I am not a "stuff" person. I do not like clutter (loath would be more appropriate) and by clutter I mean piles, disorder, things not returned to their rightful place, things that have no purpose or designated spot.
I like order.
I like simplicity.
I like clean spaces.
My Mother will attest to this personality trait. She would walk past my bedroom on occasion and find the contents of my room boxed up outside my door. Clearing a path in the hallway she would poke her head in..."I have too much stuff! I can't BREATH!" I tried to explain.
Now my bedroom is a 2200 square foot house with 800 more square feet of basement that stores...stuff. And it is the stuff of other people that grieves me the most. The stuff of those 4 feet tall and under.
They come with little bits of stuff; playmobil, lego, blocks, marbles, trinkets, puzzle pieces, barnyard animals..
I love them to pieces. But their pieces...I do not love.
I tolerate. I thought them nessasary to the important play that occupies their days right now.
Until I had a revelation.
10 months ago. Our house was packed up to move. There was a tiny bin of toys and the hundreds of other toys lay waiting, boxed up in the basement. The couldn't remember anything about the toys in the basement except that they were treasured and essential. I believed them and felt sorry for them. These poor boys. Boys who couldn't play because their toys were boxed up.
But wait!
Children don't need toys to play! Oh no! They need space, opportunity, freedom and imagination.
Suddenly in this big empty house with furniture moved into corners and possessions loaded in a mobile storage unit in the driveway these boys had nothing but freedom...and space and imagination.
They were cowboys and superhero's! They were firefighters and grocery store clerks! They were garbage men and snow plow drivers. They played ice cream parlour and construction crew. They rolled, and bounced, jumped, danced and sang. All day long!
They had no toys.
I thought "such good little boys! I will remember to reward them well!"
And we did. With a giant playroom. Stuffed with toys of all kinds. They had bins of action figures, vehicles of all kinds, baby dolls and stuffed animals. Lego sets, fire station, puzzles and books. They were quiet little toy tornado's. They would dump out bins looking for just the right dinky car. We could see all 10 000 000 toys and take inventory of exactly how indulged our children had been, strewn over every inch of the floor.
I tidied the toys in the living room multiple times a day. I resented the amount of "things" in this house that took up so much of my time. I felt my existence and my primary role in our family had far less to do with the people and more to do with the management of their stuff. Their dishes, their laundry, their footwear, diaper bag contents, the contents of kitchen cupboards and most loathed; their toys. Hard, impersonal, dinging, musical, flashing plastic bits of annoyance, frustration and mess. I hated all these toys. Truly. But I begrudgingly accepted that while we are in the season of small children, their toys were necessary. Toys R Us told me so.
One day in a fit of frustration as I came down to a living room yet again blasted with a plastic bomb I banished the perpetrators upstairs to the playroom.
"If you want to drag all these toys out, take them upstairs in the playroom!"
They dragged their feet. They often acted as though going to play in this bright third floor playspace with muralled walls and a swing from the ceiling was a punishment.
"GO PLAY!" I yelled.
"But Mommy!" Ben pleaded, "We CAN'T play up there! There are just TOO many toys!"
It was true. There was no room to think, or breath or move for all the toys!
I remembered the empty house they enjoyed so much a few months earlier. And I had a epifany.
I packed them up. I had to! My kids couldn't play!
80% of the plastic bomb particles got packed away.
I decided that if a toy was missed enough to be asked for by name then I would retrieve it.
And yet. It has been 4 weeks. They have asked for nothing.
Rather, they play. And play. And play.
With hardly a toy in sight.
And I, the manager of the stuff...have now been promoted to "fun mom!" Suddenly I have time to set up art projects, play playdough, make up puppet plays with them, read more books and play a role in thier elaborate set ups.Ironically, the less they had to play with, the more imaginative, creative and in depth their play became. They stopped fighting (there was nothing to fight over!) and could concentrate on their roles of the game. They became more effective in leading, role playing and self direction. I was astounded. The limits to their play didn't exist. They could conjure up anything. With a set of specific toys ,they were limited to only what the toy dictated it could be used for...ie a castle set with finely detailed characters were generally only used for that one purpose. A small set of blocks and wooden peg people? Infinite possibilities.
When playing kitchen with them...my adult mind forgot the specifics of imagination. I began thinking of all the things we could use for food while the boys were busy concocting incredible dishes out of nothing. "Here is your pizza, Mommy!" Ben said proudly as he handed me the imaginary plate. To which I delightfully devoured...imaginary crumbs and all.
