Today, the make something instruction was to work as if I were a young child, using materials accessible to a little one, maybe even with the skills a youngster might have.
I thought of my son sitting in his high chair, pushing Cheerios around the tray. (He’s 15 now, so I haven’t taken in this scene for quite some time. But I remember it well.) He was always so intent on those crunchy little circles. First, trying with all his might to pinch just one and maneuver it to his mouth. Then, as he got older, lining them up, arranging them in patterns, counting them, and—ultimately—learning to stack them.
This little boy who was constantly on the go—always running, kicking, jumping, rolling, climbing—could focus all his energy and concentration on those Cheerios. Incredibly steady and remarkably patient, he built Cheerio towers taller than I could. Each time a stack grew higher, I marveled at his progress … but softly, so as not to disturb his architecture. A quiet “ooooo” was admiration enough.