I Live With…2. Monk

Youngest Son is most like me, his awesome mamacita, in his relentless quest for and actual proximity to PERFECTION. But he is also quite like that lovable obsessive compulsive TV detective Monk. Life often stresses him out, and you can sometimes see this stress in his demeanor. He becomes agitated at this less-than-perfect world, and his movements become animated. He shakes his head and purses his lips. On the soccer field, he would clutch a hunk of his hair on the top of his head in frustration. We would know he wasn’t happy with the way the game was progressing when we saw this, but it wasn’t usually because of any shortcoming on his part. He was voted the team’s Best Defensive Player, and even his opponents would comment on his speed and strength.

He thrives on neatness and orderliness. Way back in first or second grade, he drew a picture of something that made him happy. He drew a picture of our formal living room, and the teacher had written his caption of “Our Living Room, Quiet and Clean.” It was the room in our house that was least used, and therefore, not cluttered. Although he will complain loudest and connive the most to get out of doing household chores, his own space is kept impeccable. Every week, without ever being told, he would dust every inch of his room, straighten and vacuum. He would even extend the vacuuming out a few inches into the hall right outside of his room. And all the vacuum lines had to be running the same way. He religiously made his bed every day, and if anyone so much as put a finger on his bed, he would know by the “wrinkles.” And he would flip out at them. But even then, he would never open the mini blinds to let in the sunlight. If there were any wrinkles on that bed, he wanted them shrouded in darkness.

His closet is a work of art. Neatly labeled boxes contain all the memorabilia of his busy life. His hundreds of T-shirts (he never can have enough) are grouped by color. One end starts with all the white shirts while the other ends with all the black shirts with every color in between grouped from lightest to darkest. This trait of his finally convinced me to incur his wrath and just set down the clean laundry on each boy’s bed instead of putting everyone’s clothes away; I just didn’t have the time to squeeze each shirt into it’s own color-coordinated spot.

If Youngest Son does have mild OCD, it’s the good kind. Although I worry about his health due to the stress he places on himself, he is a breeze to raise. He constantly observes his surroundings, and so instinctively knows how to handle just about any situation. He gets along with all types of people, and never gets into trouble. I never had to nag him to do his homework even once in his life; in fact, if anything, I tried to convince him to chill and take a break sometimes. He’s quite upset that this semester he may have gotten an A- in one of his classes which may have brought his perfect 4.0 average down to a 3.98. The thing that bugs him the most is it was one of those classes that he had minimal control over; a subjective writing type class instead of the math or science class that he knows he can control by having the “right” answer.

My Monk will be successful at anything he does. He wants to be a doctor or a dentist. He should be a busy one. Most people, when it comes to having their body parts worked on, would want an obsessively compulsive perfectionist in charge. Like my Youngest Son.

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2 Responses to “I Live With…2. Monk”


  1. 1 Chris May 16, 2008 at 7:29 am

    Oh my… I’m afraid of what you’ll come up with when you get to me =P

  2. 2 mamaneeds2rant May 16, 2008 at 9:32 am

    Mwahaha-the pen is mightier than the sword 🙂


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