Nora's well-rested, if that counts.

This past week and weekend proved, without a doubt, that I am in very real danger of early onset dementia. The crosswords and brain teasers no longer stave them off. It's official- I'm demented.

Sure, we've been skipping all over the country, city, and state. And absolutely, sleep has been the first thing to be sacrificed. But seriously, I'm forgetting my middle name[s] at this point.

It began when I confused this coming week of work with next week's. To my various employers. Loudly. I usually work Monday for one family and Wednesday and Friday for my other one. If something comes up, the other two days are always gimmes. Except- one fam has been on vacation for the past three weeks and the second took a day at the end of this past week to make up for the time I'd been away. No big deal, I kept track of that. But this week, I'm working four back to back days. And next week the same. But with reversed families. And I knew this- really, I did. Wrote it down on my computer, the calendar, the BlackBerry and my hand. 

And promptly forgot it. Until one family needed a reminder for this week's schedule and I gave her next week's schedule- ha hah- much to the chagrin of the other family. And so I sent out no less than five emails and eventually got it right. (Please leave me with your children, I know CPR.) 

Additionally, I was wholly convinced that this past weekend was next weekend, and no amount of lookin' at the correct date could tell me otherwise. So much so, that I rsvp'd to two different events before I realized my folly. And forgot. And had to be reminded by P.J. Twice. (See? Dementia!) The junky part is- I'll be outta town next weekend. Happily, it's for a wedding I'm stoked to attend. Sadly, I'll be missing the going away party of a lovely pal and the fly-by into Chicago of two gorgeous friends. 

I am only popular in the summer. In March, no one returns my calls.

My favorite mess-up, though? Saturday morning around 8ish I was lounging with Nora, Peej and a cup of coffee. Had an hour 'til my dentist appointment. Enjoyed the free time. Then it hit me- I don't HAVE free time. What was going on? Checked all four methods of appointmentude. My cleaning was NOT at 9am, it was at 8am. (I even saw an email from the dentist the day before that politely reminded me of the time. And I REPLIED to it!) 

And I gotta say, there's nothing like the combo of being late (I abhor being late. It gives me hives) and the knowledge that you are speeding to the dentist. 

But it's also a little sad that, once there, I enjoyed the "down time." I watched the news and read the back of a package of floss. It was nice.

The rest of the weekend progressed swimmingly well, due in no small part to the addition of my sister Chelly (that's right, this month I'm on a world tour of seeing every family member.) 

I think she's had a good time, what with us dragging her to Market Days and not letting her linger, to us heading to bed at positively daylight hours. Plus, she's had to watch all of my shows. And my kid. 

And this week she gets to be a nanny-in-training- or a tanni. At downright criminally early hours. (Welcome.) 

But what about P.J., you ask? Isn't he in the picture any more? What antics has he been up to? Well, I'll tell you:

-The other night, after we (P.J, Nora, Annie, Chelly and myself) locked ourselves out of the side screen door, my gallant husband scaled the first (and a half, technically) floor to the back picture window. Hung out on the ledge. Shoved the side window open. Almost fell. Got a boost. Yelled the requisite 'I GOT THIS' back to the swooning gals. Scraped the heck out of his hands, knees and arms. I'm pretty sure he fell on one of the cats on his way off the kitchen table. Opened the screen door. (Me, I would've punched a hole in the screen door and unlocked it, but I also have a healthier sense of fear and desire to not make P.J. a single parent. But, you know, diff'rent strokes.) 

-Last night I found my husband mangling a defenseless tube of Crest. Now again, I would have deemed the tube empty and forgotten all about it, but not him. He squeezed the last bit- and perhaps some plastic- out onto his toothbrush and a goodly bit of his arms. ("That's the end of that," he stated in the most menacing and authoritative voice I'd ever heard outta anyone.) When I suggested that perhaps he was going to a lot of trouble, he asked if I'd seen his thing of Razor Defense face wash. Apparently, the cap didn't twist off to allow him to salvage the last eighth of an ounce so HE CHOPPED THE TUBE IN HALF. He's part thrifty housewife and a bigger part The Hulk. The fully green version. 

-And finally, the other morning when I was pretending to do my Wii Fit yoga, the console character asked me if I'd "seen P.J. lately." I told him/her yes. "How would you say that P.J.'s physique is these days? It's been over a month since I've seen him." He looks awesome, I told her. [Back off.] It then went on to inform me that I should be a better workout buddy to my husband and stated that "dogs become more motivated when their humans pay attention to them. Hmmm..." It actually hmm'd at me! And compared my husband to a pet! I was equal parts amused, insulted and shocked. 

But I showed it. 

I turned off the Wii. 

You're welcome, baby.