My youngest child, Sprite, and I stood outside school the other day waiting for her big brother and sister to take their sweet time to rendezvous with us at our regular meeting spot. While we inevitably wait for Slow and Slower each afternoon, Sprite and I usually take a few minutes to have a chat about her day in kindergarten. Our discussion went something like this.
“Mommy, that lady over there is going to have a baby. Her belly is round like a ball.” Sprite paused and I could see the wheels turning. I was afraid of what might come next. “She’s looks just like Bernadette.”
I don’t know anyone named Bernadette. And Sprite has a penchant for making up names for dolls, stuffed toys, random strangers, breakfast cereal. But lately they are all named Lucy. The other day her doll Lucy was riding in her little stroller with a panda bear named Lucy. They were going to meet their friend Lucy at the park.
“Who’s Bernadette?”
“We saw Bernadette on that show. She was having a baby on TV.”
Ummmm. Still no clue. Though Sprite has incidentally seen lots of shows she shouldn’t have as she inconspicuously plays with Lucy the slinky in the periphery of the viewing area.
“I don’t remember that show.”
“Bernadette was in the hospital and she was with her husband Peter. He was wearing an Incredibles shirt. He was Mr. Incredible. Then they had a baby.”
Holy crap. This child has a mind like a steel trap. She watched an episode of A Baby Story with me and we saw Bernadette and Peter welcome their baby boy Owen into the world. I swear to God, I just called her into the room to ask her if it was a boy or girl and she told me it was a boy named Owen. I tried to confirm this online, but I’m really willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.
The only detail I can independently remember from this whole shared viewing experience was the guy in the Incredibles shirt. It was two weeks ago. I can barely remember to call every single doll, root vegetable, and freshly inked scented marker portrait of any female whatsoever, Lucy. I can’t possibly be expected to remember Bernadette and Peter and Owen.
“Sprite, you have a really, really good memory. I can’t believe you remembered all those things from that TV show!”
“You have a good memory too Mommy.”
“Thanks sweetie.” Well, at least I’ll remember that.
ifyoudonthaveanythingnicetosay 
Our youngest is like that. My husband will ask him if he knows where anything he has lost is.
My big kid lost her cell phone. Does your little kid know where it is?
Yes. It is with our twin big kids cell phones.
I once had a memory like a steel trap, then I had kids. They tend to trap a lot of things that I’d like them to forget… you know, rash promises like ‘you can have ice cream at breakfast if you don’t pee in your bed tonight’
Same thing here. But it usually translates to waffles for dinner. With vanilla ice cream if they don’t tell their dad.