Twice in the past week I've lost my place in the space/time continuum.
The first was an epic fail as a daughter. My mom has a late January birthday. She was born in 1950, so it's always really easy math. Subtract 50 and you're all good. So one morning when I was feeling particularly on top of things I call my mom and ask how she feels about her approaching milestone birthday. She doesn't really celebrate birthdays, but there's something to be said for turning 60. Unless you turned 60 the year before and your idiot daughter can't remember that it's 2011.
The second instance also involves my mom. Hubby has a work trip so she's going to fly out for some grandbaby lovin and general daughter saving. The only hiccup in this plan is that my mom is a neat freak. She's in the 'my house looks like a museum camp' where my household is more of 'lived in' variety. Really lived in. It was like that before the sleep deprived, baby lovin, working full time state that is our life now...
So I made a plan to get things to the my mom can tolerate them point. Cleaning last weekend before my husband had friends over, a few minutes in each room in the evenings, the following weekend to dust/vacuum/mop, and then just keeping things maintained before she arrives the following Sunday. Except that middle weekend doesn't so much exist. My brain just created a weekend to get stuff done.