Studies are Detrimental to my Health – and Sanity
Ever since I found out about the multitasking study recently done by Stanford, I have become a bumbling, inefficient, no-tasking idiot.
Having hypochondriacal tendencies, I merely have to hear about a disease before I begin to display its symptoms, and this apparently extends to brain function, or the lack thereof. I was once a gloriously productive multitasker with the ability to juggle at least 5 activities at the same time – not including breathing and moving blood through my body. Now, I am lucky if I am able to get the latter done.
According to the Stanford studies, high multitaskers cannot filter out irrelevant information as easily and have a hard time organizing their memories.
I thought the culprit for that was Motherhood. But when you think about it, I guess Motherhood is probably the Queen of multitasking activities. Fatherhood is not. This is evidenced by the fact that my husband is unable to do anything else, including laundry, the rare times that he is the only one responsible for keeping an eye on our daughter.
According to the Stanford study – or the creative extrapolations made by reporters from the study – my husband is probably doing a better job than I am.
I guess that depends on how you define his job. If being a father is merely sitting in an armchair with your daughter and watching MacGyver, then, yes, he is Aces. I cannot sit down and watch anything without doing something at the same time. Even if I’m only playing Sudoku on my iPad.
If parenting includes helping your child with homework while you are: cooking dinner, feeding the dogs and trying to keep them from tearing each other’s throats out, rinsing out the pots from the night before so you have enough to cook the dinner in, listening to messages on the answering machine, adding food to the grocery list, AND signing your daughter’s field trip permission form – well, I think I might win out on that one.
At least I would have before the Stanford study came to my attention. Now, I’m: putting dog food on the stove in the unwashed pots, pressing the button on the timer to listen to my messages, letting the dogs rip up the permission form and, what the heck, they can have the homework while they are at it, and completely forgetting to put anything on the grocery list except the word, “HELP!”
You owe my daughter a scholarship for this, Stanford.