Dealing with the race for space

Just like most families, my family sits in the same pew at church every week, week in and week out. Except when we are late. Or when someone else gets to it first. Or when it's too full. Or when we know we'll feel sorry for anyone having to sit by us.

But we still try to sit in the same pew because sitting in a different pew feels weird. It changes the church-going experience somehow. It's the same Mass, but I can't help how it feels different just by sitting in a new spot.

While not official, we all have a seating chart at our churches and you can be thrown for a loop if someone dares to "sit in your spot."

So, are we creatures of habit or territorial creatures? That question was posed during my husband's psychology class in college. On the second day of class, the professor walked in and noted that everyone was sitting in the same seat as the first day -- without assigned seating.

It's not just at church. You are territorial when you park.

We might as well have designated parking spots everywhere we go because we park in the same spot, day in and day out.

At the Gazette, Roger Schmidt, who passed away a few months ago, always had the first spot by the building's back door. There wasn't a marker; there's wasn't a sign; he never threatened us. It was just Roger's spot and no one dared park there.

Of course, one excuse for parking in the same spot is so that you don't forget where you park. I've tried to unlock another person's van just because they parking in "my" spot.

You are territorial when you exercise.

The morning exercise class at the YMCA has 10 dedicated exercisers, who set up their steps in the same spot, do their kicks in the same spot, do their punches in the same spot during every class.

In the pool, we have our "designated lanes." Even if that person is not there yet, you don't take her lane. When a new person ventures into the pool, she accidentally takes "your lane" and you are forced to swim somewhere new.

You are territorial when you go to bed.

I don't remember this line during the wedding ceremony but it must have been in there somewhere: You, the bride, will sleep on the right side of the bed. You, as the groom, will sleep on the left side of the bed. For as long as you both shall live. Even if I accidentally fall asleep on my husband's side of the bed -- since it's closer to the door -- I have to move over to "my side" when he comes in. Of course, the sleeping arrangement goes out the window by morning when four children are factored into the equation.

Our habits do not just apply to our territory, but also the way we do things.

My husband always checks the door twice at night. Did he check it once and lock it? Yes. Does he remember checking and locking it? Yes. Does he still go down the hall and check it again? Yes.

You're likely reading this paper in the same spot at the same time every day.

I have my habits of how I read a paper, all for a specific reason:

Start with the advice and the comics; it's nice to start off with the light and fluffy stuff.

Move to the front page; you have to know why the world is going downhill.

Next to the sports page; let's see who's getting overpaid now.

And finally to the opinion page; just to see what everyone else thinks about the world going downhill.

When does the habit of a "designated spot" begin? As soon as a child can recognize something as his or her own.

That's why parents are advised to move a toddler out of her crib a few months before a new baby arrives, rather than waiting to make the switch the day the baby comes home.

The toddler has a claim to that crib, even if it has been passed through a half-dozen children. After all, it's the only bed they have known in their entire life.

Same goes for the dinner table. My children don't have a particular stool they use at the table, but they have a particular spot and will defend that spot with all the shrieking they can muster.

Where did they learn this? I'm sure it has nothing to do with the house rule: Don't sit in mommy or daddy's space.

-- Ronda Graff does everything the same way in the same order every day -- when her five children don't throw off the routine.