I love to organize.  Call me crazy but few things bring me more joy than seeing our ‘stuff’ organized in plastic bins.  I guess it gives me some element of control in my otherwise chaotic life.  Hours spent sorting a pile of mess into some semblance of neat and tidy brings a smile to my face.  

When I resigned my Kindergarten teaching position in December, I spent days going through toys for Josiah.  Everything in our front coat closet (which never has held a coat) came out.  Shelves and stacking organizers went in and now Josiah’s toys are neatly displayed in clear shoe box sized containers and categorized in color coded milk crates with similar toys.  I open the door, peer in and smile.

Actually, that is usually the only time the door is opened.  Oh, occasionally one of the other kids will toss a backpack in, which I promptly remove.  Backpacks don’t belong with toys.  But my dream of Josiah and I sitting and playing together for long stretches of time has never materialized.  I envisioned him carefully selecting a bin, bringing it to me to open and then he and I laughing and bonding while enjoying the contents together. 

Here’s what really happens.  I open the closet, announce it is play time and wait for Josiah to choose a bin.  He stands and stares and stares.  And stares.  Sometimes he will randomly grab as many bins as he can and hurl them to the ground.  Mostly he tries to force the door closed.  He wants nothing to do with that toy closet. 

So, I choose a bin.  Excitedly, I try to cajole Josiah to come and investigate what I have selected.  I open the lid with wide eyes, dumping the contents onto the floor.  Nothing.  I begin to play with the toy, thoroughly enjoying myself, hoping Josiah will not be able to resist such fun.  I know even though he is not looking at me, he is listening.  When he stands to walk over to me I smile inside.  It worked.  Josiah grabs the bin, signs ‘finished’ and shoves it back in the closet, slamming the door shut with a vengeance.  So, most days we don’t play.

Today I found Josiah standing on my bed.  He found a pile of laundry, neatly folded but not yet put away.  A huge happy grin spread across his face. There were squeals of delight as he hurled one piece of clothing at a time up onto our ceiling fan.   He was engrossed.  I stood back and watched.  This boy was genuinely enthralled.  It was a challenge for him to throw piece after piece repeatedly until each one landed on a fan blade. But he kept at it. Socks and shirts, bras and panties hung in an unusual artistic display,

As the last sock found its way to the fan, I couldn’t resist.  I turned the fan on high.  Clothes flew across the room in various directions.

I used to think Josiah didn’t know how to play.  I was wrong.