ONE rugby shirt, two pairs of sports shorts, one calculator, one wallet, four locker keys, a blazer, tie, three pairs of swimming trunks, four towels, countless sports socks and one pair of football boots.

These are just a few of the things my particularly forgetful 12-year-old lost in his first year at secondary school.

Charlie also forgets to bring letters home. He forgets to hand in school trip money. I find out-of-date invitations to birthday parties scrunched up in the bottom of his bag. He loses his dinner money on the short walk from the house to the bus. "Charlie, you're hopeless," I tell him when he informs me that he can't find his school shoes anywhere. He laughs, insisting that it is all part of his genetic inheritance. I know what's coming next.

"I might have lost my shoes but at least I've never forgotten a child, mum."

What can I say? In my defence, I had agreed to collect three extra boys from primary school that day. Then we had to rush home, get two changed, take them to tennis lessons, get another two off to rugby, get back to meet the older one off the bus, collect the tennis players, and so on.

I was so busy counting in all the additional children and their bits and pieces as I bundled them into the car, I didn't realise something was missing until we got to the tennis courts. I rang the school. It was one of the most embarrassing telephone calls of my life. "Is Roscoe there? Yes, I did collect the other two but I forgot about him, sorry, I'll be straight over..." I could picture the scene in the school office: "It's that woman with five boys...poor child...so many children she doesn't know what to do..."

Charlie hasn't finished with me yet. "And what about the time you thought you'd put all of us to bed but you'd left one behind?"

It's true. I confess. We were all woken in the night by shrill screams coming from downstairs. "Help me, help me, somebody help me. I can't see anything. Everything's black."

I could have sworn everyone was in bed when I put out all the lights and went upstairs to bed four hours earlier. How was I to know the youngest was still curled up in the corner of the living room, fast asleep in an armchair?

All this proves, I tell Charlie, is that I do understand how easy it is to forget something when you have lots of things on your mind. But at least I remember about 98 per cent of what I should. And the key to this is lists.

I have lists of things to do and remember all over the place, in my diary, on post-it notes, scrawled on the back of my hand. I am obsessed with ticking off and scoring out the things I have done and remembered. I couldn't survive without my lists. They are, almost, foolproof.

So now I have started Charlie making lists of his own. This year, things are going to be different, I tell him.

Every day for the past two weeks, we have written out what he has to remember - bring swimming stuff home, hand in money for French trip, request permission slip for dental appointment - and put it in his breast pocket. The idea is he checks and ticks everything off before he comes home.

The only problem is, on four days out of five, he forgets his list. So now this is something else to add to mine: "Must remember to remind Charlie not to forget his list." There must be an easier way...

WHEN our three-year-old ran too close to the road the other day, my reaction was instant: "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah", high-pitched and shrill, delivered in the tone of rapid machine gunfire, it stopped him in his tracks. Everyone else in the street froze too, looking around and then visibly relaxing when they realised who the verbal gunfire was directed at. I was momentarily embarrassed, but simply couldn't help myself. I don't know where this noise comes from, but have noticed lots of parents use it, like some sort of primal scream. It is particularly useful when a child is in danger or is about to break something, when we don't have time to formulate any words but need to get them to stop what they're doing instantly. It seems to be used by people from all parts of the country and by all generations. I'm sure that's why everyone stops when they hear the noise. The inner child in us all freezes and thinks: "Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?" But why "ah-ah-ah" and not "ta-ta-ta", "ht-ht-ht" or "bi-bi-bi"? Any ideas?

Published: 29/09/2005