matching tracksuits

If it weren’t for the fact that he’s only fifteen months old, I might think the Boy has some sort of obsession with filling and emptying things. Well, at least emptying things, for he’s doing it all the time: toy baskets, bowls, recycling bins, tumblers, clothes hampers, and likely trash cans if he had half the opportunity. In fact, if I’m honest about it, he really doesn’t much enjoy filling those things — it just sounded better. The only time he really enjoys filling is when he knows that emptying is just moments away, which explains why cleanup is such a difficult concept.

And it’s really not enough to empty the container; the contents must be spread about as chaotically and paradoxically thoroughly as possible. The most effective method to accomplish this is to wildly wave his arms about, catching what he can and sending it flying across the room. Left to his own devices, he would likely move from room to room in the house, emptying everything that had something in it, leaving the entirely floor throughout the house a puzzle of socks, cans, office supplies, pan holders, toys, books, underwear, and all the other little quaint items that constitute a thorough mess.

So we try to teach him a basic principle: only get out one thing at a time, and when you’re done with it, clean it up before getting the next item out. We try, but that involves some complicated concepts for a fifteen-month-old: sequence, completion, and at least theoretically, responsibility. So we try, and as often as not end up turning it into a game in which the parent cleans most of the mess and cheers E when he hands over a block and tosses a toy car into the bin.

The Girl, naturally, is a bit further down that road that leads to adult responsibility (though many adults seem to take detours somewhere along the way and never quite make it to the destination). She’s taken on responsibilities that are really out of her scope of influence. Chores, both planned and unplanned, in other words. Like emptying the dehumidifier in the basement, or taking care of the cat’s food, or cleaning up a mess the Boy made while one of us gets him ready for a Saturday afternoon nap. She’s working toward a goal, a December birthday/Christmas gift that in reality will only add more to her to do list. She insists she’s ready for the responsibility, and as if in an effort to prove it to us, she heads upstairs unexpectedly on a Saturday morning to work on her touch-typing skills.