Two years ago, our family sponsored a child in Costa Rica named Oscar Mario. He was the chosen one for very specific reasons – at the time, our family was a bit light in the boy department so we thought a male would even things out nicely. My eldest son was obsessed with Super Mario, so when we saw a child who had the name Mario, it was clearly a good fit.

The kiddos feel very connected with Oscar Mario – they send him letters and art work, and anxiously await his response. When they are all behaving like spoiled brats, I remind them of Oscar Mario and his life, and they humbly retreat back into humans I am proud to have birthed.

Last year for Oscar Mario’s birthday, our family sent off a package with stickers, cards and Mabel’s Labels. Some months later, it was returned unopened. I did what every good mother does – hid it from the kids and forged a letter of thanks from Oscar Mario.

I had been meaning to reach out to the agency to investigate the returned package. But our monthly donation continued to be withdrawn so I assumed everything was fine. Of course, following up on the package ended up at the bottom of my “to-do” list – tied in last place with about 20 other items.

Last month I got a letter saying we have a new sponsored child because Oscar Mario cannot be located. Not be located?! I started flipping out wondering how he just fell off the radar. Upon investigation, it seems that families commonly relocate without notifying the agency. So my next question was about where my money was ending up if my kid had gone MIA. I was told it went to his community. I do remember signing on and reading something briefly about how the money is distributed locally – I think the sponsored kid thing is more of a sales tactic.

It’s a sales tactic that worked very well on us. I’m pretty sad about losing Oscar Mario. For two years, we’ve been looking at his adorable picture on our fridge. He’s been my “go-to guy” when the kiddos need to be reminded about how privileged they are.

I have actually been putting off telling the kids about our now long lost friend. I’m torn between the truth (that he’s gone!) and telling them that his family won the lottery and Oscar Mario is busy managing his house staff in between private school tutorials and cello lessons. Suggestions welcomed.

When you’ve been changing diapers for almost 11 years straight and you have been pregnant for about 250 weeks, it is fair to make claim to a bit of brain mush now and again. Sleep deprivation can make a mama foggy at times. Going to the grocery store and leaving without the item I went for is a common occurrence. Once, I was driving down the street with a van load of kids and had to pull over for a minute to think. You see, I had forgotten which child was being driven to what activity. When I looked in the rear-view mirror, I noticed one in a soccer uniform so I was able to carry on without actually having to admit anything to the kids.

But there are bigger things that I don’t remember – the things that I did before I had kids.

What did I do in the evenings? What did I start questioning at 4:00pm every day if not “What am I going to feed them?” To remove that daily dilemma from my brain space would leave quite a gap. Along with “feeding time at the zoo”, my evenings consist of organizing homework, packing school lunches and shuttling people to sports and dance classes. If not doing that, what would I be doing? I just can’t remember. Maybe I watched the 6:00pm news. Maybe I had a hobby. Whatever it was, it’s long gone from my immediate memory.

Waking up naturally because my body has had enough sleep.
Actually, I can’t even remember what it’s like to wake up to the sound of an alarm clock. I vaguely remember that sensation of a Saturday morning sleep- in, dozing in and out of lazy slumber, eventually crawling out of bed when it suited me. Yeah, vaguely.

Eating in a civilized fashion.
I can’t remember what it’s like to sit down and eat an entire plate of food without having to get up half a dozen times. What is it like to sit around a table enjoying food and chatter without springing up regularly to fetch things and cut up food on other people’s plates? I’ve been to dinner parties and left without actually having had dinner myself. And I’m told food is normally served hot. Imagine that – it’s actually HOT when served! By the time I get to my food, “hot” would not be a suitable description.

But from what all the weathered mamas tell me, these busy mama days go too quickly and before you know it, they too will become vague memories. So I think for the moment I’ll just clutch onto my cold dinners and hectic evenings for as long as I possibly can.