Building blocks of contentment

Yesterday, while I was cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, Lester and Cary were reading on the couch in the living room, and Clair was screaming to be picked up.

When the screaming got to be just too much, I decided to put off the kitchen-cleaning and just sit with Clair in the living room until bath time. We were only about 20 minutes away from bath time, and if it made her happy, then the dishes could wait.

So I sat in a chair and snuggled and kissed and played with her, while Cary was happy as can be listening to Lester read "Click Clack Moo."

At some point it dawned on me that Dean was incessantly doing things he shouldn't: throwing toys across the room, disappearing into the kitchen quietly only for me to yell at him to come back in the living room where I could see him, taking things out of my purse -- just generally being mischievous. My patience with him was growing thin, and with every stern word from me, his mood got more and more sour and testy. I was this close from sending him to time-out, when I realized: He wasn't the problem.

So I said, "Hey Dean, why don't you and I do something together?"

The change in his mood was immediate, folks. I mean lightning quick. "OK!" he fairly shouted, as he scanned the room with happy eyes. "How 'bout we ummm....how 'bout we play Legos?!"

Thankfully, Clair was compliant when I put her down on the floor. She happily went over to Lester and Cary, saying "Kik kak MOOOO!"

And I sat on the floor and built castles and houses and tall towers with my boy. 

Dean's love language is Legos.

I showed him how, if you run out of rectangular pieces, you can use two squares to make a rectangle. He showed me how to make a tractor trailer, using a Lego piece that has wheels as the base. When my tall tower was two blocks shorter than his, Dean very sweetly handed me two of his blocks. He was happy as a clam.

Eventually Cary joined us, and Lester went upstairs to run the bathwater. Clair came and sat on my lap, so I had to build my towers around her. But it was fine. Even if only for 15 minutes or so, we had managed to meet everyone's needs -- and the rest of the night was a breeze, without meltdowns or defiance or excessive insanity. (For once!)

God, help me to remember that sometimes  -- not always, but many times -- the best way to correct a child who is heading down the fast lane to Nuisanceville isn't to correct him at all. Instead, the answer might be to correct myself.