Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
Thursday, March 19, 2009 Do the Collapse
Every once in a while, M. Edium just needs to chill.
We love that he gets excited about stuff, and how happy stuff makes him. But as much as we'll miss these days years from now when he's cultivating the studied contempt of a teenager (or, let's face it, a ten-year-old), sometimes it can be a bit much. And he just needs to chill.
Like last Friday, when Dave and Tara were here. As I believe I've mentioned, both Trash and M. Edium have Fridays off. Between the thawing weather and the "Mommy and M. Edium" day in progress and the friends from out of town that he hasn't seen without the aid of Flickr for the better part of a year, he was wound up tighter than a B-string tuned to E-sharp. He though he needed to be everywhere at once, doing all things at all times, and spouting every word in his vocabulary at top volume. In fact, he just needed to chill.
But since chilling was not happening on its own, we invited him to have some quiet time in his room. This was not a punishment or a time-out, mind you, because he wasn't actually doing anything wrong. He just needed a little quiet time, and he went along with our suggestion, possibly in part because he was probably getting a little tired of being told to chill every thirty seconds.
Another reason he was happy to be up there -- and, quite honestly, another factor adding to the level of his excitement -- was that some guys were trimming tree branches in our backyard, and the neighbors' backyard on both sides of us. When I delivered him into his room, I suggested he watch the guys to keep himself entertained. I wasn't actually expecting it to work, but to my surprise it did, and I went back down to rejoin the adult conversation.
About ten minutes later, we heard a crash that we wouldn't have needed the baby monitor to perceive, followed by that distinctive sound that's so like an old-time siren getting cranked up to speed. I dashed upstairs and found him sitting on the floor. Also on the floor was his tipped-over wastebasket, his wooden stepstool, and -- here's the weird part -- a rather large pile of old board books.
"I fell," he told me.
"No shit," I didn't say.
While scooping him up to comfort him, it took me a moment to reconstruct the accident in my head. Clearly he had put the stepstool on top of the wastebasket and climbed up on it to get a better view of the doings outside. But where had the books come from? The stepstool has a little drawer that had fallen out, but it's not big enough to hold more than a couple of those books. Besides, there was an empty space on one of his shelves.
"Did you stand on a stack of books?" I asked after he had calmed down and told me where it hurt.
"Yeah," he said.
Trash and I both told him that he should a) never stand on his wastebasket, b) never stand on anything else on his wastebasket, and c) especially never stand on a stack of books on top of his wastebasket.
He quickly set us straight. "I put the wastebasket on the books," he explained.
Sometimes, when we're watching him play with his blocks, we wonder if he's going to grow up to be a structural engineer. Maybe he will and maybe he won't, but either way he's got a bit more growing up to do before anyone entrusts life and/or limb to his creations.
I know. I should just chill. posted by M. Giant 9:11 PM 4 comments
Best guitar string analogy EVER.
I actually AM a structural engineer, and I still do stupid stuff like that at home.
"No shit," I didn't say.