Syracuse Parent and CNY Family

Brittney Fiorini Jerred is an award-winning columnist and the editor of "Syracuse Parent." You can leave comments below. She may also be reached at editor@syracuseparent.net

'Move the shelf, I mean, the thingy'
Posted on Tue, May 8th, 2007
Written by: ,
email:

Lately I’ve noticed I can’t think of the words I need. I’ll be trying to tell Mary how to put her pants on and simple words evade me, like pants. Everything has become a thingy. I’m usually pointing, hoping the word will come. Then, she says in a pleasant voice, “Oh, you mean my purple pants? Does it go in the left one or the right leg?” Thankfully, I can still answer multiple choice questions.
It’s usually the objects, I notice, that are tripping me up. There was one time recently where my husband was trying to get behind the armchair recliner in the living room to the videos. I told him he needed “to pull the diaper, I mean the table, I mean the shelf out.” I settled on shelf like it was the right word until I walked past him, into the kitchen. All along, I meant to say chair.
Another time recently, we were in the car. I had just purchased two donut holes. (I’m sorry. I refuse to call them munchkins and maintain my self respect. Even though my terminology does seem to confuse the Dunkin Donut employees for a second, they come through in the end.)
I told Mary we couldn’t have her crackers until we got home. “Oh, you mean my two glazed donuts?”
Yes. Your two glazed donuts.
I’ve decided to be silent when we put toys away. I do have some pride. I either get down on my hands and knees and clean them up myself or I point to the princess tiaras, bunny books or little figures in hopes that Mary will think I just don’t feel like naming things as I help her clean the mess.
I’m sure this condition has a name, named for some quirky, brilliant academics professor who called objects things they were not. The condition is more pronounced at the end of the day. It takes a careful mix of hard day—two parts exhaustion, one part distraction—to achieve the full effect. I don’t think it’s going to go away either. I’ve joined the ranks of other mothers and grandmothers, fathers and grandfathers, who have gone before me who also could not name objects. Ben’s grandmother is known for saying all of her other grandchildren’s names before she gets to the one she meant to name. My father usually operated in silence as well. My mother also pointed.
And I see no simple solution. I seem to have trouble saying the word “thingy.” I really try to think of the word I need so I end up sounding even more challenged because, in the throes of conversation, I refuse to allow myself to say thingy until I have no choice.
So as Mother’s Day approaches again this year, I look back on all the things I’ve learned and, all the things I’ve apparently unlearned. (Is that even a word? Oh good. The computer didn’t underline it. I’m OK.) And I wonder what lies ahead and how, if ever, I’ll remember the words again.
Or if all of the other learning has been so vast, that I’m really just a brilliant professor in my own rite, who’ll be naming yet unnamed conditions in the future.

Kaitlyn poses for her babysitter who took this image of her playing outside.