My almost 4 year old son has many recurring obsessions: Buzz Lightyear, Cars, trains, and torturing his sister.
Lately, another old favorite has surged to the surface: The Architect.
The Architect first made his appearance when Lil Diva was learning to crawl. The Tackler would wait for me to set her on the floor, then form a wall of toys around her so she could play with them. It was adorable and cute until Lil Diva became pissed off because he wouldn’t let her leave his carefully constructed chaotic castle.
I watched as, in under two minutes, my only slightly messy family room transformed into a giant gauntlet with every pillow, blanket, large toy, and chair my son gathered into a haphazard fortress.
And if I dared “go Godzilla” and “borrow” or relocate a vital piece of the wall so I could actually walk through the hallway to my kitchen??? Instant Freak Out or Meltdown.
Meanwhile, Lil Diva flip-flopped between loving the “houses” to trying to jail break out of them.
I occasionally interrupted with sage wisdom by shouting, “We don’t put the microwave on your sister’s head.”
Just your typical daily dance with chaos.