Little boys are something. At least mine is. You can always see the gears turning. Maybe that’s why he is obsessed with gears. And don’t you know I’m paying the price for showing him I can make gears out of PlayDoh. Now, if Felix had his way, I’d be a one-woman PlayDoh gear sweatshop.
The possibilities are endless with any and every object. No toy is used for its intended purpose, or at least not only for its indented purpose. He leaves intricate contraptions everywhere he goes. His teachers have shown me catapult-type machines when I pick him up, which is amazing as I don’t know where he would have seen that. And trust me: I would not demonstrate something like that to my diabolically-creative son.
Recently he’s started “pew pew”-ing all of us. He doesn’t have a toy gun, other than some bubble guns we bought the kids after the fact. He makes a vague hand gesture when “pew pew”-ing but it’s not the traditional finger gun. Sometimes he’ll brandish a Lego gear/wheel/stick contraption. But the intent seems to be clear: if he’s vexed with you for any reason, you’ll be pewed.
It’s about the most non-threatening thing I can think of, the pewing. I just wish I knew its origins. The most violent thing the kids watch is SpongeBob, and I can’t recall seeing any firearms in Bikini Bottom.