Overwhelm

Another post I wrote way back in 2008 and never posted...found it today and it still rings true. And while they still., 14 months later tear apart the couch with remarkable speed, they have gotten quite good at putting it back together.
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One of my son's favorite things to do is tear apart the couch. Between both boys, total destruction can happen, to my great dismay, in less than one minute. Seeing the large, plush object as a mini indoor jungle-gym, they toss the cushions onto the floor, hop excitedly from side to side, hide under haphazardly placed pillows, and squeal as they topple from back to front to cushions on floor.

Why I ever let them start this is a story left for another day, but this couch, it draws them. Though I have since asked them to start using it for it's intended purpose, often if I am off making dinner or step upstairs to put away laundry, upon my return I will find a livingroom filled with cushions and squealing boys.

But what I realized this morning was how typical that three year old response is. I often find myself telling him things that, sheepishly, I notice, I should be heeding as well.

Like so many other mornings, I had just lain David down for a nap. When I came downstairs, Ryan was laying on the floor in front of the couch, his right foot sneaking under the cushion. I peered at him, and then slowly shook my head. "No, honey, we aren't going to play on the couch this morning."

"What?" He asked, his entire leg now under the cushion.

"No. Just no." And then, fatal mistake, I went to get a cup of coffee.

Left to his own devises, my son nicely replaced the cusion, smoothed out the lump he had made with his foot, and sat down to quietly look at a book.

Ok, that's not what really happened. That's what I wish would have happened. No, as soon as I was out of sight, half the couch cushions quickly piled on the floor, and upon my return I found son, upside down on the back of the couch "Lookit ME mom! I'm falling!"

Ahem.

My point to this story was his response on picking up the cushions.

"Put them back, right now."

"I can't! I don't know how. You help me."

"You took them apart, you put them back."

He looked at the looming pile of cushions, too large to lift and place easily, and was suddenly daunted with the task. What came down so effortlessly was not repaired with the same ease. But, faced with further correction he decided to try.

Grabbing the cusion at the very bottom of the pile, he strained and pulled, cringing with frustration. "I just can't!"

"Just take one off the top, work slowly, bit by bit. You'll get there eventually."

And immediately my own list popped in my head.

Then, more comic irony followed. Instead of following my sage advice (of course, I was shocked that he didn't, at three, internalize something that I, at 26, have a hard time following), he flopped in a heap on top of the pile of cusions.

Inaction.

Overwhelm's favorite friend.

Eventually he tries and is more resilient, placing the cushions back somewhat normally on the couch. I am tired of the constant pull-down, pick-up, so I get picky.

"Well, you're almost there. That bottom one needs to be fixed." I say, pointing to a cushion jutting out perpindicular from the couch.

He looks at me plaintively "Mom, could you give me a handle of this?"

And I have to admit, I'm easily swayed when he pulls out grown-up phrases, and can't help but go and lend a hand. Together, we place, poke, mush the couch back in place..

And flashes of our farm, our home, our kids run through my mind.

Teamwork.

Overwhelm's worst enemy.