Organisation......Or Lack Of It

My biggest boy, Toby, is extremely organised. So organised that at 10 years old, he does his own washing, packs his own bag for school, ensures he has all the uniform he needs for the next day and even sets himself homework if he wasn't set any! When he was younger, I had that wonderful misconception that his organisation skills were due to my excellent parenting of him. It was a blissful state to live in, knowing that my boy was so independent and loved order. I congratulated myself, as all parents do if they have first children who does something that other children haven't quite managed yet.

Then, bringing me right down from my Super-Mum cloud with a hefty thud, Max was born. Max, my inventive, creative boy who mostly seems to live on his own planet. Organisation to Max means waiting for someone else to do it. So much for my top notch parenting. I realised that my high expectations, which were met every time with Toby (and still are) needed to be slightly lowered for Max. Just ever so slightly.

Take this conversation I had with him last night as an example. Max is now 7 and I am desperately trying to teach him to put his dirty washing into the basket instead of littering it across the floor, usually from the bathroom to his bedroom, as he gets undressed.

Me: "You need to put your dirty clothes in the basket, Max."
Max: Silence
Me (trying another tack): "Which clothes are dirty and need to go in the basket?"
Max: "My jumper?"
(Now, call me a bad mother, but I attempt to make school jumpers last for at least 2 days...)
Me: "No, your jumper is fine. Which clothes can you not wear for more than one day?"
Max: "My tie?"
Tie?! Tie?!
Me (big sigh and an attempt at patience): "No, your tie is fine to wear another day. Which clothes have been right next to your skin and smelly bits all day?"
Max: "Ah! My pants and socks!"

At last! By that point I was ready to scoop up the clothes myself and put them in the basket, but I resisted.

And so my battle to teach Max to be organised continues to frustratingly rumble on. I don't expect him to ever be like Toby, because he is a different child altogether, but I would like to be able to get through breakfast without having to remind him to pick up his spoon and eat his porridge. One day, maybe.