Having launched our third puzzle since the Christmas reveal, Benjamin is more motivated than me. The first was big enough that we had to clear off a third of the dining room table to accommodate its two thousand pieces. It held a medley of Disney characters, ranging from the Incredibles to Carl from Up. The five participating puzzlers leaned over their own section, passing pieces with bits of green or the tell tale letters of a superhero suit. It took awhile, but finally the completed project lay undisturbed for a couple more days. It turns out that triumph is less engaging than struggle. 

 

I find that my inner dialogue is active, even when I hunt for just the right shape in silence. There is no advantage to translating the image of a bulbous-blue-with-a-smidge-of-white-shoe while I am hunting. Hence the absence of words. But it does not deter my monkey brain from filling in the gaps. 

 

"Those wicked puzzle makers. They purposely cut the piece between the red and gray so that I would lose lots of time searching for red when what I need is a steel colored one."

 

The notion that the process, which is automated, could waste any effort trying to sabotage success is ridiculous. Most likely the designers want their customers to find satisfaction in the process, albeit spiced with frustration. 

 

But Benjamin loses no time with such shenanigans. He finds and fits with more regularity than me, thinking only of the curve of the cardboard, and the speck of yellow shirt. In fact the rhythm is calming for him. 

 

When I contemplate the cobblestones of my routine, I confess to moments of blame. Sometimes I secretly accuse God of disguising the solution in a different context. At first blanch I thought I was emptying the dishwasher to get the yucky plates cleared, but actually it was a way of serving my family. 

 

I believed that I was driving John in the early morning fog to catch a train so that he could get to the airport on time, but really it was about spending fifteen minutes listening to him. Having a cluster of young sewers over to transform flannel into bunnies, or to design a stuffed owl with a striped tie was simply a chance to add a dose of creativity near the end of Christmas break. But what happened was a chance to fall a little more in love with six year olds. 

 

I guess it's a way to keep me engaged.