When I was little my mom used to mix up my name with my siblings all the time. She didn’t call me by one of my sister’s names, it was more like a morph of all three of our names and then a sigh. “Ro-Nae-Me, ugh, whatever your name is, come here!” This was years before Hollywood started doing it and I think my mom should get the credit as being the first. Somehow we always knew who she actually needed to talk to. When it came to other people, if she accidentally called them by the wrong name, they might as well have it changed because that’s what she would call them, forever. My nephew Brandon became Brian and that was it. As the youngest of four I guess I’m lucky she ever remembered my name at all, or that I even existed. There was a lot going on in that house. So many times she’d stop in her tracks and look for me in a panic. I was always right there following behind her. The littlest has to be smart like that or they can get left behind. As a kid I swore when I grew up and had kids I’d never forget their names. Well here I am and dang it if I can’t get their names straight to save my life. This also includes my animals. I don’t morph names but I definitely change them. My dog Ryder is called Louis and the cat Sullivan is Wheezy. Lou and The Wheeze. Who the heck knows why? I think it’s genetic. I hope it stops with me because it can get a little embarrassing in public. Just ask my three kids Coco, Boo, and Stinks.