change, noses to wipe and carts to fill at Wal-mart.

Will I lose my keys again? Will I almost forget which day is show n' tell at school? Will I be able to keep track of everyone's shoe size or the time between nail cuttings and ear cleanings? Probably not. Can I make small goals that are achievable on a daily and weekly basis? I hope so.

I may not conquer the world like Alexander the great, and I will never maintain my sodless home like the pioneering Alexandra Burgson, but I can keep my kids feeling secure and loved, and mostly I can try to get the pine needles swept away before next Christmas. Or at least attempt to get rid of our 2010 Christmas tree.

"Time and tide wait for no man, but time always stands still for a woman of thirty." ~Robert Frost