Diary of a List-Making Mom
I have a notepad that has 365 pages. Each page has the day broken down by hours, from 5 AM to 11 PM. On the side is space for a checklist, complete with a little box for the accompanying checkmark and another little block of space for notes, ideas and things to remember. In a word, it's brilliant.
It also may be my undoing.
I can do nothing without my daily list. Whether it's what I need at the grocery store, phone calls that have to be made or what we're having for dinner, if it's not on there, it does. not. happen.
At 8:35 every morning, it says, "Drop off Kids"—they've been going to school for eight months. I'm pretty sure that I have that little routine down. But invariably, it's the first thing I write on that lovely blank sheet of paper every morning. Maybe it's because I so enjoy scratching it off after it's done. Maybe it's because that one errand kick-starts the day. Or maybe it's because I fear that, on the one day I don't write it down, I'll look in the backseat on my way to Costco and see three expectant faces staring back at me, happily anticipating that they're about to play hooky all day. And guess what? Not. Happening. Why? It's not on the list.
When my beloved husband throws a giant wrench into my carefully constructed day, I can whip out my list and see where I can fit in this new random errand that I need to do. You need me to bring you a suit to your office? Ummm, OK. Kinda wondering what you're wearing right now, but sure, dear, one suit, coming up. Right in between that pedicure and taking the dog to the vet. Priorities.
I have two jobs, one blog, three kids, 12 girl scouts, three sports teams, two husbands (though not at the same time ... it's illegal or something) and one geriatric dog. That list is the only thing that keeps me sane. One time, I was checking my progress as I was driving and it flew out the window. I pulled over for about 15 minutes, realized there was no hope of ever 1) getting it back and 2) duplicating all the vital information that was on it. I had no choice—I went home and went back to bed. We'll start again tomorrow.
I spent a week so exhausted that I was barely functioning. Finally, my husband had had enough and wrote "go to sleep" next to the 11 PM time slot. I'm feeling much better now, thanks.
Studies have shown that odd tendencies you have as an adult only magnify as you get older. Howard Hughes was a moderate germaphobe in his 30s, and look what happened to him. I figure that, in about another 40 years or so, they'll find my body buried under a stack of To-Do pads and Sharpie markers. Fortunately for me, they'll also find instructions on what to do next. I'm pretty sure I have that list right here. ...
It also may be my undoing.
I can do nothing without my daily list. Whether it's what I need at the grocery store, phone calls that have to be made or what we're having for dinner, if it's not on there, it does. not. happen.
At 8:35 every morning, it says, "Drop off Kids"—they've been going to school for eight months. I'm pretty sure that I have that little routine down. But invariably, it's the first thing I write on that lovely blank sheet of paper every morning. Maybe it's because I so enjoy scratching it off after it's done. Maybe it's because that one errand kick-starts the day. Or maybe it's because I fear that, on the one day I don't write it down, I'll look in the backseat on my way to Costco and see three expectant faces staring back at me, happily anticipating that they're about to play hooky all day. And guess what? Not. Happening. Why? It's not on the list.
When my beloved husband throws a giant wrench into my carefully constructed day, I can whip out my list and see where I can fit in this new random errand that I need to do. You need me to bring you a suit to your office? Ummm, OK. Kinda wondering what you're wearing right now, but sure, dear, one suit, coming up. Right in between that pedicure and taking the dog to the vet. Priorities.
I have two jobs, one blog, three kids, 12 girl scouts, three sports teams, two husbands (though not at the same time ... it's illegal or something) and one geriatric dog. That list is the only thing that keeps me sane. One time, I was checking my progress as I was driving and it flew out the window. I pulled over for about 15 minutes, realized there was no hope of ever 1) getting it back and 2) duplicating all the vital information that was on it. I had no choice—I went home and went back to bed. We'll start again tomorrow.
I spent a week so exhausted that I was barely functioning. Finally, my husband had had enough and wrote "go to sleep" next to the 11 PM time slot. I'm feeling much better now, thanks.
Studies have shown that odd tendencies you have as an adult only magnify as you get older. Howard Hughes was a moderate germaphobe in his 30s, and look what happened to him. I figure that, in about another 40 years or so, they'll find my body buried under a stack of To-Do pads and Sharpie markers. Fortunately for me, they'll also find instructions on what to do next. I'm pretty sure I have that list right here. ...
Provided byKristin Wilson Keppler & Julianna W. Miner
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