In recent months, it’s gotten easier to do my own projects around the house while alone with Miles. He’s grown more interested in mimicking what I’m doing. When I vacuum, he proudly retrieves his toy vacuum and follows me from room to room, even making sure to get under the bed.
The other day, after spending a half hour crawling around on my knees with a three-year-old and his trains, I decided it was time to “work together” in the attic.
Our attic office was supposed to remain a space apart from the house. A peaceful place where Travis or I can retire to forget about other household or kid-o concerns. But of course it has gradually attracted clutter: the baby gear we might one day need again, stacks of files, magazine clippings, empty picture frames, and potential images for the still-very-bare walls of our house. My goal for the day was to find something worthy of hanging on the wall of our newly painted bathroom.
With Miles relatively content to crash cars off a chair next to me, I started at the top of the pile with two copies of Parent‘s magazines from 1944, retrieved from grandma’s house before she moved. I found an ad that promoted eating candy because sugar builds strength.
I found these only after being interrupted about 10 times by requests to play bowling, get a snack, and find a play tool kit. It was also necessary to put an end to crashing that was getting out of hand. I tell myself there is some benefit, which I’ll one day reap, to learning how to get things done with such fractured attention. I’m sure it has changed the structure of my brain. It really is a different way of being.
I kept at the task, following my non-linear path (flip to page 12 of the magazine, pull out something new for Miles to do, run downstairs to get him a drink, back up to the attic and now on page 13). In the end I decided to use clips for the wall from another domestic 1940s magazine. A double-page spread of sewing instructions (below) seemed simpler, less burdened by irony, and they fit the frame better anyway. To get it framed and on the wall, I had to navigate a new obstacle course full of booby traps. With fractured consciousness comes a great deal of absentmindedness. I think I had to return to the basement four times to retrieve the right nails and picture hanger. Then when Miles saw me return with a hammer, he got out his own little hammer and insisted he be allowed to pound nails too. Grabbing ensued. I pushed away the recurring temptation to plant him in front of a video.
At school, they have “work” involving hammers, small nails, and peg boards. He loves this kind of thing lately. His teacher tells me it’s because he’s in the sensitive period for fine motor skills. So despite wanting to plow through and finally finish what had seemed, at the outset, like a simple task of framing a picture and hanging it, I decided to return to the basement in search of a piece of wood. I would let him put some nails into it.
At first I didn’t allow him to touch my hammer by himself so he, very resourcefully, got his own wooden play hammer. I figured it wouldn’t be strong enough to get the nail in, but he persevered. It was beautiful to watch him fall so deeply into the act of mastering the nail and the hammer.
He got the nail all the way into the wood, and he beamed. His dexterity surprised me, so I handed over the big hammer, wondering if we’d be visiting the hospital for a crushed thumb. He stepped up again, with care and concentration. A few crooked nails but no catastrophe. The only thing distracting him was me taking pictures, which does seem obnoxious. So I put away the camera.
About 90 minutes after starting, I hung the new picture while playing defense against Miles’ desire to hammer nails into the newly painted wall with me.
Then it was time to start dinner.