Can I Help You Do That?

Sam had another first this week: he climbed into his car seat and buckled his own seat belt. He was pretty proud of his achievement, showing off the new big boy skill to me when he and Daddy returned from a grocery run. Today, however, he's not capable of repeating that independent feat. Today he's pretty sure he needs to be carried to the car, lifted into his seat, and buckled up. Today he's not "such a big boy"; he's "too little."

This is the way Sam's growing up has been going lately. When the mood strikes him, he suddenly can't fasten his shoes, put away his coat, pour his own milk, or tidy up his room. He's not being obstinate. He's just being little. And maybe a little bit tired. So I usually humour him rather than offer coaxing reminders that he was fully capable of dressing himself for school yesterday. He'll take his strides when he's ready. Or at least that's what I tell myself.

It's quite possible I also humour his backslides because, frankly, it's quicker. Undies-pants-shirt-sock-sock-jacket-shoe-shoe: let's hit the road. Standing patiently in the entranceway repeating "you've allllllmost got it!" while Sam fights a stubborn zipper is sometimes the longest 5 minutes of my life. Ditto allowing him to bring blue box items to the curb. One at a time. It's also cleaner to do things my way. The day Sam decided he was ready to move from spectator to baker's apprentice and insisted on measuring flour, breaking eggs, and taking the controls of the electric mixer was the day that Chocolate Fudge Cookie Bites ate my kitchen. Finally, "I can't do it Sam" is less likely to step around the corner as I dial open the garden hose for the very first watering of the season and ask "Can I help you do that?" - a common refrain when I'm taking care of chores. "Of course, yes--thanks for offering to help, bunny"... (and then, with my inside voice: "but watering is my favourite!").

Look at him, though: he's beautiful dousing the flower garden in his bare feet. I couldn't draw his attention towards the camera when I took the photo, so fixated was he on the new task at hand. He spent a few minutes experimenting with water pressure, adjusting the arc of the stream, moving slowly down the long border, all the while asking "is this right? am I doing a good job?" Ya, you're doing a great job, Sam.

And it's my job, I know, to support these forays into independence whenever I can. To let him to go to school with his shirt on backwards, to drop crunchy slivers of eggshell into the cookie batter, to drown a few square feet of sprouting ground cover. It takes up time. It makes a mess. It intrudes into small corners of my life I didn't expect my little boy to go. But for all the eye-rolling tiny frustrations of things like watching him brush his teeth for 5 minutes and miss every single tooth, these moments of progress really do make me happy when I slow down for a second look.