My son loves to pack away. One of the ladies at his child minding surmised that he knows he gets to see me again shortly after pack away time, so he’s doing everything he can to make that happen as soon as possible. I like that lady. I’m not sure she is right though.
He does like packing away, he even has a pack away song that he likes to sing. “Pack away, pack away.”. It’s pretty self explanatory really.
I’ll say, “I’s time to pack away” and my cheerful little dwarf will break into song and get cracking on his packing. All the blocks, every single one, even the ones hiding under the couch will get put back into the box. Every last bit of playdoh stuff, even the crazy little ones get packed into their box. I sigh a huge sigh of relief, I was expecting a fight or at least a bit of a struggle. Then the lids are securely fastened onto the boxes. Done, I sit back on my haunches ready to be pleased at a job well done and probably a little bit smug too.
A job well done? Oh is it? Just before I can pick the box up off the floor to put it away a sequence of events unfolds so quickly it would make a super hero proud. WHAMMO! The lid is off the box and it with the entire contents of the box hit the floor after being unceremoniously tipped up and out over the so recently cleared floor. The tightly coiled boy spring of mayhem is spinning around and around in the middle of the disaster area causing things to be shimmied and shied all over the room, just to make sure that the clean up job will require a team of grown women and not one small toddler.
This time when I ask him to pack away he has mysteriously gone deaf. “I see your lips moving mother”, his eyes tell me, “I understand that you wish to communicate with me but I’m not yet 2 and I’m currently wilfully deaf.”.
I can coax, I can plead, I can bribe, I can beg. Each option nets me about 1 piece repacked. I start to doubt his capabilities. Innocent bystanders have arrived at this point in proceedings before and chastised me for my unreasonable expectations of my obviously too young for this sort of responsibility child. “But, but.”, I start to try and explain. There is no point. I just start packing away again by myself. Knowledgeable people with degrees in this sort of thing tell me it helps a child to see you doing what you want them to do so they can join in and help so it isn’t as daunting for them. Whatever.
But wait. This is the new game now, everything I put into the box he attempts to take out. It starts out as tug-of-war but quickly escalates into more. We wrestle. I win. I pick my opponents well, so what, I win. “NO pack away!”, he insists. Well you’ve changed your tune young man.