Sometimes we forget

One day, years from now I fear I'll hear the following: "Remember that time, Mom, when you forgot to send the classroom snacks?"

And it'll be said moments before my kid's prison sentencing. 

Or worse yet, she'll shout it out as she gets into a heated, hair-pulling battle on a show like "Jerry Springer" with a theme of "He's Bad But I Love Him" or "A Woman's Wrath" or something like that.

"You never really, truly cared about me and those yogurt tubes..." 

I have three kids in three different schools, each kid with a couple of different calenders and activity listings and such. 

With two more kids yet to reach school-age, I know my work in this area has only just begun. So I'm constantly trying to get more organized.

(Any tips on that front would be greatly appreciated.)

The calendars slapped and over-lapped on the refrigerator method doesn't seem to be working all that well. At least not lately. I know, weird, huh?

I bought a huge binder, filled it with folders for each kid. I thought I was doing well until the thing exploded all over my kitchen counter. It's been all downhill from there.

First, there was the snack incident. Then, a forgotten "Wear Your favorite Shoes" day. And the latest, a major Tooth Fairy failure. 

I know these are minor slips in the grand scheme of motherhood, but why do they haunt me so?

I rattled off a list of things we've missed or forgotten, asked my husband if he felt guilty like me? Yes, he told me as he suggested that we get better organized. 

But then he moved on. You see, that's the difference.

I'm not quite sure what's wrong with him. But for some reason, he won't anguish about our kid's failure to wear orange on "Wear Orange Day." I keep telling him he really should seek help.

My own mom still remembers the day the Tooth Fairy fell asleep on the job, and how upset I was when I woke to find nothing but that old tooth under my pillow.

Some quick work on my mom's part, and a dollar magically appeared upon second look. But years later, she still talks about it, just as I'll likely be talking about the tears in my 6-year-old's eyes the other morning when the Tooth Fairy forgot her.