Move aside smartphones, The Planner is my antiquated black date book that I actually (gasp!) still use a pen and pencil to write in as I plan my family’s schedule. It is precious. It is revered. I treasure it more than any other object on this earth. I eagerly await every year for Staples to roll out the new date pages for the next year on August 1 (read: obsessively start stalking Staples in June and become increasingly grouchy that the Day Runner company does not find it necessary to grant me access to planning my next year’s Christmas shopping more than 16 mo. in advance). Ask my husband how well I have handled myself the few times The Planner has been lost. I don’t actually know, b/c after the initial hyperventilation, I block out those excruciating seconds/minutes until it is found and the world resumes its rotation. I have always loved The Planner, but one singular event catapulted it into super-star status. I became a mom. Apparently instantaneously upon impregnation, I lost my capacity to think. If I do not write it down, it will not get done. In general this pertains to everything from taking my vitamins in the morning to bathing my children at night. I have stopped shy of reminding myself to pee, but do not rule this out as a future event that necessitates being entered in The Planner. Have it. Love it. If our house burns down and I have the choice of saving it or our family photos, will obviously go with The Planner. The Planner alerts me when my children’s birthdays are coming up so I can take more photos 🙂
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