The fact that I'm "detail deficient" when it comes to my children has been brought to my attention. 
Rylie, our youngest, made her disappointment known after learning that I don't remember basic facts from her birth. I can't recall:

• What day of the week she was born
• What time of the day she was born or
• Her first word

I'd say it's because she's the baby, but I don't remember those details about the first two either. I am pretty sure the first word for all three of them was "da-da". If that's the case I've probably blocked it out. (Sour grapes or something.)

I could find out a few things if I looked at their baby books, the first two kids that is. I filled out the first five pages or so for the oldest and middle, I think. I just don't remember where their baby books are. Rylie doesn't have a book. 

I didn't improve my "mom standing" today when I took the oldest to the doctor for a year old shoulder injury. I was filling out paperwork when I came to the lines requesting information about the injury. 

Which shoulder? Right or left? Circle one. 

I drew a blank. 

Rather than let him know I was clueless, I handed him the clipboard pretending my intention was to assign him the due responsibility of filling out his own paperwork. 

Minutes later the nurse came in asking about previous surgeries. Not only could I not remember which arm he'd had surgery on as a kid, I couldn't even remember which part of his arm. Was it his elbow? His forearm? In my defense, the kid has broken his arm more than once. 

Do I have a little guilt about my poor stat keeping? 

I do. 

If only we'd had those cool giant party chalkboards where you record in beautiful artwork your kids' favorite food, book and toy along with all their firsts.  But even if I'd had the cute chalkboards made, they would have never survived our moves. 

So what if I can't remember all the frilly details of those first days and later big events. And maybe I can't find proof that I paid attention to the details. 

I remember how captivated I was laying eyes on them when they each made their debut, whichever days those were. 

I remember the way Hayden, all wrapped up and new, looked at me when he heard my voice, like we weren't strangers at all. 

I won't forget the expression on Hallie's tiny face, just minutes old. She was born with eyebrows that made known she would be a force not to be reckoned with. She was tiny, but I knew she would do big things. 

And Rylie. Her cry seemed to say "I'm here!" The real party can start now. 

In my forgetfulness there's so much I remember. 

I'll never forget the pain in my heart EVERY time Hayden broke his arm. Who cares if it was his left arm or right? I remember losing my mind when they were rolling him into surgery and that six-year-old blue-eyed doll called out to me "Mom...If I don't make it..I love you". 

I remember how terrified I was the first time he left our driveway behind the wheel as I stood in the yard paralyzed. 

I remember how proud I was of Hallie, our middle, when she walked into the "end of summer" middle school dance (her first dance ever) ALONE. We were new in town and she didn't know a soul. 

I can recall how bemused I was when she wanted to be her dad for Halloween when being me would've been much easier and would've made more sense. 

Oh how entertained I was when Rylie (at age 4) told me she cut her hair because I wouldn't let her go to Africa or China. She then freely confessed that she'd also "kicked Cameron"

Then there's the time she faked her hearing and vision test in Pre-K leading the nurse to pull me out of class to encourage her to "try again". The second tests she passed with flying colors to which she credited "A Christmas miracle!".

Do I remember what date that was?  I don't. 

Dates are convenient hooks on which we can hang our memories of events. 
Joan Lowery Nixon

Dear Children, Dates are just the days you touch our world; the details just filler. There are  way too many of both to keep track of them all. It's the stories we remember; the ways you pull our heartstrings that we won't forget.