These days I have the impression of constantly running in the trail of a mini tornado. Wherever I look I spot the debris: a mixture of books, toys, sardine tins, plastic boxes, cardboard boxes, kitchen towels, more toys and more books – all scattered on the floor in most picturesque ways. This boy is a force of nature – and a destructive one. He’d just pull at anything within his reach, maybe study it for a moment and then continue his route in search of another object of interest. Leaving the one he’s just examined on the floor.
I’m teaching him to put things away: pick up all his building blocks and put them into the storage bag (thanks God it has a zip lock or we’d be drowning in maxi LEGOs!), put the books back on the shelf… Luckily, he thinks it’s a new game and participates eagerly – only to eviscerate the next box or drawer half a minute later.
But sometimes I’d catch him putting his wooden letters or smaller toys into a box (usually not the one they are stored in): he’d pick them up one by one and drop them into the container of his choice, lips pursed up as if to give a kiss, cheeks puffed, an expression of curiosity and amazement written all over his face. My son is exploring the world by staging his own scientific experiments and our apartment is his research lab and his testing ground. (Hm, have we watched too much of the Mythbusters or is it innate?)
In moments like this the desire to squeeze him in my arms and kiss those puffy cheeks until they’re glowing red is almost irresistible but I try to hold back. Let him play. His business is of the highest importance: piece by piece, he is taming the world around him, making it his own!