A little bit of karma

My dad can't keep the women in his life straight. Okay, that sounds kind of bad. What I mean is that his daughters, wife and sister have for many years been resigned to the fact that we all get called by each other's names. Liz has been "Katielizzy" so often that she'll answer to it without arguing any more. If I'm around for more than a day or two, I suddenly start getting called "Susan," while my mom has only to spend few days at the cottage before she starts being called "Joan." We make fun of Dad all the time for this little eccentricity of his.

And now I'm learning that I really shouldn't have given dear old Dad such a hard time about this, since it's genetic. With three boys in the house, we've hit some critical mass and for the life of me, I can't stop getting them mixed up. I've repeatedly asked Chris to feed Alex his dinner while I head downstairs to nurse Jonathan, or mentioned that Alex did a really good job picking up his toys today. Which is impressive because he is still at the stage of waving his fists in front of his face. Yesterday evening was the last straw, however. Chris was sitting in the recliner, holding Alex, while Jonathan drove his fire trucks on the table. I went out to the dining room to get Jonathan a Kleenex. I came back, bent over, and found myself about two inches away from wiping Chris's nose before I realized what the heck I was doing. Chris about peed himself laughing at me.

Sorry, Dad! I owe you one.