But something felt off. I kept noticing how many parents were working so hard to get it right. Too hard. They were jumping in to help, redirecting, offering options, all with love and good intentions. But over and over, I kept seeing how trying to optimize every experience was actually making things worse for everyone.
Here’s what I mean.
Now, let me back up before I explain. I have been there, done that, in the best and worst ways. I absolutely over-optimized and burned myself out in the toddler years, especially with my oldest. But I am also an early childhood educator who believes that less is more when it comes to adult input in a child’s play. Over the course of 18 years of parenting, I learned how to step back, just enough to let my kids step forward.
Back to the beach:
There was a group of kids, probably between four and eight years old, marching around the beach playground like a little gang of pirates. They were sandy, loud, playful, and totally in it. Summer magic.
Two moms stood nearby, chatting. Everyone looked settled.
Then a third mom walked up with a baby on her hip and called out, “Seth, honey. Don’t you want to play by the water? Want a snack? Some water?”
Seth didn’t answer. He was deep in pirate mode. He barely looked up. But the other kids heard "snack," and the whole energy shifted.
Next thing I saw, she was passing out small bags of Goldfish, chips, and carrot sticks to a band of sticky open palms. The toddler on her hip was writhing, trying to get a carrot stick. The mom kept trying to give the toddler a sippy cup instead, overexplaining about choking, while simultaneously convincing a six-year-old to trade snacks with the crying four-year-old who was tackling his brother for the last bag of Doritos.
There was a moment of silence as everyone contentedly chewed, when out came the sunblock tube. “Let’s get sunblocked,” she said to Seth, who was now rummaging in the open cooler for a Capri Sun.
The mom then asked her partner, who had just settled the toddler onto the blanket with a board book and a paci, to grab water bottles. Seth kept digging. “I want a Capri Sun!” he whined.
Both mom and dad looked tense, and those magical moments of pirate play were long gone. And listen. No one meant to disrupt anything. But in the effort to enhance it, everything got pulled off course.
Toddler crying. Preschooler whining. Mom and dad irritated with one another.
Sound familiar? It does to me. I could have easily been this mom.
A mom who means well, wants to keep everyone safe, fed, hydrated, and on track. But somehow, it always seems to backfire.
Later on, I saw a boy around five watching a man fly a fish-shaped kite. He was mesmerized.
The man noticed and smiled. They shared a quiet moment, just standing there in mutual curiosity.
Then the boy’s dad came over and said, “Sammy, can you name that fish? From the movie? A clownfish. Can you say clownfish?”
The boy looked away. His interest dimmed. That quiet connection was replaced with a quiz.
Well-meaning Dad invited Sammy to go closer to the kite. He even offered to buy him one. He wanted to show him how to fly it. It was really nice, but it was too much.
This is what I want to say. You don’t have to do more. You don’t have to optimize every single moment or guide every step.
You don’t have to explain the fish. You can just watch, because watching is not lazy, and it is not missing an opportunity.
It is choosing not to interrupt one.
by The Workspace For Children | Read more:
Image: uncredited
[ed. Simple, yes? How many times have you started sharing something interesting with someone, only to have them immediately jump in and start telling you something about themselves. It happens more often than you think. Wonder how much we (they) miss in life that way.]
