It was just a quick question.

I was washing dishes and saw a note come in on my phone, but my fingers were wet and I couldn’t reply.

“Hey Sarah,” My friend asked.

“What’s the name of the tool you use to create those Instagram graphics with the wav file?”

Oh that’s easy, I thought to myself. I’ll text back when I’m done with these wet hands.

The name was in my brain. Right there.

I snappily finished up the dishes, moved over to my laptop, but my messaging file wasn’t open on the machine.

I’ll get back to her in a little bit, I thought to myself.

Another message pinged about a half hour later, but my hands were tied up (breast pump parts, too many emails left untended, sandwich half in my mouth, trying to set up the microphone for recording), so I thought, Grrrr, I know this, I just need to text ONE WORD. But my hands were too full to hit the voice-to-text, and my mouth was full of sandwich anyways, so I left it untended.

Finally, later, I grabbed the app and pressed the walkie-talkie button (those of you who know me know that I’m obsessed with Voxer), and started to speak into the mic.

“Hey friend,” I started. And quite literally, the word—the name—the tool—escaped my brain.

“It’s a tool, ahhh, it starts with an H…. ahhh, I just looked it up yesterday.”

CRAP WHY CAN’T MY BRAIN REMEMBER THE NAME?

The special magic of sleep deprivation, constant multi-tasking, and busy-ness can make recall (or simply accessing your keyboard with two hands) so hard.

This is motherhood. Something—words, fingers, hands, tools—always feels just out of reach.

PS. And the tool?

It’s called Headliner: that’s the name, now that I’ve finally remembered.


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