the parking lot

Remember when you were a kid and you had that favorite little spot in your house or your yard that was perfect for playing in? You would store your toys or books there, maybe create little towns for your dolls, or just sit there and look at the world from your cozy little spot? Well lately, for our kids, their cozy little spot has been on the stairs, which is super convenient for me. I love stepping over toys every time I go up or downstairs. They have a playroom, they have a bedroom, but yet their favorite place to play is on the stairs. Since we live in a town home, halfway up the stairs turn, so there's almost a little landing where they, Alexis especially, love to play. They'll put blankets and chairs, dolls and dress-ups and a million other little things and play for hours.

But a few steps down from there, this has been set up for weeks:
I used to take them all upstairs at night after he was asleep, but first thing in the morning he'd bring them back down--so I gave up. These are all of Tyler's favorite trucks, trailers, cars, 4-wheelers (or 4-weers if you're Ty-guy), and they all have a specific spot on the stair. Neither of my kids have shown many obvious tendencies towards organization or order, but every now and then I'll notice Tyler lining up his toys, or having specific places for everything. He gets that from his dad, because while I appreciate order I definitely don't know how to achieve it. But these cars are part of the order he does have, and if I move any during the night he notices and asks why I dared to move one.

Yesterday while Alexis was playing at a friends, Tyler and I were sitting on the stairs, next to his parking lot, reading books. After we finished one he would head up the stairs, warn me that I better not touch his cars, and then get a new book. The first time I moved the motorcycle into the back of his truck, and put the firetruck next to the big blue truck. He found this slightly funny, but quickly put everything back into it's place, which only encouraged me. The second time he went upstairs, I made a few other small changes, but when he came back down it wasn't at all funny, and there may have been a stern reprimand given. The third time I sat there waiting for him, telling myself that I better not move any because I knew what the result would be. However, I couldn't resist. When he came back down the stairs this time, he looked at the cars first thing, dropped his book on the ground and cried. Really cried. Just because I moved some cars. Why am I so mean? I promised him I wouldn't do it anymore after that, but a few things came to mind after that experience.

1. The golden rule--Do unto others has you would have them do unto you.

2. Maybe that's why I have such a hard time getting my kids to listen to me!