Mom brain is even more of a liability when your kids realize you have it

"iPad!" Max says to me. We're walking out the door as the school bus waits outside, and he is reminding me that his iPad is not in his backpack.

"Thanks, Max!" I say, and dash off to get it as he giggles.

Mostly, I'm on top of things. Lots and lots of things. (See: I am the person who notices we are running out of toilet paper, and I rock.) But I've had a lingering case of mom brain for approximately 14 years now. (That's how old Max is.)

My friends and I joke about the phenomenon. "Mom brain: it's real!" might well be the tagline for mothers everywhere. (Well, right behind: "Please stop whining.") It's one thing, though, to be forgetful about things you need to do for yourself; it's another when your children call you on stuff you were supposed to do for them. Which I guess was inevitable, given that I typically do All of the Things for them.

"Mommy! Did you RSVP to the tryouts yet?" (Nope).

"Mommy, did you fill out the permission slip for the trip?" (Gah!)

"Mommy! Dance party!" (Read: Am I going to the party? Answer: Um, not until I remember to sign up for it.)

"Mommy, did you pick up my lacrosse outfit?" (Nyet.)

"Mommy! Las Vegas!" (As in, I'd like to visit Las Vegas and have you booked my trip yet? No, although that's on purpose because I am actually hoping you'll change your mind.)

"Mommy, did you buy that poster board for my project?" (The dog ate it. Oh, wait: I'm the mom. Also: We don't have a dog.)

For the record, I have never forgotten anything major, like a birthday or bedtime. Also, if you are a current or prospective employer, rest assured that I never ever ever forget a single thing at work, least of all, lunchtime, which I start thinking about daily at 8:45 a.m.

Max typically laughs at my forgetfulness; he finds it amusing. Sabrina either rolls her eyes or says "You always forget!" which technically isn't true, given that I did remember to give birth to her. Two weeks early, in fact. Dave doesn't seem to notice, given that he has Dad Brain caused in large part by waking up with Ben at 6:00 a.m. daily. Oh, and Ben never calls me on anything that I forget, which is lovely, although granted he is only 18 months old and I regularly and fully meet all of his daily demands, which boil down to: meals, Cheerios, soy milk, diaper changes, toy trucks, letting him repeatedly open and close the bread drawer and speaking in funny voices.

So there's that. But then, I'm grateful that Max has reached a level of cognition where he notices my lack of cognition. (I think?) And I'm glad that he and Sabrina are staying on top of stuff they have to do, or rather, staying on stop of stuff I have to do for them.

All this is to say: Wait, I know I'm forgetting something.