During college, every year before the fall semester started, I would traipse the calendar/planner aisle and pick the prettiest one I could find. Then I’d dally to the pen aisle and pick out the most obnoxiously girly pen. And I’d be set to succeed for the year. I would take each syllabus and jot down every due date or event.
Okay, so maybe I’d be set to succeed for the first month. Because within the first few weeks, the only time the journal would be cracked open would be to doodle during a particularly boring lecture or to tear out a page to house my used gum. Sure, I wasn’t as organized as I’d like to have been, but let’s face it, I wasn’t doing anything in college that was important enough to write down 4 weeks ahead of time. I was a night-before, by-the-skin-of-her-teeth sort of student. Planners were a joke!
Oh, now I’m doing the important stuff in life! A small bundle of hiccups and yawns to care for. And this, my friends, requires such things as calendars and planners and a pretty pen to remind me that I’m a girl. Even if it is used to write down the color of poop and sad faces next to doctor appointments that require vaccinations.
And with a proud grin and a sigh of accomplishment, I will whip out my planner every day and spit my gum straight into the trash. Good gravy, the empowerment!
I am Mama, hear me plan.