"Bedtime!" I announced with a feigned attempt to hide my glee.

"But mom! What about dinner?"

Seriously. Why do they insist on eating three times a day? And how, after twenty-one years of parenting, do I still occasionally forget to feed them?

It's down to me and the two little ones in the house, so when hubby is out of town, we tend to get off schedule. I had them put their jammies on while I hurriedly scrambled eggs and toasted our two remaining slices of bread. Grocery store! That was the other thing I meant to do today.

I'd like to say the above scenario was because I had surgery recently, and I'm still recuperating. But the truth is, these things happen even when I'm one hundred percent healthy. I won't be winning any mother of the year awards anytime soon. Probably never.

I apologized to the kids for forgetting to feed them. "That's okay," my seven-year-old encouraged, "It's kind of convenient to lump dinner prayers and bedtime prayers together!"

Great. I am sure God was thrilled that I was able to cut my children's daily prayer time down.

There are times when I think I am an amazing mother. And other times, well, I can't even remember the kids' names, let alone whether or not I fed them.

A lot of it has to do with procrastination. I don't always get things done until I am feeling some sort of pressure to do so. For example, when my now 17-year-old was five, she decided it was high time she had a baby memory book like her older siblings. I don't know why. It's not like I ever wrote anything in their books, but she got it into her head that I should record all of her major milestones.

She asked every time we went to the store, "Can I get my baby book today?"

But they don't carry them at Walmart, Krogers, or Tractor Supply. Then lo and behold, one day we were shopping at Sam's Club, and she spied a stack. There were three styles: Jungle, Winnie the Pooh, and something pink and frilly. As she agonized over the decision I realized she is probably the only child in the world to choose her own baby book.

At this point in life, I cannot remember what the other kids' books look like, but I will never forget that hers is Pooh Bear because she brought it to me every single day. "Mommy, you should write some more in my book."

At one point, I just started making crap up. How was I supposed to remember the first time she rolled over, or what the date was when her third tooth made its appearance in her gum line? In the section marked, "The World Around Me," it had a place to list headlines, world leaders, and entertainers that were popular at the time she was born. I resisted the urge to scrawl across the lines, "Google it!" and did the research myself.

Twelve years and two more kids later, she is still the only one in the family that has something written in her baby book. I am proud of her for taking a stand. If only she'd been here last week, she could have reminded me about dinner.