They get it from their father.
Because God knows, I'm far from anal. Things don't have to be perfect in my book. I don't mind a little clutter, my clothes are never perfectly ironed, and my bed is rarely made. Ok, so it is only made when the cleaning ladies come because they do it, details, details. But yes, I live in a little clutter. I certainly wouldn't be friends with Bree. Well, I would because I've love to go to her house, rub myself all over her impeccably organized house and hope some of it would come off on me, but I'm afraid that she wouldn't want to come to mine.
But LushMan is just plain anal. "Everything in its place and a place for everything" is something he says often around here. Good thing I don't take him seriously. We only need one uptight adult in this house.
My poor innocent babies though. They've been infected. TheOldest and TheMiddleChild have gotten the anal gene. The first sign was when they lined up all their Little People train pieces at almost 28 months and 14 months. Notice all the people and animals are facing the same direction.
This brings me to Wednesday. It was the first day of TheMiddleChild's speech therapy. The therapist said that part of her problem is that she's a perfectionist. If she can't say something the right way, she gets frustrated and doesn't try. She does not like to make mistakes.
It's all LushMan's fault.