He also wanted to help put the stuff back, but this is where we ran into the problem.
Turns out, his desire to help was stronger than his muscles.
Mark was the very definition of persistence in motion. He pushed that couch, and he pulled that couch--he literally threw himself into that thing, grunting and struggling and trying to get it back in place.
He tried his best, but the couch totally beat him.
I finally chased him off before he could hurt himself.
"Gimme one more chance," he pleaded. I just shook my head, not wanting to point out that this wasn't even the real couch, it was just the loveseat.
"You'll move furniture some day," I told him. "You'll be big and strong for the rest of your life. But until then...I got this."
Finally, he stepped aside and let me move the couches.
And even though he wasn't much help, I didn't mind. Because for a few short minutes, he didn't seem like he was growing so fast. He didn't seem on the cusp of adulthood, like he does so often these days. He'll be taller than me and full of muscles soon enough--but until then, this was a wonderful reminder that no matter how tough he talks, or acts, he's still my sweet young boy.
At least for now...
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