Go read the Disclaimer again. I am not a doctor. This is not medical advice. Seriously.
Years before I became a parent myself, I spent a lot of time at the homes of two different families. In one family, only a few toys could be out at once, and the girls were taught from a young age to put the toys away, and to keep them neat and orderly. In the other house, there was a lot more chaos -- an ongoing remodel meant the floor was littered not only with toys, but tools and other hazards.
All four children are very bright, wonderful people, with distinctive personalities. They are all healthy and thriving. This isn't a story about One Way to Teach Children to Be Neat and Orderly.
For a variety of reasons, both households contain a lot of things (a lot more things than an average house, a lot more things than in my own home). Sheer quantity makes maintaining order quite tricky. Each house has some pets, two children, two adults. Some disorder is inevitable. If it weren't for the cats, I'd be quite comfortable in either environment (I love cats; I'm also allergic to them). But the same fact struck me in both houses: the children made an effort to put things away, and to help the adults out, starting at a very early age.
So what Teddy started doing at around 11 months (I'm not sure; I didn't write it down at the time) did not surprise me. The dishwasher was open and I was emptying it. He started taking out dishes and handing them to me. A little young, but he was born a little late and has been a little early on a number of things. What happened at 12 and a half months, however, was a shock.
I don't limit the number of toys Teddy has out (other than to box some toys up periodically, when he stops playing with them, outgrows them, or there are just too many of them around) at a time. I don't sing a song with him to tell him when to clean up. In fact, I have consistently discouraged child care's efforts to clean up when they leave, because it's traumatic enough when Teddy's play partners leave. I don't want to aggravate the situation by suggesting he can't continue to play with his toys, too. We clean up once, at the end of the day, when Teddy is winding down -- and I mean his papa and I, not Teddy. I'll put things away that we're stepping on, but it's a very casual thing. It's how I deal with my books when I'm in the middle of a big project; I don't see any particular difference.
I was showing a friend the Yellow Game (in which I take every yellow toy or part of a toy and put it in a pile). She helped out, while Teddy played with something else, to all appearances ignoring us completely. I looked around, and noticed the Mega Blocks box, which is yellow, and suggested we put all the yellow stuff in the yellow box, noting that if this did not convey the concept of yellow, nothing would. I should know better. I know what hubris means. This is exactly the kind of teaching crap that John Holt goes on about repeatedly.
After I finished putting all the yellow toys in the yellow box, Teddy toddled over with some green and red Mega Blocks, and put them in the Mega Blocks box, and looked right at me afterwards, then got some more, and added them, too. He doesn't talk much yet (just a few words), but he could not have been clearer. "Mama, you are doing it wrong. Blocks go in the box. Not all this yellow crap. Do it right."
Sheepishly, I took all the yellow toys out of the yellow box, and put the rest of the blocks back in the Mega Blocks Box, where they belong. Where Papa and I have been putting them at the end of the day, and occasionally during the day, for months. And which Teddy has clearly understood, and, apparently, values.
While I'm still reluctant to teach that Barney clean up song to Teddy, I think I'll more actively solicit his help in putting his toys away. Clearly, he's old enough to do so, to some limited degree.
Copyright 2006 by Rebecca Allen.
Created September 2, 2006 Updated September 2, 2006