Thursday, January 22, 2015

Step 1, cut a hole in a box...

Ryan has a favorite box. It's a huge cardboard wardrobe box that has been taking up real estate in my living room for months.
He's been known to sit in this box for an hour at a time - he will climb into the box with a flashlight or lantern and an assortment of toys, instruct me to close the top and cover it with a blanket, and he's all set for the afternoon. Occasionally he'll request a sandwich or juice be delivered to the box; I have to remember to drape the blanket over the top of the box again before I leave him to, well, whatever it is he does in there.

Four days ago, Ryan sequestered all his bedtime friends - a variety of plush bears and moose and his beloved White Blanket - in the box. He insisted they were to spend the night in the box. Ok, we thought, maybe he's working through the idea of growing up and he wants to test himself to see if he can sleep without his bed full of stuffed animals.

The next day, he added most of his favorite toys to the box. Small items, like his robot letters, were poked in through an oval handle cut-out, and larger things, like his dinosaurs, got dropped in from the top.

Yesterday, Ryan added a seemingly random collection of things to the party in the box; I was able to convince him not to put my phone in there, and after 18 hours I convinced him to free my boxing hand wrap.

Before school this morning, he pulled the two largest stuffed animals from the box and placed them on the stairs.

I've asked Ryan what's up with the box, but I don't understand his non-answers. I want to assign this activity meaning, but he might just be working on filling the box.


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