I am unapologetically a planner. I was raised in a family of planners, who no doubt, are decedents of planners themselves. I can't help it, I like a good plan. I like to know when and where. I like to know how long. I like to know what next (and then after that? and after that?). I like maps with highlighted routes. I like schedules. I like it written down. I like to go on trips with itineraries. I like to stand at the entrance of the amusement park and decide on the order of which we will see the attractions. I like to wake up on a Saturday and ask Matt, "What do you want the day to look like?" Not that we have to be busy doing something... I'm happy to have a lazy Saturday doing nothing... if 'nothing' is what we plan.
There is something extraordinarily reassuring about a plan. All my friends who work with kids on the autism spectrum know where I'm coming from (or at least the kids they work with do!) Plans are comforting. They help us know what to expect... which does wonders for the high-strung, anxiety-driven, type A personality inside some of us.
Matt is something of a converted planner. I used to drive him crazy with my anxious questions about 'the plan.' At first he adapted to it for my sake... and at this point I'm pretty sure he has incorporated it into his lifestyle... at least as far as I'm concerned.
You know what's sure to disrupt clean, organized and planned days?
On our fridge, under a magnet that was included with Oliver's bedding (what?), hangs Oliver's feeding schedule. I read that keeping babies on a specific schedule for feeds is good for their metabolism... and their sleep... and their Type A mommas. And so we have a schedule hanging on the fridge. Not that we need it there. I know it by heart (7am, 10am, 1pm, 4pm, 6pm, 8pm, 10pm)... but I'm the type of planner who likes it written down.
The schedule is for Oliver.
The schedule is for me.
And most days we are not quite on schedule. I find myself making thirty minute shifts here and there to try to get us back on schedule.