"Fail, Mom."

This is Ben's newest way of trying to sound like a 9-year-old teenager. I'll admit it's not my favourite saying, seeing as he uses it whenever I drop, forget, lose or trip over something. However, we have discussed these two little words, and his use of them, and he seems to be learning the fine art of timing.
Two days ago, for example, Ben could have said, "Fail, Mom" to me and I could not have uttered a single legitimate word of protest. It was Valentine's Day. I was supply teaching in a grade 3 classroom here in town - a "challenging" classroom, as we teachers like to say. It was a CRAZY day ... my head was swimming, trying to keep track of my kids' chauffeuring needs, our desperate need for groceries, Ben's hockey skates waiting to be picked up from their sharpening appointment before that night's practice, the candlelit Valentine's dinner I had decided to whip up for my family (without any groceries in the house) and the arrangements I had made for John and my mom to get Ben to the dentist at noon that day to have a tooth extracted and then keep him home for the rest of the day. Add to all these mental gymnastics the chaos of a high flying grade 3 classroom on Valentine's Day - translation: school sanctioned sugar high - and you will understand my state of distraction. My moment of "failure" hit me halfway through the Valentine's party I was supervising with these grade 3's. I watched them buzz around the room, happily delivering their grubby little cards and homemade cupcakes .... I smiled to myself as I thought of the fun of being a kid on Valentine's Day ... I thought about my kids, and wondered how they were doing that day. And then I just about keeled over as I realized that I had sent my own little grade 3-er to school that day with absolutely NOTHING for his class Valentine's celebration! Zippo. Zilch. Nadda. Not a Hershey's kiss. Not a card. Not a pink and red pencil. Not even a note for the teacher. Somehow Valentine's Day for Ben had not even made it onto my radar this year!
My only hope and consolation was that he had to leave school before noon for this nasty tooth extraction and so hopefully he would miss the Valentine's party. Unfortunately, I found out later that evening that his teacher held the party in the MORNING. Fortunately, Ben is extremely easygoing and quickly forgave me.
Unfortunately, the next morning he toddled into our room, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and mumbled, "I think the tooth fairy forgot to check under my pillow last night."
Fail, Mom. (I said to myself.)