Due to my blatant abuse of the "I am completely neurotic" tag, my readers know that I am, well, completely neurotic. A big part of that has to deal with my obsessive-compulsive need to organize things. (You would not, however, know this from looking at my house.*) I have two dozen little daily rituals that needs to take place at certain times in a certain order and I must plan for everything by making 3,605 lists. Shopping lists, packing lists, to-do lists, I just love making lists. I almost never actually use the lists for anything, I just feel really good about making them.
Seriously, TLC needs to make a TV show about me. My particular brand of batshit is only really unnerving once you realize how pervasive it is. I'm all vanilla-y and boring on the outside, but once you get to the good stuff you'll find a delicious nutbar filling.
Some time ago, in the early days of our marriage, my husband and I flew across the country to Tempe, Arizona to attend the first-ever North American Discworld Convention. Discworld, for the uninitiated, is a book series by the one and only Sir Terry Pratchett. He's British (and therefore awesome), and it took a while for the North American fans to get their act together enough to hop on the Discworld convention bandwagon, so this convention was a big deal. It was also our honeymoon (remember, the blog is called "Nerdmama").
The second convention is taking place three weeks from now in Madison, Wisconsin. I pouted until my husband said we could go (I might be a little obsessed with Pratchett... might be) and then my dad wanted to go... and then my mom said she'd go because my dad was going... and so now my parents, my husband, Paxton and myself are all packing up and going to Wisconsin in three weeks.
I have costumes to finish, a car to clean out and service, money to (attempt to) make, doctors to visit and all sorts of things that need to be done before the seventh, when we pack up the Rabbit and make the 8.5 hour drive to Madison. (Wait, we have a newborn--make that a 11 hour drive to Madison... a 14 hour drive to Madison? Crap.)
We're starting Paxton on the nerd thing early. How many two-month-olds get to meet Sir Terry Pratchett, literary rock star? I'm betting the answer is "not many". I've already started the readings of Where's My Cow?, a book that Pax probably will have memorized by the time he's able to read it himself...
*Unless we made dinner plans two weeks ago, in which case I will have cleaned the house 47 times by the time you come over to see it.