The traffic jam of doom guaranteed my getting home late Friday the 13th. So the kids were already asleep when I arrived at 9:06 p.m.
As I entered the house, I noticed our hand-me-down Clifford the Dog alphabet puzzle on the floor. Nothing unusual there. Just a few days ago, Seth announced he had built the entire puzzle himself. I was a bit taken aback at the time because up to now he’s always insisted on help.
As I looked for the mail, I noticed a wood fire-rescue scene puzzle laying on the kitchen table. After climbing the stairs, my puzzlement grew:
The Viking ship puzzle I brought back from Oslo last year was sailing across Seth’s bathroom floor. The foam floor mat puzzle Grandma bought covered half of Seth’s room. The train puzzle was chugging nearby. And the bulldozer puzzle was hopefully razing our home.
There was a small, tropical puzzle I didn’t recognize under Seth’s slide bed. In fact, I think the only puzzle not put together was the huge fire truck, probably because they ran out of floor space. But it had covered the floor before I went to work that morning.
I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised. I loved puzzles as a kid; at one point I was putting together 5,000-piece boat scenes on our cheap parquet floors in suburban Chicago. My mom even tried gluing some of them onto poster board, but they always seemed to list like the Titanic.
We first introduced Seth to puzzles before he was even 2-years-old. He quickly picked up on the easier puzzles and he didn’t get frustrated by the hard ones. He simply would say, “You do it.”
He still needs help on the tougher puzzles, but it’s clear something recently “clicked” in his head on how to piece them together. Maybe it’s the cold he’s coming down with. Either way, very cool.