It's a gorgeous day and I want to stretch my legs and clear my head in the fresh air.
And my son has a new hobby. Just in time for spring.
He has traded his little blue snow shovel for a couple of sticks and twigs. With his sticks, he scrapes at the ground, bangs on the porch posts and fence railings, and pokes at the melting snow piles. He LOVES playing with sticks!
It turns out that sticks are almost everywhere. And the places you can't find sticks naturally, my son imports them. Despite my attempts to the contrary, sticks (and twigs) can now be found in the living room, the car, the grocery store, and my shoes. "Sticks go outside," I say repeatedly. On a weekly basis, I'm removing a sufficient number of sticks from our dwelling and vehicle, enough to make a small campfire.
When we head out the door, he goes right for the sticks and then over to the fast-disappearing snow mound to make patterns in the snow. And due to his new found obsession with sticks, my daily walk is virtually a thing of a past.
So I am forced to find a balance between patience and impatience, a harmony between allowing and accomplishing, a peace ... oh, who am I kidding? It's driving me nuts!
Just when I'm itching to really get a good walk in, he finds a stick and proceeds to stand there playing with sticks (for hours, if I let him). Ugh, ugh, ugh.
Transitions with a toddler strikes again!
But how do I know if what I'm giving him is enough? And by "enough", I mean understanding, compassion, and playtime with sticks.
I try to stand where he stands.
From his point of view, he gets imprisoned in a stroller for the duration of Mommy's walk. Plus the urge to play with sticks is strong and almost undeniable.
After all, playing with sticks seems to be an activity loved by most children, especially boys. [I have a theory that this fascination with sticks is leftover from cave man days when men carried big sticks in order to protect themselves from attack (possibly from a saber tooth tiger). And my little cave boy and other little cave boys are living from that particular genetic memory.]
From my point of view, I n-e-e-d a walk. Emphasis on the need.
So I make sure he has snacks, water, and attention. Plus, we take turns pointing out fun stuff like dogs and cats and the occasional squirrel. And we usually make a stop at the playground and park (where there are plenty of sticks). And he gets other opportunities during the day to play with sticks.
So (just like all relationships) we work to find a compromise and soothe the caveboy and his mommy. *smile* And most days, we are finding fun with sticks.
And my son has a new hobby. Just in time for spring.
He has traded his little blue snow shovel for a couple of sticks and twigs. With his sticks, he scrapes at the ground, bangs on the porch posts and fence railings, and pokes at the melting snow piles. He LOVES playing with sticks!
It turns out that sticks are almost everywhere. And the places you can't find sticks naturally, my son imports them. Despite my attempts to the contrary, sticks (and twigs) can now be found in the living room, the car, the grocery store, and my shoes. "Sticks go outside," I say repeatedly. On a weekly basis, I'm removing a sufficient number of sticks from our dwelling and vehicle, enough to make a small campfire.
When we head out the door, he goes right for the sticks and then over to the fast-disappearing snow mound to make patterns in the snow. And due to his new found obsession with sticks, my daily walk is virtually a thing of a past.
So I am forced to find a balance between patience and impatience, a harmony between allowing and accomplishing, a peace ... oh, who am I kidding? It's driving me nuts!
Just when I'm itching to really get a good walk in, he finds a stick and proceeds to stand there playing with sticks (for hours, if I let him). Ugh, ugh, ugh.
Transitions with a toddler strikes again!
But how do I know if what I'm giving him is enough? And by "enough", I mean understanding, compassion, and playtime with sticks.
I try to stand where he stands.
From his point of view, he gets imprisoned in a stroller for the duration of Mommy's walk. Plus the urge to play with sticks is strong and almost undeniable.
After all, playing with sticks seems to be an activity loved by most children, especially boys. [I have a theory that this fascination with sticks is leftover from cave man days when men carried big sticks in order to protect themselves from attack (possibly from a saber tooth tiger). And my little cave boy and other little cave boys are living from that particular genetic memory.]
From my point of view, I n-e-e-d a walk. Emphasis on the need.
So I make sure he has snacks, water, and attention. Plus, we take turns pointing out fun stuff like dogs and cats and the occasional squirrel. And we usually make a stop at the playground and park (where there are plenty of sticks). And he gets other opportunities during the day to play with sticks.
So (just like all relationships) we work to find a compromise and soothe the caveboy and his mommy. *smile* And most days, we are finding fun with sticks.
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