(6 years) Our oldest son engrosses himself in origami folds, games of strategy and patterns, the infinite possibilities (negative numbers!) of a basic calculator he purchased at Goodwill. He hunches over his allotted thirty minutes of Candy Crush, advancing through the levels with the volume blasting. When not gaming, he dons boxing gloves and dukes it out with his brother in the attic, or fires snowballs in the yard.
(4 years) Our youngest stages battles between animal figures from his perch on the wooden built-ins that divide the living areas. The floorboards beneath are pock-marked with tiny dents from fallen good guys and bad guys. He zooms his styrofoam airplane ("Far-Flyer") across the room, or involves it in contests of speed and strength against numerous toy foes, or offers it a snack from the toy kitchen. He builds elaborate forts of pillows and blankets and furniture that never quite measure up to his lofty ambitions.
(29 weeks) And all day and all night the child in my womb practices squirms and kicks, readying himself to enter these chaotic playscapes in his own right.
