Well, perhaps I should say "Housebuilding".
My little guy likes to build little houses inside our house. His preferred building material: throw pillows and cushions. Like an industrious beaver, he searches the house for pillows, carrying them back to his selected location with glee.
He usually chooses a space that is already somewhat enclosed, such as between two pieces of furniture along a wall. Then, he uses the pillows to fill in the gaps to make a front barrier, reminiscent of a retaining wall of sandbags set vertically. Sometimes he props the pillows up to make a roof or lays a blanket on top to create a tent effect.
Creating the space and being in the space are so enjoyable to him that he can play for long periods of time. Sometimes he is an animal in his den and he playacts various scenarios. It is so cute to overhear his chatter and to see his imagination at work.
Invariably, a pillow shifts or falls out of position. Or the roof caves in. He does his best to shore it up and sometimes has to ask for help with the repairs.
Many times, I have encouraged him to build his "houses" with other materials or in easier locations. I even pointed out the parallel between him building a house out of pillows and the efforts of the three little pigs. To my mind, pillow houses are much less durable than straw and stick houses - and we know how that worked out, the wolf was able to blow those houses down. When you walk by a pillow house or let's say breathe, there goes a pillow falling down. "Try this cardboard box," I urge him. But while he appreciates the location suggestions, he will not be swayed from using the pillows. "No thank you," he replies. "I like the pillows."
In fact, one day he noticed the throw pillows on the chairs in my reading room. My reading room is off-limits and I typically keep the door shut at all times, but as I was retrieving something he came in. He began to carry off my pillows without so much as a by-your-leave! [It would seem that his building and nesting instincts are as strong a bird's.] I gently stopped his pillaging and reminded him that this room and its contents were off-limits. His disappointment was papable. But as quick as a flit of wings, he was off to construct another homebuilding project with his usual array of pillow materials.
As I watch him build yet another cushiony dwelling, I reminded of how often other people put their energy toward to a project that we rationally know is not built on a secure foundation or with durable materials. And we shake our heads.
Years ago, during a charity mission to hurricane-affected Yucatan, I stayed at a clinic in a Mayan village where many of the Mayans lived in thatched huts and I learned about how they deal with the regularity of storms. A hurricane sweeps through and their thatched hut is either gone or the worse for wear, so they rebuild. However because of their culture and religious beliefs they cannot replace the palm tree leaves until after the fronds have been collected in a special way and laid out under the full moon. This causes a substantial delay in their home repair. They obviously have a good sense of honoring impermenance and acceptance of it.
For my son (and others), the process of construction is a joy. Constant renewal and design improvement are not seen as insurmountable challenges, but rather opportunities to explore. What do you choose?
My little guy likes to build little houses inside our house. His preferred building material: throw pillows and cushions. Like an industrious beaver, he searches the house for pillows, carrying them back to his selected location with glee.
He usually chooses a space that is already somewhat enclosed, such as between two pieces of furniture along a wall. Then, he uses the pillows to fill in the gaps to make a front barrier, reminiscent of a retaining wall of sandbags set vertically. Sometimes he props the pillows up to make a roof or lays a blanket on top to create a tent effect.
Creating the space and being in the space are so enjoyable to him that he can play for long periods of time. Sometimes he is an animal in his den and he playacts various scenarios. It is so cute to overhear his chatter and to see his imagination at work.
Invariably, a pillow shifts or falls out of position. Or the roof caves in. He does his best to shore it up and sometimes has to ask for help with the repairs.
Many times, I have encouraged him to build his "houses" with other materials or in easier locations. I even pointed out the parallel between him building a house out of pillows and the efforts of the three little pigs. To my mind, pillow houses are much less durable than straw and stick houses - and we know how that worked out, the wolf was able to blow those houses down. When you walk by a pillow house or let's say breathe, there goes a pillow falling down. "Try this cardboard box," I urge him. But while he appreciates the location suggestions, he will not be swayed from using the pillows. "No thank you," he replies. "I like the pillows."
In fact, one day he noticed the throw pillows on the chairs in my reading room. My reading room is off-limits and I typically keep the door shut at all times, but as I was retrieving something he came in. He began to carry off my pillows without so much as a by-your-leave! [It would seem that his building and nesting instincts are as strong a bird's.] I gently stopped his pillaging and reminded him that this room and its contents were off-limits. His disappointment was papable. But as quick as a flit of wings, he was off to construct another homebuilding project with his usual array of pillow materials.
As I watch him build yet another cushiony dwelling, I reminded of how often other people put their energy toward to a project that we rationally know is not built on a secure foundation or with durable materials. And we shake our heads.
Years ago, during a charity mission to hurricane-affected Yucatan, I stayed at a clinic in a Mayan village where many of the Mayans lived in thatched huts and I learned about how they deal with the regularity of storms. A hurricane sweeps through and their thatched hut is either gone or the worse for wear, so they rebuild. However because of their culture and religious beliefs they cannot replace the palm tree leaves until after the fronds have been collected in a special way and laid out under the full moon. This causes a substantial delay in their home repair. They obviously have a good sense of honoring impermenance and acceptance of it.
For my son (and others), the process of construction is a joy. Constant renewal and design improvement are not seen as insurmountable challenges, but rather opportunities to explore. What do you choose?
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