A note on my hand, that should work. Right?

At some point this morning while dropping kids off at school I wrote a note to myself on my hand. I try not to do that because it isn’t the greatest look to sport, plus I don’t want my kids to start drawing on themselves (more). But during kid dropoff I resort to it because it is such a crazy time anyway.

So this morning there was something I needed to remind myself of and I wrote on my hand. I wrote “DATE.” And that’s all. And I remember thinking at the time that of course I would remember what that meant. I mean, it is so obvious, right?

Hmm, no. Around 10am I noticed the note there and thought to myself “What the fuck is this??” And went on with the rest of my day.

I instant messaged Craig that I needed him to talk to Mike’s kindergarten teacher at pickup today. He has his first field trip the week after Thanksgiving, and I filled out the permission slip this morning. I wasn’t quite sure of today’s date, so I just entered “11/  /07″ next to my signature. But oops, I forgot to fill it in!

Craig said he’d make sure he finished the form at pickup, and crisis averted. I didn’t give it a second thought until later when I was in the car and saw my hand on the steering wheel.

“DATE”

I didn’t even remember that’s what the note was for when I was doing what I had wanted to remember in the first place! I think I need some sort of brain transplant.