Planner by Necessity, Not by Nature

I'd already recognized the fact that having a baby makes you plan ahead.  Instead of breezing out of the house with only my keys, I now have to ask myself things like, Do I have Olive's diaper bag?  Are there actually diapers in the bag?  Cloths for wiping up drool and spit-up? Her toy moose?  An extra outfit?  Three more extra outfits? (because there's often more than one accident)  These are just the day-to-day things for which to be accountable.  Our Alaska trip isn't for another three weeks, but I'm consumed by planning for it.  I'm excited to see Rob, but that eagerness certainly never would've had me scouring craigslist (the idea of buying a new outfit for our first back-together day is a silly one, indeed) or reading up on air travel.  It's the logistics of this trip that are sending me 'round the bend.  See, this trip will be about me going it alone (albeit with dead-weight Olive, bless her heart; she's sweet, but will probably be zero help, unless I count pre-boarding privileges and pitying looks from other travelers) until I get to the Homer Spit and am reunited with my fantastic and badly missed helpmeet (what a funny word.  I don't think I've ever used it until now).  The flight itself will be a cakewalk compared to what will happen afterwards, and this is the part that I've yet to iron out.  What I have to do first is score a used stroller and snap-in car seat on craigslist because, while I plan to keep Olive in my lap for the flight, unless we happen to be seated next to an empty seat, there's the matter of getting from the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport to my sister-in-law, Schelly's house (she and her husband, Tim, will be out of town when we arrive, attending his daughter's wedding, thus the no airport pick-up.  I'm super thankful that we're getting the use of their house for the night, nonetheless.  Schelly and Tim are pretty great folks).  

I was feeling thrifty and resourceful and put out a call to the good people of Anchorage for the use of a vehicle for two weeks.  No one was going to push their cars on me unless I asked.  I'd initially looked into rental cars, but was shocked by the price; I could go on a gorilla expedition in the Congo for what it would cost me to rent a Ford Focus hatchback for two weeks.  Plus, I did a little research on the safety of rental car seats, and the interweb had nothing good to say about these things.  I'd be better off Britney Spearsing it; Olive would be in just as much peril.  Instead, I get the use of a Toyota wagon (hello, old friend!) for $250 from a cycling fanatic named Alan.  I'm not going to implore Alan to come pick us up at the airport or anything - not his problem - so I imagine that I'll shell out for a cab to take me to the in-laws', then arrange to meet up with Alan and the Wagon either that evening or early the next morning.  Or better, maybe I'll just have the cabbie take me to Alan's and get my sweet ride straight away.  I like this idea.  I hope Alan's prepared to adapt his schedule to mine. 

I've sort of worked through the game plan just by typing, so I'm feeling a little less anxious about the plans.  Things will come together, I know.  The kind of cool thing about this is that I'm actually feeling like I'm getting my act together.   Flying by the seat of my pants all my life was fun and unpredictable, but I've hit a point where I sleep much better at night when I have a clear idea of what's going to happen next - at least what I can control.