May 3, 2012 by Marj Hatzell
Bug Boy is our little policeman. In other words, he knows the rules and he’s gonna enforce them no matter what. At school this can sometimes make him less-than-popular because after a while the other kids grow tired of, “SHE SAID PUT THE PENCILS IN THE PENCIL CAN. YOU STILL HAVE YOUR PENCIL! IT’S AGAINST THE RULES! AAAAAH!” and then his head blows up and it makes a big mess and no one likes brains on them, right? Except zombies.
Anywho, he’s the same way at home. We get chastised for our language use and if we bend the rules we certainly hear about it. Now, you might think HE follows the rules to the letter. Well, he does. Sorta. The rules that make sense in HIS head. And if there’s a rule he doesn’t care for he finds a loophole. Seriously, this kid is the LOOPHOLE MASTER. I’ve never seen someone so adept.
We had a dental checkup for him this week and he’s pretty good about taking care of his teeth. Fortunately he inherited his father’s perfectly straight teeth and it looks like he won’t need braces EVER. Seriously, I’ve never seen straighter ones. They’re perfect and wonderful. At the end of the appointment the hygienist said, “He should avoid anything sticky or sweet until tomorrow but he can eat right away.” Since we were in the usual mad rush to get there (EIGHT IN THE MORNING? WHAT WAS I THINKING?) we had to get breakfast on his way to school. We stopped at the local convenience place and he grabbed a hashbrown. I was all, “Want a drink? Want a yoohoo? Special treat!” Because I wanted a yoohoo and the only way I can get one without looking like a large child is to get one for my kid and stuff.
But he refused.
A kid. Refused sugar. And chocolate. And total crap in a bottle.
So I pressed on. “C’mon, yoohoo! Special treat!” And he said, “MOM. Didn’t you hear her? Nothing sweet or sticky until tomorrow. THAT WOULD BE AGAINST THE RULES.”
I swear he’s more and more like my father and brother every day.
Then last night we were preparing for his big school trip to the Wetlands Institute today. I helped him pack his bag and we figured out lunch and whatnot. Glancing at the list I noticed they were permitted to bring five dollars to the trip for the gift shop. So I told him to grab his wallet and get a five dollar bill if he wanted to have some spending money.
What followed was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. He COULD NOT POSSIBLY bring a five dollar bill! The old ladies in the gift shop are too busy! There aren’t enough cashiers! They won’t make change! He’ll be the ONLY KID without five ones! AND IT HAD TO BE FIVE ONES! Not five dollars in quarters! THE TEACHER SAID FIIIIIVE OOOOONNNNEEES! I WILL GET IN TROUBLE! WAAAAAAAAH!
Oh my heck. For realz.
His mother is a big meany head and was all, “IF THE TEACHER WANTS FIVE ONES SHE CAN GO OUT AT 9 IN THE POURING RAIN AND GET FIVE ONES. I AIN’T GOING OUT.”
And his father was the nice guy and exchanged five ones for a five and instantly the waterworks stopped and he put it in his wallet and into his backpack.
Sometimes OCD is fun. Like when I say, “We have ten minutes until we have to leave! Finish quickly” And in nine minutes I say, “Ok! Time to go! It’s 8am!” And he’s all, “I STILL HAVE ONE MINUTE. IT IS SEVEN FIFTY-NINE.” Or if I say, “Give the dogs each a cup and a half” and if I scoop out an eighth over that he’s all, “MOOOOM. THAT’S FIVE EIGHTHS! TOO MUCH! WAAAAAH!”
And people wonder why I get stressed out.