I used to be quite the gifted scheduler. Well not really, I was a competent scheduler of one -- and if your hitched your wagon to me, I could schedule you too, as long you accepted my center of the universeness.

Obviously those days are long gone, three years ago my universe centeredness was usurped by someone younger, cuter and move over bacon, there's something leaner. Now whenever something arises where I have to start planning, I become panicky, as noted in last week's preschool melt. This isn't brain surgery, right? I've handled important projects for corporations, ran several small businesses, wrote and edited several books, published other people's book, smoothly run an online magazine, made it through undergrad and graduate programs with no problem, organized events, small and well, medium, I guess, nothing with thousands of people, but I'm good at organizing parties, readings, meetings -- all that sort of stuff.

But when it comes to organizing Gideon's life, I'm AAAAHHH -- and it's simple stuff. Like for instance, this morning his speech therapist suggested speech camp this summer. That's an excellent idea. Perhaps competition will spur him into talking (or damage him, but whatever, it sounds like a good idea). Why did the suggestion panic me? Why am I worrying about how am I going to also schedule swimming lessons this summer? And I haven't taken him to the dentist yet and I've put off scheduling his annual doctor exam for weeks. That's stuff I can handle over the PHONE -- which when it rings, also puts me in a state of morbid anxiousness.

Today I'm grateful that I still have a full head of hair. I was gonna mention my full set of teeth, but I fear that's just tempting fate.