I don't have an official diagnosis, but few who know me well would be surprised to learn I'm a touch obsessive compulsive.
This may have something to do with the hours I spent as a kid planting flowers with my dad and his trusty tape measure. The little packet said to plant them 8 inches apart, and by God we did just that.
It was reinforced during the years I spent as a page designer and copy editor at a newspaper. Those lines had to even up just so, and it sure as hell does matter exactly where the word "only" goes.
As much as I like to let clutter lie around in my house, I do have specific locations for which clutter should lie where. That pile of receipts may have no business stacked on the liquor cabinet, but that's where I have been keeping them and I know where they are and so they stay there.
When it comes to Max's baby stuff, I am quite specific about where it all lives. The most anal thing I do is keep a particular pacifier in each room. I want to be sure to always have one wherever he may decide to pass out for a nap. If we change rooms or especially floors of the house, I pull out whatever plug he has in his mouth and then pop in another one once we reach our destination.
However, when other people are in your house caring for your child -- like the babysitter or my I'll-do-whatever-I-please-anyway mother -- those pacifiers grow legs and travel all over the house. My dad, the boys and I were halfway to Wauseon before I realized the sitter had not heeded my directions to leave a binkie in the car seat. (She left it in the cup holder of the stroller to which the car seat attaches after their walk, so maybe she assumed she was.)
I buy more and leave them on the tables where I like them, but they don't stay there very long. I restack books and reorganize toys only to do it all over again the next day.
I really can't complain to the people who are making my life easier in every other way. So I'll just complain to you, dear reader.
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