Our Little Helper

Liam likes work. He likes helping. I can't say whether this is part of his natural inclination or the influence of his Montessori schooling, but he likes to be a part of any interesting work that's going on.

When his Poppa and Daddy had to take off the banister on the downstairs stairway, he helped "hammer" the nail heads back in...using his red "silly monkey" swirly straw from the zoo. If there's something to be measured with a measuring tape, he wants to hold one end (or both). It wasn't so hard to have him be the little helper when it was me, Daddy, Grandma and Poppa Schultz, because there was an adult around to take him out of the way for dangerous or delicate tasks.

But yesterday Terry and I put the bannister up on the stairs to the second floor, and it was just the three of us. Liam, coming from the sweetest, most curious-george part of his brain, wanted to touch everything. That means wanting to use the stud-finder, wanting to swing the lazer-level around (eek! lazers! blindness!), and of course, it also means that in the delicate measure-and-mark phase of trying to get these stupid brackets aligned and the railing marked off, he wanted to help hold the railing. But being as he's a little guy, his version of holding was more disruptive than helpful, and the fourth or fifth time he accidentally pushed it off its markings or pushed a tool scattering down the floor, we got frustrated.

Its hard, I realize, trying to maintain your cool while you are attempting work that is truly challenging for your skill-set, with a kid who is repeatedly doing things that you, as an adult, find super aggravating, distracting, and sometimes detrimental. So we finally explained that this was daddy's work, and just like at school where you can't touch someone else's work without their permission, he couldn't touch daddy's work right now. So we said he could go down to his play room and color. He said "okay" and off he went.

I stood there trying to hold the 12 foot bannister up frozen in place while Terry marked, and I heard Liam toddle up next to me and he kept saying "shark! shark!" and so I said, "Oh fun, are you pretending to swim in the ocean and see a shark?" because lately he's been interested in pretending we are at the beach, and talking about dolphins. So I casually and slowly turn my head to smile at him and then my smile freezes on my face: he is holding an 8 inch vegetable clever in his hands, by the handle thank God. And I realize what he is really saying is "Sharp! Sharp!"

So I say something like "Holy S*** Terry!" and he leaps into action and gently takes the knife away and gives Liam a talk about not grabbing knives off the countertop.

And because he had four times proven himself incapable of watching without touching, and having him with access to the rest of the house is evidently a piss-poor parenting idea, we asked him to go to his room and play with his horses while we finished the delicate measure and market and drill work.

Later, he helps me hold down the bannister while daddy uses the hand saw and power sander to make the parallel cuts to the bannister. Liam wants to be able to touch and do anything his Daddy does.

That night for bed I offer him the choice of two shirts, so he can pick which one he wants to wear. I happen to pick out his yellow Curious George shirt, and his special "Grandpa's Junior Woodworker" shirt, which his Grandpa Schultz gave to him when they visited. He looks very seriously back and forth, back and forth. He points his index finger and wavers it back and forth, and then resolutely points to the woodworker shirt. "Poppa shirt. I poppa helper."

And my heart melts. And I feel horrible for ever sending him away from any of the work, for not being smart and clever enough to find a way to involve him in the work without it being overly detrimental to the progress of the project. But mostly I just love my little man and his helper spirit.