I must have been no more than two when I decided that I could help mom. We lived in a three-room apartment and from my room, you had to go across the living room, down a short hallway and you were in the kitchen. Well, mom knew that when dad was away at work the apartment was very still and quiet so as she worked in the kitchen she would check the clock on the wall and keep one ear out for me.
Well, she knew that if there was silence for a whole fifteen minutes then I had found something to really occupy myself with. The only question was what could a two-year-old have found of real interest to do? So mom would head for my room. There I was busy helping her rearrange my dresser drawers. I was sitting in a pile of clothing up to my neck and reaching in and pulling out and tossing one piece of clothing after another into the air and watching as they drifted down around me. Poor mom. She did ask me rather carefully what I thought I was doing. My answer was that I was rearranging my clothes. Mom didn’t even want to know why she just got me up from the floor and occupied with some toys as she now had an extra job of folding clothes and putting them back into the drawers.