For example, I could use the Gift app on my phone to record who bought which Christmas presents (to help the kids write their thankyou notes). But I tend not to bother, because my daughter can remember - much more speedily, and in much more detail - where every single toy in the house came from, who bought it for her or her brother and how old they were when they got it.
Number facts are her favourite. She may only be able to recite a few of the very easiest times tables off by heart, but her brain does manage to store an awful lot of other kinds of numerical data. The way she observes, stores and calculates this information may not follow traditional mathematical paths of logic, but it works.
She’s really good on dates. Earlier this year, exactly 12 months on from the day we moved home, it was her that pointed out it was our “new house anniversary”. And then there’s her ability to recall people’s ages, birthdays, and their shoe sizes. Which, as you can imagine, comes in especially handy if I’m planning to buy anyone age-appropriate shoes for their birthday.
So it was her that reminded me earlier in the week that my wedding anniversary was coming up:
“It’s on the 30th, Mum. You’ll be married 17 years.”
“Hang on a minute,” I said, mentally calculating 2012 minus 1995. “How did you work that out?”
“I know because you said my cousin Hannah was baby at your wedding and she’s 17, so you’ll be married for 17 years.”
“You’re right, sweetheart. We will have been married for 17 years.”
“Yes. And next year, she’ll be 18, so you’ll be married for 18 years. And the next year, she’ll be 19, so you’ll be married for 19, and the next year she’ll be...”
“All right, don’t milk it.”
So, thanks, data-daughter, for the reminder. And thanks, Mr Drakeygirl (age 47, shoe size 10), for your years of long service. And there’s nothing I like better than a long servicing.
The music I chose for today’s wedding anniversary blog entry is Closing Time by Semisonic, the lyrics of which always make me think of a night that pre-dates the actual track by nearly a decade. The night in question was, oh, about..*coughs*...22 (twenty bloody two!) years ago. I remember being very young, in a very naff bar, with my pals, my brother and my brother’s mate, who was good-looking, funny, and something else that I couldn’t even put words to. I’d never felt anything remotely like what I felt like when I spoke to him. My friend told me she thought this bloke might like me and my brother might be trying to set me up. I turned round to her, and I said: “I’m way ahead of you all. He’s walking me home tonight.”
Christ alone knows where my confidence came from: I was always the friend of the prettier girls blokes wanted to walk home, the ‘mate’ who fellas wanted to have a drink and a laugh with but never fancied.
But he just had walk me home: it was going to happen, and it did.
He’s been my home ever since.
"So gather up your jackets, move it to the exits
I hope you have found a friend
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end
I know who I want to take me home...
...Take me home"