Closets and Crippling Depression

I truly never know what my kids are gonna come up with next.

This past week, we got out a bunch of minifigures (mostly LEGO but some were a knockoff from Amazon) and the kids went nuts. First, a bunch of them had to be put (back) together.

My problem child from last year, Louis, ignored my instructions about not taking them apart. Just that one link will tell you more about him than you'd ever want to know.
Ever.
Oh.
My.
God.

Actually Louis ignored my instructions about everything, but the whole minifigure thing was a real pain in the ass. I had them here at home for a long time, not wanting to deal with the inevitable crabbiness that will happen when they all want the same guy.

We put them all back together recently, making sure everyone had two hands and hair and legs.

Now there's a bin with about 100 little guys in it.  The second the first kid walks in after school, he asks breathlessly, "Can we get the LEGO guys out?"

I say yes, but that we have to wait until everyone is there so that we can choose one at a time. This response, which I use every single time, never fails to disappoint the child who has asked for the guys.

I have a little can with personalized popsicle sticks for those occasions when I need to draw names.

I can't think of a way to make it more fair than that.

The kids go rabid and feral if I just allow them to dive in.
Since the whole rabid/feral thing is something I try to avoid whenever possible, drawing names helps.

They don't like it, they want to be first. When you're a kid, especially one in school, you feel so powerless all the time. Having even a small amount of special treatment makes them feel really good. But I can't play favorites with the LEGO guys or anything else. I have to try to make them feel special in other ways.

So they take an interminable amount of time choosing just the right guys and the right tools. After they've done that, they go hang out on the big rug, building things with the pile of LEGO and role-playing.

I listen in when I can, but I have a lot of other stuff to do. Locate anyone who is expected but hasn't shown up. Getting snacks on the table, finding a special pen for Esme, answering requests for tracing paper, watercolor paper, card stock. Telling them they can go to the restroom. Or telling them that Amelia is in there now, so wait for a couple minutes.

I spend at least two minutes in conversation with every single child every afternoon, too. I ask them questions about what they're reading, how the new puppy is getting along, did you find the sweatshirt you were looking for in the lost and found. Just conversation about their lives and families. Taking time to make sure they know that I SEE them. That I recognize them as individuals.

It's probably the most important thing I do and doesn't show up on the position description of any job I've done with this organization or the shitbags I used to work for, MBCC, Inc.

(Morally Bankrupt ChildCare Inc.)

Okay, so now I'm gonna drag myself to the point here.

Friday's role playing involved all of the guys being part of a big family.
There was conversation about who would be the big brother, the middle brother, the youngest. Amelia, Kaysie, Kellie and Sophie wanted to play, too, so were arguing about who they were going to be.

There are always arguments and disagreements with the kids. This is normal child human behavior.  When they disagree but still make an effort to solve it on their own, I'm always proud of them. Unless it comes to blows (James, Hayden, Will) or someone's crying, I try to let them manage their own interactions. They'll never learn how to do that if a grownup intervenes every time they don't think the same way.

It sounded like things finally got sorted out, they all built little houses and cars and staked out their territory on the rug.

Amelia said to Colin, "Let's say that you're my little brother and, like, 20 years ago I put you in the closet because you were being naughty while I was babysitting for you. Then I forgot you were there. So you've been in the closet for 20 years. And then let's say that Sophie was visiting and went to hang up her coat and found you."

He responded with, "Great. I've been in the closet most of my life so now I have crippling depression. And it's all your fault."

The game went on awhile, and then Amelia pretended to make phone calls to the other LEGO guys. "Hey, can you come over tonight? We're going to have a party because my little brother came out of the closet!"

The responses varied, but everyone seemed to think a party was a great idea.

I was still reeling over the whole being in the closet thing and trying not to laugh.

You cannot make this stuff up.