We know women get forgetful after they have kids, and as one of the more scatterbrained members of my gender, I have learned to fully embrace my condition.

We know women get forgetful after they have kids, and as one of the more scatterbrained members of my gender, I have learned to fully embrace my condition.

I am a mother, therefore I have lost brain cells. Every day there is an incident -whether it's lost keys, a forgotten appointment, cell phone in the fridge, or any combination of the above. Fortunately, I have an extremely patient husband who finds my little memory lapses quirky and adorable (or so I say). He's my go-to guy who can usually talk me down when I have managed to work myself into a stress ball.

Unfortunately, his record of perfection came to an end recently.

Doing a morning radio program means getting up and on the road pretty much in the middle of the night.

In my usually groggy state, I have done my share of stupid things, so when I drove out of my driveway and heard a little fluttering noise, I didn't get too concerned. As I drove through the main drag in Hilliard, I kept hearing the noise. I would check my rear-view mirror, but couldn't see anything.

Finally I heard a big "flop" and noticed a flash of white cascading off the top of my car. I pulled over, jumped out and realized that I had been leaving a trail of papers behind me. Some were still floating in the air, thanks to the nice breeze that was blowing that morning.

So there I was in the middle of the road, running down the street, grabbing all the papers I could. As I did so, I racked my brain trying to figure out what I had done. What folder would I have left on my car? As my race to gather papers brought me under a street light, I realized this was one of my husband's folders. Since he's one of the most organized people on the face of the earth, he keeps folders on just about everything.

This particular folder contained household bill information. Apparently, he had been working on it, carried it out to my car when my daughter and I arrived home from the grocery store the night before, and placed it up on my roof while getting Olivia out of her car seat.

When I told my husband what happened, he was absolutely mortified. But for me, it was just another day in the life of a parent. His explanation of being busy seemed logical to me, and I was certainly in no position to judge. I must admit that I quietly smiled to myself and thought, "welcome to my world."