This boy of mine, he is a planner.
It is a characteristic of Bubba’s that has really, um, blossomed in the last year with his new-found literacy, but the truth is he has always been a planner. He always must know what is going on, when it is happening, and what will be involved. When he was little, before he had much of a sense of time, we had to be so careful what we told him because he would think we were doing it right now and would be so upset that we weren’t.
Now, he knows his days of the week and how to tell time and let me tell you he knows exactly what is on the agenda for each day. Surprises, he does not like so much. He needs to have a plan. And if you tell him that next Thursday you are having your appendix out, you had darn well better get your appendix out because he will have your get well card ready for you on Wednesday afternoon and you will totally throw off his plan if you end up having your appendix out on Tuesday instead.
Bubs is an early riser, but the rule is that other than a potty trip he has to stay in his room till we get him up. Sometimes he reads while he waits for us crazy late-sleeping people to roll out of bed around, you know, 7:30. But sometimes he plans. And his plans, they are intricate and they are thought out and there is no telling him why they won’t work. Remember the grass snowman?
Poor Bubba’s biggest naysayers are his family. He likes to make detailed plans for his brother to follow, only to discover that Stinky is not really all that keen on getting the life bossed out of him. And as his mother, I have often been forced to shoot his ideas down. Because no matter how much he thought it out, no matter how much planning he did, no way were we going to allow him to take enough formula cans and wooden spoons to Grandma’s house to outfit all the grandkids with drums for a big parade.
The noise. Oh my word, can you imagine the noise?
Last Thursday was a big day of packing with a side of hot date on the side. Translation: Mommy had a lot of cleaning and preparing and cooking and laundry and filling of suitcases to do. So you can imagine my delight when Bubs greeted me first thing in the morning with a tale of some epic plan that was top secret and we couldn’t know about. He talked about it without actually saying anything (it was, after all, a secret, and he is, after all, my child) while he got dressed, while he made his bed, while he carried his laundry down ot the laundry room, and while he ate his oatmeal. That was when I rained on his parade.
“Is this going to make a big mess?”
“Your big plan. If it’s going to make a big mess you can’t do it today because the house has to be clean for your babysitter tonight.”
“Oh. Can I do it tomorrow?”
“No, tomorrow we’re going to Grandma and Grandpa’s. You’ll have to wait till after our trip.”
The wheels in his head were turning. Because babysitter + grandparents = very fun few days ahead. But his PLAN!!! What if he forgot it?
In the end, he came up with a new plan. He would write down his plan and then he would know exactly what to do after the weekend away.
Behold, the plan:
I know this might be hard to read, especially if you don’t normally read six-year-old, so I provide a transcript, only without all the backwards numbers and letters:
1. I Will make a gun.
2. put Lego’s on the ground.
3. put some blakit’s on the Lego’s.
4. put paper on the blakits.
5. Hag (hang) a string.
6. I will make stars (stairs) with puzzle box’s and box’s.
7. mom DaD [Stinky] will run into the String.
8. you will trip [Stinky] mom and Dad you will brak the string and fall on a bunch of Lego’s or you will run into the string and fall bakwrds and bonk your head on Lego’s.
9. I will ru down the stars that I made.
10. I will bout (bounce) of the thinking char’s (chairs).
11. Well Im flying through the are I wiLL Shoot my toy Gun the Bomb will hit You.
First, can I just say bwuahahahahahahahahaha? I crack up every time I read this.
Second, I don’t know who introduced my six-year-old to the apostrophe, but the English teacher in me dies a little inside every time I read the word Lego’s.
Third, this plan never has been put into action because my son couldn’t figure out how to make a gun and bombs (aka bullets) out of paper, which was his original intent.
Fourth, bahahahahahahaha, okay, sorry.
Fifth, heaven help the world. I can only imagine what his plans will be like twenty years from now.
And finally, if I ever do fall down and bonk my head on Legos and get shot by a paper-gun wielding six-year-old who happens to be flying through the air at the time, I will be sure to let you know.
I’ll even try to take pictures.
Because I care.