Gather fresh colored pens, rolls of washi tape, tiny sticky notes, and highlighters. Plot out a year of success in careful handwriting, accented by seasonal doodles. Cross reference all school calendars and Facebook to input important dates and birthdays.
Flip through 2 weeks of blank pages and vow to re-commit. Jot down to-do’s in blue ball point pen and transfer unfinished tasks to new dates with hope.
Haphazardly write an important phone number on the 14th with a broken pencil while on the phone. Never find this again.
Scribble conference call notes illegibly across a random unused week.
Discover toddler hieroglyphics doodled with Sharpie throughout. Perform “This is Mommy’s Very Special Notebook” routine while stifling guilt for never actually using it because THE POINT IS I might use it again… someday.
Spill coffee across two weeks, rip out a page to wipe a random substance off the desk.
Lose the planner. It’s probably been gone since I spilled the coffee. I don’t know.
Find the planner in the kids’ desk. Begin the “This is Mommy’s Very Special Notebook” routine, then just stop and walk out of the room.
Crack open the planner to discover I’ve made it far enough for the pages to not be stained by coffee anymore. Write the parent-teacher conference date down. Almost miss the conference until my husband reminds me of it.
Wish I had a great place to write down all the ideas that I think of at night, and all the plans I have for the next day. Remember the planner. Hate myself.
See a different planner that’s coming out for next year. Wonder if it would be the one I’d use. Spend a lot of time talking myself out of it, and keeping the empty, stained, scribbled on planner on my desk as a reminder of my inability to be an adult.
Order new, different planner. And pens. And tape and sticky notes. And give the old planner to the kids to scribble on.