Build with Me

My boy loves blocks. 

And he's a good little builder. 

  

But he doesn't really like to build by himself. 

Few days pass without him calling me to the bedroom.

"Mom!  Mom!  Build with me!  Come on, Mom!  Build with me!!"   

  

 His call isn't usually demanding.

It's usually bouncing, bubbling with enthusiasm.  "Mom!!  Mom!!  Build with me!  Come on, Mom!" 

Sometimes I resist the invitation.  But I'm always happier when I comply. 
And as it turns out, my role is hardly taxing.  I am to sit and observe and offer occasional suggestions.

If I meddle too much in the actual building process, I am told in patient, sing-song exasperation, "Nope, it doesn't go there."

He knows where it goes, see.  So I mostly just watch. (And take pictures.)  But a few days ago, I overheard Spencer congratulate Lucy on some task with the excited exclamation, "Oh, my goodness!  Oh, my goodness!  I am so proud to you!"  and I was reminded of my real role in block building process.  And a different voice seemed to utter the invitation, "Build with me." 

Spencer woke up late the other morning and asked, "Where's dada?" 
"He's workin' on the houses,"  I told him.
"Oh.  And you's workin' on da childrans?"   

I think a lot about his question as I try daily to become, in a myriad of mothering ways, a better builder.