And for some reason, all the other women I have met at the school gates appear to be living examples of the perfect mum I wish to be.

My doubts about my abilities as a parent were confirmed on Friday when I arrived at my son's school only to realise I had forgotten it was Harvest Festival. (He was supposed to bring in some food for a special assembly, which was then going to be delivered to St Theresa's homeless hostel in Peterborough.)

We turned up at school with about one minute to spare, as is the norm, only to see all his peers lining up carrying bags (and I mean bags, plural) of groceries.

"Mummy, we have forgotten some food for harvest festival," my son said, bottom-lip quivering

"Don't worry, Samuel," I say, feeling absolutely dreadful. "I will go home now and get something."

Just as I am racing out of the school gates, I see one of Samuel's little friends sobbing uncontrollably in the playground.

"What's the matter Maisie?" I ask.

"My daddy forgot to give me some food for the homeless children," she gulps.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't worry. I forgot too," I say. "Sometimes mummies and daddies forget things because we are so busy and have lots of things going on in our brains. Don't be upset. I am going home now to get something for Samuel, shall I get you something too?

"Yes, please Mrs Ogden," she says.

So, I race off down the street to raid the kitchen cupboards. After a frantic search I grab the first things I see – a tin of baked beans and a jar of Dolmio sauce – I then fly back to the school and hand said items over.

Mission accomplished. I am now feeling quite pleased with myself and my act of kindness – until that is I attend the Harvest Festival assembly later that day.

I turn up and sit next to one of the "perfect" mums I mentioned above.

"What did your Samuel bring for the assembly?" she asks.

Although I think this is a bit of an odd question, I regale the story of my morning and mercy dash home.

She smiles politely, saying: "We made that box of food at the front."

"Oh!" I say. Looking at this huge box crammed full of fresh produce.

"We had great fun, decorating it at home at the weekend." (Am detecting a note of smugness in her voice, or is it just me?)

I then look at the box again and see all around the sides there are drawings of fruit and vegetables obviously made by her son.

"Oh! that's nice," I say, my earlier act of kindness with the baked beans now seeming inconsequential.

What I would like to know is how do these women find time to be so organised?

Am I alone, or is there anyone out there who can make me feel better?