Somehow I, the gypsy, have raised a Rule Guy. I mean, I’m a fairly legal eagle, what with the speed limit and other stuff that might get me arrested, and I show up on time when I make a commitment, but I’m preeety casual about schedules and specific plans.
Enter Toby. He likes to have a plan for his life. He has figured out iCal, and he opens it, scrolls through months, and tries to type in plans, with every letter dictated by me. You know how long it takes to dictate, “Toby and Brynn Gymnastics Class” letter by letter? I’ll tell you. Too long. And he never forgets.
My mom and he have hit a bargain, where she writes meals and mealtimes on the board, and he passes by multiple times a day, reassuring himself that there will, in fact, be a peanut butter sandwich and fritos at 12:00. If we are late, he can handle it, no breakdowns or anything… just endless questions about the change in plans, and what we’re going to do to get back on track.
So he and Mama have got it going on. Even Brynn is using the bathroom on a strict schedule, which is working, hallelujah.
Here’s the thing. When my mom goes home in April, I will be left with a manager. He is CRAZY about all this routine and order around here. He gets to play with my laptop while I take a shower, so now he’s showing up at 8:30, wanting to know WHEN I’m planning on showering. No, exactly what minute, because in a little while is not cutting it.
I just… I have to figure out how to use this to my advantage, because it is probably an excellent life skill. Like, maybe I’ll never have to set a timer again, because he’ll tell me how many minutes we have left, once a minute. So… that’s uh, kind of a perk.
Maybe she can teach him to cook.