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identifying and discarding what that vision is not. Family is not disparate relationships between individuals and machines, in separate rooms of a house. Childhood is not a race to accumulate all of the consumer goods and stresses of adulthood in record time. Simplification signals a change and makes room for a transformation. It is a stripping away that invites clarity.

    Reacquainted with their dreams for their families, parents and I talk about how a simplification regime might help them change course, how simplifying might make room for a shift, a realignment of their hopes with their everyday lives. It would be great if simplification involved nothing more than backing a dumpster up to the house and discarding piles of stuff. Unfortunately, there’s more to it. Children can be overloaded by more than just the physical things bulging out of their closets. But as you’ll see, there are simple “tossing out” or “whittling down” steps at each level. Parents and I discuss the four levels of simplification: the environment, rhythm, schedules, and filtering out the adult world. We touch on all of them, and discuss which aspects of the regime feel the most doable. Sometimes I am surprised; some parents want to dive into the more difficult arenas of schedules and filtering out the adult world right away, while other parents cautiously express a willingness to see “a few less” toys around the house. Often a modest goal is an instinctual first step toward something larger. Somehow parents know where to begin to create the necessary space—in their intentions and their lives—for a transformation. Marie’s parents chose to address Marie’s home environment first, as I’ll recommend you do too. Her story shows that by starting with the doable, we can pave the way for broader changes.
    Marie was a bright, energetic five-year-old just beginning kindergarten when I first met her parents. She had had a series of babysitters who came to the home, all of whom had trouble controlling her. Marie was “hard work,” if you will: very active, unfocused, and with clear attention difficulties. Just before kindergarten, Marie’s parents had put her in a day-care center from which, after a couple of months, she wasasked to leave. Marie’s parents were very nice people, clearly trying to do their best for their daughter. They were both working professionals who led very busy, hectic lives; it had been difficult even finding the time for us to sit down together. At that initial meeting I could see how concerned and defeated they felt in the face of what they called Marie’s already “checkered career.”
    Together we began to work out a simplification regime for the family. Her parents decided to begin with the physical environment of their home, particularly simplifying Marie’s room. If the average American child has 150 toys, Marie had at least double that number. Her room was also packed with books, some on shelves, but many in towering piles. There were a few narrow passageways to and from her bed, carved between mountains of books, clothes, and toys. Periodically, the parents assured me, they would undertake an archeological dig in the room to tidy up, only to see chaos return within hours.
    Whether they are in bins, baskets, trunks, closets, piles, or heaps, the child’s toys are usually our first focus. To the mountain of toys in their bedroom we add the outlying piles from around the house. The accumulated whole is usually a remarkable sight, and not one the parents have fully taken in before.
    With a box of large, black, plastic trash bags at hand, we begin the work of cleaning up the area. I suggest that we put half of the toys in the bag—excellent—and then half again. There are always some toys that parents are anxious to get rid of. They dive into the pile, searching with glee for the plastic exploding disasters—the ones that whir, talk, gyrate, or detonate. Essentially, they’re looking for the ones that