The most annoying quirk that Wimmy’s developed is a habit of hiding from adults. It began as a game that he does whenever we arrive or depart from preschool. William (and usually Eleanor, too) finds some little nook or cranny to hide in, and even though I can see him, he won’t come out unless I scratch my head, shrug my shoulders, and say “Where did William go?”
Considering that the preschool is housed in a church, with numerous cloak rooms, potted plants, shrubberies, end tables, and the like, I usually have to say “Where did William go?” about a dozen times to get us out of there.
Once he climbed up into the choir loft and hid under one of the pews. Took me forever to find him.
He’s even begun to bring this game home, finding some very out-of-the way spot and keeping quiet indefinitely, while the adults run ragged around the house, calling out his name and wondering if it is time to call the police.
William did this at his grandmother’s house last weekend, and stayed hidden for over 45 minutes, driving everyone to near hysterics.
I suppose this is also reflected in William’s new preference for taking naps. We read a picture book about a little bear whose “special place” was under his bed, and after that William insisted on taking his afternoon naps on the floor under his crib. This lasted for over a month, and it was great — he’d go right to sleep without an iota of fuss. Then decided that he was tired of that, and prefers sleeping on the floor behind the big rocking recliner in his room. Again, right to sleep with no fuss! I don’t think he’s figured out that he’s free to go wherever he wants when he’s out of the crib.
He’s a fan of dark little cozy spaces, something which I remember enjoying as a child. The only difficult part is William’s insistance that I sing him a lullaby about his chosen sleeping-spot. It was easy to think of a bit of doggerel about “under the bed,” and a bit more challenging for “behind the rocking chair.” But today, he wanted a song about the wall, and I’m afraid I was fresh out.
Wall . . . with you life is a ball . . . I give you my all . . . wall?