I've thought long and hard about the best books for kids 2020. It's been an odd year; so odd, in fact, that my child said I might as well go ahead and give her all her Christmas gifts early. (Nice try.)
Not that things were necessarily easy when we were little--the playground could be a pretty rough place for everyone, and definitely so for a highly sensitive soul like mine.
Fortunately, some of the best things from our childhoods are still around: great books. They were an incredible source of comfort and connection for me when I was a child, and they are for my child now, too.
That's part of the reason I've chosen some classics to represent the best books for kids 2020 -- keeping the eternal goodness of books alive and well!
I'm keenly aware of how books can help build a child's self-esteem and confidence in this ever-changing world.
Did you know that reading books has particular benefits when you read them aloud together with your child? As Rasumussen College describes in this report, there are many benefits of reading aloud--not only to little kids, but from prenatal days all the way to adolescence! Wow!
That said, when I read to my kiddo and as I've admitted before, I'm something of a book snob. (Forgive me.) I really like good books that we can enjoy together and that engage us both. If I'm going to read a book 10,000 times (as I undoubtedly will), I want to like it, too.
Like I was, my daughter is a gentle and sensitive soul. She approves these as being among the best books for kids 2020, just like I do. Here's what we enjoy about each of them, along with how they build self-esteem and confidence! (afflinks)
Although I typically promote lesser-known authors, this great book for children just happens to be written by a celebrity. What we like most is that it's just an all around feel-good book.
Bonus points that it's witty and downright entertaining. My child and I come away smiling after we read it, even for the millionth time. No matter what mistakes the boy and girl (the main characters) make, they like themselves, anyway. When other kids are unkind, no problem.
Their self-esteem and confidence are independent of others kids' opinions of them (hello, playground wisdom)! (Special note to parents of sensitive kiddos: the so-called unkindness is extremely mild and the positive message is more than strong enough to compensate for it.)
Sometimes life hands us lemons, and these two choose to rise above it every time. We've read this book at least once per week for the past three years or so. It stands the test of time in our house!
I'll begin by saying that I watched a 20-something year-old man tear up (slightly) as he read this one. If your child has ever lamented that his or her creation didn't come out "perfectly," this will resonate. It did very much for my child, just as it did for me.
The character, despite being "perfect" for most of the book, is somehow completely relatable at the same time. If ever there were a book that tells a child that it's okay to relax and enjoy who he or she is, this is it, in our opinion.
It so beautifully captures the joy of letting go of small or big anxieties about who we are. It gives us permission to like ourselves despite our imperfections. What a wonderful gift!
As one final bonus reason I put this among the best books for kids 2020, is that it's SO relatable. We've watched the world turn upside-down this year, and frankly, many of us have made mistakes in front of our kids. This is a great book to help us all feel a bit more normal and connected through our imperfections.
Similar to the book above, the main character in this story wants his drawings to be perfect and is devastated when someone criticizes his work. When he learns that it's okay to be "good enough," he thrives and rediscovers the joy he had lost.
This is on our list of best books for children 2020 because it emphasizes "process over product"---the philosophy that learning happens through the joy of the creation itself, rather than how it looks in the end.
No one can live up to perfection, and this book makes it perfectly okay to just do the best you can.
Well, the title pretty much sums it up! The pictures are silly and simple. The author chooses lots of ways people can be different, and the core of the message is simply that "You're alright just as you are." What an empowering message for kids of all ages. When it comes right down to it, have you ever met anyone who's not different from everyone else in some wonderful way? Anything that boosts kids' self-esteem and confidence, and helps them accept themselves just the way they are, will make it onto our best books for kids list.
We think this is among the very best kids' book series.
These differ from the others on our list in that they're chapter books, but they're appropriate even for young boys and girls. We started reading them when my child was about four years old. By five, she didn't want us to put them down. Still at 7 and with no end in sight, these make our best books for kids 2020 list because they're sincerely engaging. (Even my husband and I look forward to reading them. My guess is that they have no expiration date age-wise, ever.)
Even I wondered how the protagonist of the stories would help each of the magical animals she encountered. The writing is fantastic. The creativity is solid.
And when it comes to building kids' self-esteem and confidence, there's nothing like watching a child who persists despite adversity and solves tricky problems, to show the value of never giving up. She believes in herself and models how to do that. For what it's worth, I've even caught my husband turning pages when our child is nowhere around. They're that good.
The main character, Raffi, is so extremely relatable, feeling different from other kids and wondering if all kids feel that way. He wonders if he’s “normal,” just like many children have. And by “many” children, I mean every human who’s ever been a child. (Yep, that’s all of us.) This book addresses stereotypes of all kinds and how the protagonist finds self-confidence and acceptance, even when everyone else isn't quite like him. It’s a book every parent should read to his or her child, and then read to his or her own inner child, too. It’s exactly the right combination of feel-good message along with important life lesson.
Many of us are comfortable only within our "safe zones," and Scaredy is no exception. He's about as endearing as they come, with all sorts of irrational fears about coming out of his proverbial shell (or in this case, his tree).
Hilariously, we get to join him on his journey to build confidence and trust that the world isn't quite as dangerous as he fears. Like many of these books, it's stood the test of time in our house.
It always makes me smirk, no matter how many times we read it together. It's an excellent (albeit intentionally silly) model to help kids' build self-esteem and confidence.
Rosie has a passion, but she hides it away for fear of mockery. As this story unfolds, however, she transforms into a bold and confident inventor.
What we like about this book is how it demonstrates that even people with good intentions can inadvertently turn kids away from their dreams; but Rosie overcomes that. We all face adversity in life, but this book helps kids build self-esteem and confidence even after emotional roadblocks.
We love how she recovers from the letdowns and bravely pursues her passion!
A great book for younger kids, this is a sweet and wonderful book for children. It speaks beautifully to trusting kids' natural development and readiness for milestones, and how pressure to make them do things before they're ready seldom works.
Despite adversity, Iffy finds himself in a situation that he didn't really want, but proves to himself that he's braver and stronger than he thought. We cheer for this little creature when his confidence shines through, feeling a sense of recognition in ourselves along his journey.
Based on the true story of Nadia Comaneci, Olympic gold medalist, this is another wonderful example of a child overcoming adversity through incredible persistence.
Although my impression of Nadia is that she was confident from the beginning, it would've been easy for her to lose hope along her journey. She didn't start out as one of the best gymnasts in the world. She experienced failure.
But she kept trying, believing in herself and in her abilities. Knowing that the real Nadia went through all of this before success came, it's a lovely example for children to help them build self-esteem and confidence.
My child received this as a gift when she was three. Still now, she loves to read it. With few words, it's a great introduction for showing kids that mistakes can turn out alright, with the right perspective. There's always a bright side, even when something goes wrong!
We believe that if kids can internalize that they can choose their responses to situations that don't turn out how they want, they'll be better off in the long run.
So many of us have had others' agendas imposed upon us, and we've been left to wonder what life would've been like had we pursued our dreams. This is a beautiful story that addresses just that.
Mae, the protagonist of this story, decides she won't settle for what others want. She rises above others' doubts and finds her joy. As I read this book, I wanted to be Mae. She's strong; brave; real. She perseveres.
This is undoubtedly on our list of best books for kids 2020 to help them believe in themselves.
If this isn't the classic children's book to build self-esteem and confidence, I don't know what is. (Heads up to parents of sensitive kiddos: two of the trains bothered my child just a little until she was about 5, so we skipped them until she was ready.)
The little blue engine, as we all know, isn't the biggest or the strongest, but she believes in herself. She has enough heart to pull a load much greater than her own, up a much higher obstacle than she's encountered before. When it all comes down to it, that's exactly what I want my child to know she's capable of.
What's not to love about Piggie and Gerald? These books are funny and clever. As in, they make my husband and me laugh, not to mention our child.
Moreover, they almost always gently teach a lesson; share a moral, at child-level, that's one the child can take with them throughout their life. Best friend trouble? Difficulty sharing? Navigating someone new who wants to play? These and so many more topics are covered beautifully--and always with a happy ending.
P.S. Make sure to check for the sneaky pigeon at the end. He's always up to something.
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Of course, the best way to help your child internalize these wonderful messages is to not only read the books together, but to discuss them, too. What a wonderful way to connect!
Most kids have inherently good negotiation skills. Pull out a chocolate bar and tell kids to divide it up for themselves, and you'll find quick proof of that. When it comes to conflict resolution and self-regulation, however, many adults wonder whether children possess the emotional intelligence and executive functioning skills to navigate that territory. As a result, many grown-ups are quick to intervene and solve social problems for them. After all, emotions are tricky even for us to manage, so it's tempting to guide our kids when we sense trouble. I know because I've done it.
I'll share an example of how much better it can work when kids figure out how to resolve conflict for themselves, however. When I was in a play-based science class with a group of four- to six-year-olds last week, they made "squishy circuits," where they connected two sets of wires, Play Dough, and mini-lightbulbs to the positive and negative ends of batteries in a particular sequence. If they connected everything correctly, the lightbulbs would light up.
Adults were there to help ensure the kids' safety, of course. (Personally, I'm thankful for observing Teacher Tom in action at another school I visit weekly. He's a world renowned teacher at a play-based preschool in Seattle. He's helped me chill considerably about what I consider dangerous for kids, and he facilitates conflict resolution better than any teacher I've ever seen.)
Once the kids got the hang of basic circuitry, they could get as creative as they wanted with their Play Dough inventions. One five-year-old girl who I'll call Catherine, who regularly displays high emotional intelligence and emotional self regulation, announced that she was going to use her Play Dough to make a kitty with a water bowl. Often demonstrating strong executive functioning skills, she's a "stick to the plan" kind of kid. (Executive functioning includes things like self-control, planning, and the ability to remember instructions. If you're looking for a deeper understanding of executive functioning and self-regulation, this article from Harvard's Center for the Developing Child describes them well.) So, she set to work right away while most of the other kids rolled their materials around haphazardly, deciding what to make.
After about 10 minutes, the girl next to Catherine, another five-year-old I'll call Mia, reached over and demolished Catherine's kitty. I've observed that Mia sometimes lacks the executive function skills to self-regulate. Looking flabbergasted, Catherine called me over to help resolve the conflict, announcing matter-of-factly what Mia had done. It was obvious. Catherine's blue Play Dough that Mia squashed was still in the center of Mia's palm. Mia had been using green.
Before I could say a word, Mia announced loudly, "I didn't do anything wrong!"
I felt tempted to call Mia out on her transgression and show my frustration. My first impulse was to ask her what the heck she was thinking. (I'm still learning and have to catch myself, too.) However, I know an objective tone is more helpful for encouraging honest dialogue. So, I took a breath and stated neutrally to both of them, "It sounds like something happened here." Mia has older siblings at home, and I know she's no stranger to managing conflict situations. I can't say with certainty, however, where she is on developing her executive functioning skills.
Dealing with conflict is a hard life skill to learn, because frankly, negative emotions are hard. I'm an adult and I still don't like conflict. We're not "wired" to like it. However, the ability to recognize someone else's point of view goes a long way toward developing emotional intelligence and self-regulation.
So, I continued.
Me, in a curious and non-accusatory tone: "Mia, I observe blue Play Dough in your hands. I'm feeling curious about that."
Mia: "Well, I did squash her kitty, but she had just started working on it. She didn't care."
Catherine: "I didn't just start working on it. I had been working on it the whole time! It was important to me."
Me: "Hmmm. Catherine, I hear you saying that it was important to you."
Being an active listener, including playing back what you've heard, is a key ingredient in helping kids resolve conflicts. It shows that you're internalizing what they said, and essentially invites them to continue while feeling supported. Accusation is counterproductive; only when kids feel supported can they grow their emotional intelligence effectively.
And as is true with many things, when it comes to engaging in kids' conflicts, less is more. Less adult talking is more beneficial to kids learning to solve problems on their own. When they feel capable of doing that, it reinforces growth in the self-regulation and executive functioning parts of their brains.
Catherine and Mia continued without prompting.
Catherine, addressing me: "I really didn't feel so happy when she did that."
Mia, to Catherine: "No, you were happy."
Catherine: "No, I really didn't feel so happy when you did that."
Mia: "Oh." Mia's eyes went downcast then with apparent remorse, and perhaps with understanding the deeper connection between emotions and behavior.
At that point, they sat together silently, in what seemed to be somewhere between an impasse and emotional connection. I paused for long enough that I was sure each had finished saying her piece. When neither continued, I suggested next steps without solving anything for them, similar to creating a negotiated agreement in a boardroom.
Me: "I'm going to guess that nobody in the room likes getting their Play Dough squashed. I'm wondering if that's true."
Both girls, agreeing: "Yeah. No one should squash Play Dough."
Me: "Okay, then. I think you've solved a problem. Since no one likes getting their stuff squashed, I wonder if we can agree not to squash anyone else's stuff, either." (I essentially played back the solution they'd reached, just broadening it slightly.)
Both girls, nodding vigorously: "Yeah. Let's do that. No squashing people's stuff!" I could almost see the self-regulation synapses connecting in Mia's brain. Moreover, Catherine's emotional intelligence was growing by having expressed her frustration in an appropriate way. She felt "heard" and could move on. Her emotions had no reason to escalate. Executive functioning in action.
All of us: Exhale. Resolution. Consensus.
Both girls seemed resolved in the matter. Their conflict was now water under the bridge. They moved forward happily with their projects.
I fully trust that their self-identified conflict resolution did far more for their executive functioning skills than any punishment or forced apology could have.
And the sooner we let them try, the better. Studies show that practice between the ages of three and five is particularly beneficial. This is also the age that their working memory develops in leaps and bounds, so that they'll have specific experiences upon which to draw as they get older. Areas of the brain that develop during this timeframe are profound and substantially important for future interactions. Some would argue that the ability to self regulate and strong emotional intelligence skills matter far more than IQ alone.
Socially skilled kids can focus attention on managing conflict and growing their relationships with peers. It's possible because they already have the emotional intelligence and self-regulation tools in place to do those things. Conversely, those with executive functioning issues need more practice. The adults in their lives will support them best by resisting the urge to dive in and rescue them when they see any type of conflict; but rather, by letting them attempt their own conflict resolution, even if they get it wrong. Practice makes perfect, right? Our presence is beneficial and sometimes necessary, but our words should be few.
Maybe emotions are tricky for adults to manage because some of us didn't get enough practice when we were kids. I don't know. What I do know anecdotally, however, is that emotionally intelligent kids usually grow up to be emotionally intelligent people (adult-sized, because, of course, kids are people, too). The ability to understand and manage emotions, resolve conflict, and display emotional intelligence is a lifelong gift to ourselves and those around us.
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Trees and lights. Snow and sledding. Family and holidays. For many of us, these are naturally joyful pairs. (Trees and lights are especially exciting if you're a toddler or a cat.)
Of course there's the other side, too. Holiday stress is real for many of us--and it can come crashing down our chimneys with reliable predictability.
Some people hold their breath and just hope for the best, especially if their holiday stress results from spending the holidays with extended family.
According to this Harvard Medical School article, 62% of adults experience "very" or "somewhat" elevated holiday stress levels, partially attributable to family relationships.
After all, family dynamics can be tricky, especially once we have children. Yet, we want our children to experience all the joy that should surround them this time of year, right? Holidays stress doesn't have to be their thing just because it's ours.
Although I won't write about my own holiday stress here because my extended family will read this---I mean, because they're perfect (ahem)---I'll tell you how some people mitigate their anxiety with extended family, especially if All That Togetherness doesn't exactly jingle their bells.
So, what do they do to mitigate the messiness and find joy, instead?
If you're concerned about extended family being a less-than-desirable influence on your kids, find joy and peace in the connection you've created.
If you've parented with the good of the parent-child relationship in mind, then children will naturally gravitate back to the norms of what you've modeled for them.
If you happen to have a child who hangs back at family gatherings, that's perfectly alright. If you're concerned about it, this article about supporting introverted children might help you.
Your kids will join in when they're ready. Let them rest securely in the knowledge that you support their choices and their timing.
For family members who might not understand your child's reluctance to jump right into a big group of people, but who sincerely want to connect with them, you might share ideas like these about how to engage kids without overwhelming them.
Even outgoing kids need support and occasional breaks from the group. Allow them to relax and in your presence, with your full attention. A hug and some verbal support can go a long way.
The more you're there for your kids, the less they'll begin to equate holidays and stress, and will simply find joy in your presence---along with everyone else's.
Many kids love routines and consistency, regardless of age. You can grab your kiddos' usual bedtime story and stick it in your bag if you're visiting relatives out of town.
Odds are good that they'd much rather hear the same story for a few nights in a row than to go without. I call it "Routine in a Box." A few comforts from home will help your child find joy in familiarity, and help you feel merry and bright!
The same goes for touch, even for older kids. If your child normally has a lot of contact with you throughout the day, then he or she will be inclined to crave that and then some (hey, you're their personal lovey!). Stay present. Keep touching.
Obvious, right? Still, somehow, many people go into the holiday stress with extended family as if they were signing up for a hot date in Purgatory. If you find yourself there (with anxiety, I mean, not in Purgatory, because I don't really think that's a thing), give yourself a gold star for each moment you feel peaceful.
Acknowledging and tracking positive feelings among the stressful ones can help you be aware that good things are happening. You can do this, joyfully. Holiday stress and you don't need to share the same strand of lights.
Just like many of us do at home when raising kids, you can take the "pick your battles" mantra on the road, too. It travels beautifully! Things are different now. As the parent of your own children, you get to examine how you were raised.
Engage where you want to. Debate where it's important. This mini-course about what to do when someone you love disagrees with your parenting style can help support you in that.
Ask yourself if you share your extended family's perspectives or have a different take on things. If you observe them, some of your triggers from growing up can offer you insight into your own parenting.
Keeping an open mind can be an incredible gift with psychological benefits, and taking an intellectual approach rather than an emotional one when something bothers you can do wonders for reducing holiday stress. So, you can find joy while you examine your family anew.
More than anything else, be intentional about looking for opportunities to connect and find joy. If Great-Great-Great-Granny's mince pie doesn't do it for you, remember that the cookies are just on the next table over.
Connect with Great-Great-Great Granny over a gingerbread house. Invite her outside to catch snowflakes on your tongues. You might be surprised what she can still do. You, and your kids, will forever cherish the memory.
Holidays and family can, indeed, be a joyful pair, and holiday stress doesn't need to be invited. Our children can see it and be a part of it.
If we've not experienced joy with extended family before, our kids can witness our ability to find it in a whole new way. What a wonderful gift we can give them in allowing them to be part of that.
"Mommy, let's pretend this isn't a train tunnel."
"Okay, what is it?"
"It's a tomb."
Well, hello, conversation stopper. She paused for effect, which is a good thing, because I certainly didn't expect that. After a moment to process and very consciously trust that children's play serves an important purpose for them, I mentally cringed while inquiring, "Is anyone in there?"
"Yep, a dead person."
She smiled lovingly at me, just content to be playing.
I have to admit that this already wasn't my favorite game, and although I didn't know who was inside, I was hoping for some miraculous resurrection of sorts.
"Was it anyone we know?"
"Nope, it's not. It's just some man. He's dead in there."
Well, at least it's no imaginary person we know. Somehow that made it better for me, the adult who should be able to handle a child's imagination.
Still, I waited for the punchline and trusting her play, looking for some clue as to where this was going.
"What happened to him?" I asked tentatively.
"A cow sat on him. And then a car drove on top of the cow."
Well, that would certainly do it. Although she knows bodies stop working when someone dies, we haven't spent much time discussing the specific mechanics of the process.
Then, she added, "Yeah, he was really, really old, like Grandpa Herb."
Click. Now, I see what's happening. Grandpa Herb is actually my grandfather; her great grandfather. As I write this, he's a 95-year-old with a body that's more ready to go than his brain is.
I reminded her that Grandpa Herb is still alive, but she proceeded me to remind me that he's "really, really old and probably won't live much longer."
He might have another decade ahead of him, but he might not. She's bright enough (as kids are) to pick up on pieces of the adult conversations to know that we talk about his life and medical situations differently than we do others'.
Just like we do as adults, kids need to process when change is coming; especially when it's such an abstract concept as this (for all of us). We rarely discuss death with children unless it's necessary, so it's particularly foreign to them when it happens. We can read helpful books like this one and this one (afflinks) to help cover the bases. I can trust that her play is helping her process just as she needs to. And she can ask all the questions she wants to, and I'll do my best to answer them according to our belief system. Of course, I can't tell her what dying is like, though, because it's never happened to me.
So, until then, we find ways to make peace with the unknown. We need to somehow make the intangible, tangible. We need to know that when the time comes, we'll have done something to prepare, because we all want to do something.
Some might call this "game" macabre and make that resurrection manifest somehow, or insist that it's a train tunnel and nothing more. For us, it became a way to process and discuss one of life's Big Topics, using the means my child knows best: learning through play. It's within her power to play; the more she can process it in her own terms without me imposing my agenda on her, the more she can begin to grasp and reconcile the concept. And the more she can be ready for the inevitable, be it for Grandpa Herb or for a goldfish, the less jarring it will be for this child.
Personally, I'm going to beware of sitting cows for awhile. More than that, however, I'll continue to trust that play needs to happen, exactly as it is.
Knowing her grandparents will soon be asking for gift ideas for our daughter, my husband and I decided to take our five year old window shopping today. As usual and as I've written about before, we began with the caveat that although we wouldn't buy anything, we'd take pictures of what she likes so that we're sure to remember. This approach has pretty much been golden for us since she was two, and learning to delay gratification has contributed well to her growth mindset.
Today, however, she was really short on sleep. Even for me, an adult, a lack of sleep thwarts even the very best laid plans. Still, we pursued our endeavor to leave the house.
Upon entering the store, our child uncharacteristically said, "I've decided we're not just going to look at toys. We're going to buy some for me today to take home." I gently and clearly reminded her of our mission. And I hoped for the best.
We made it past the greeting card aisle and into the craft aisle. On display with the crafts, they were selling a sewing machine for kids. She picked it up and announced, "This is what we're buying for me today. Let's go check out now."
I wish I had a dime for every time I'd seen a parent in a similar predicament. I'd be able to buy a thousand sewing machines. Regardless, this was really unlike her.
I acknowledged how much she wanted it and reminded her that we'd put it on her list. I took a picture of it, and for good measure, so did my husband.
She announced that she would carry it through the store with us until it was time to check out, and then we'd buy it. I let her know that she'd be welcome to carry it through the store, but that we'd put it back on the shelf before leaving. Setting expectations upfront usually does wonders for keeping things mutually agreeable. However, the "mutually" wasn't happening here today. So, I presented it as a loving limit and took the time to discuss and validate how she felt.
Sure enough, she chose to carry it through the store, anyway. She had no interest in looking at any other toys. We stopped to look at some decorations and at a few items for my husband, but that was it. She wanted to go no farther, though, so we returned to the craft aisle, the sewing machine still firmly in her grip.
We had nowhere else to be, so we did a bit of emotion coaching to help her. However, it was still a no-go for her. She said she'd wait there "forever" until we bought it. Taking it from her forcefully would do nothing for her emotional intelligence, our connection, or her growth mindset. So we waited, letting her feelings be what they were, and trusting that this was temporary.
After awhile, I asked her to think of a way she'd be willing to leave it at the store. Because she wasn't in an emotional place to think logically right then, I offered her the options of either putting it back right away or walking toward the exit while she held onto it, until we reached the checkout area. At that point, her option would be to hand it to my husband to put back before we reached the door. She chose the latter. And for whatever reason, she quickly put the sewing machine back on the shelf where it belonged. However, she grabbed a unicorn craft that was nearby and held onto it just as steadfastly.
However, near the checkout area, she changed her mind and wouldn't relinquish it. At that point, I shared a story with her about a time when I was little and didn't get a toy I wanted. Her demeanor changed. She softened. For the first time in awhile, she looked me in the eyes and connected. She felt understood.
Shortly thereafter, she offered, "I don't want to put it back on the shelf. I want to put it somewhere...else."
I replied, "It's too hard to take it back to the craft aisle. You want to put it somewhere different."
"Yes. I want to hide it and see if Daddy can find it."
Fortunately, because she's five, her hiding places often include instructions such as, "Please don't look behind the chair."
She looked resolved, proud of having solved the problem herself. All she needed was the time and emotional support to do it. So, off we set on a short mission to find the perfect hiding place for it. After testing a few options, she settled on setting it between the feet of a mannequin. She promptly informed her Daddy not to look there. (Daddy, of course, returned it to its proper place once we were out of sight, and she confirmed later that it was exactly what she'd wanted him to do.)
And off we went to the car; her, sad but accepting, growing in her ability to solve problems. Even among the shiny objects; even when sleep deprived, she found a way to do it that was mutually agreeable. We can both sleep well tonight.
At one of the schools I have the pleasure of visiting regularly, this week's craft table featured what the teacher appropriately called the "paper guillotine," along with some glue and paper. At one point, an unsuspecting adult walked over and saw the setup. She inquired, only half-jokingly, "Oh, is this the table where you slice off your finger and then glue it right back on?" I laughed, albeit a little nervously. I admit I wondered the same thing when I first saw the guillotine. These are four- and five-year-olds using a very sharp tool, after all. However, I trust the kids' teacher implicitly, so if the paper guillotine is out, we go with it (with appropriate supervision).
Every week, I hear adults guide children as well as they can to help ensure their safety and well-being. What troubles me, though, is that despite their unquestionably good intentions, I all too often hear the adults telling the kids what not to do, without further comment or guidance. With all the time I spend in child-focused settings (schools and otherwise), I often get firsthand insight into the kids' experiences.
The "nots" and "don'ts" serve a valid purpose in our adult brains. They convey to our kids what they aren't supposed to do. They also leave me feeling really, well, deflated at the end of the day. And the adults aren't correcting me. They're correcting the kids. What's intended as helpful correction sometimes comes across as criticism and disapproval, and the kids' self-confidence simply can't thrive in that environment.*
To be sure, kids need guidance. They need discipline in the sense of "teaching," along with clear boundaries. And they need support while they figure out what we adults expect of them. Janet Lansbury, early childhood expert, writes extensively about the different forms boundaries take and how to navigate them with your kids, while building their self-confidence. Although she often writes about toddlers, the concepts she unpacked for me in this life-changing book still apply long after toddlerhood (afflinks). This is another great book that's full of practical suggestions and real-life scenarios.
That said, the tricky part is that just by virtue of being kids, they're, um, new here. To Earth. Their brains are still figuring out all sorts of things the rest of us have known for awhile. And in their defense, while many of them can and do understand what not to do, they still need help connecting the dots to what they should do, instead. Even school-age children have only been in school for a short time, and they're still figuring out how the rules and communication styles differ from person to person; classroom to classroom.
And in almost all the places where I see adults (both teachers and parents) interacting with children, I see all sorts of completely avoidable emotional strife. If we adults tweak our approach just a bit, it can remove any doubt in the child's mind about what we really want from them, while helping grow their self-confidence. We can make life easier for them and for ourselves. Who wants unnecessary conflict, anyway?
Here's what I've seen some of the best adult-leaders (teachers and parents) do that works beautifully. As the mother of my own child, I'm trying to emulate these concepts.
Every time you feel a "don't" or a "stop" message about to come out of your mouth, replace it with the opposite, positive statement. Rather than "Don't push," try, "Please keep your hands to yourself." If it helps you practice until it comes naturally, you can add the "do." Example: "Please do keep your hands to yourself." Instead of, "Stop throwing papers on the floor," try, "Please keep papers on the table." "Please walk" is just as easy to say as "Don't run," but the emotional tone is much more empowering. The child will know exactly what to do.
It's amazing how much less defensively kids (and, ahem, adults) respond when they're given positive instructions rather than directives that imply they're about to misbehave, even when they're doing everything right. From what I've witnessed, it makes a huge difference in the tone of the room, be it a classroom or at home.
A common pitfall I observe is when adults get the positive wording right, but then they attach a threat or consequence to it. For example, "Keep the crayons in the box or I'll have to take them away." Unfortunately, this approach strengthens kids' self-confidence no better than negative instructions do. Both activate the same part of the brain that signals danger, and it's hard to thrive that way. An example of what would convey the same message without the threat would be, "The crayons are for later, so please leave them in the box. First, it's time for a story."
I love it when I hear an adult call out kids who are doing something right. The catch here is to avoid indirectly shaming the kids who aren't doing it right, but rather, to build trust that we see kids in all their goodness. I love hearing, "Hey, I noticed how everyone in the class was quiet while I was explaining our activity today. I really appreciate that." Or, quietly to a child in the classroom, "Matty, I noticed you kept your hands to yourself today. Thanks for doing that." Alternatively, at home, "Thank you so much for cleaning up your spill without me asking you to do it! You sure do know how to help around here. I appreciate you."
I love how kids glow when they hear that they're getting things right.
In the class with the paper guillotine, what worked beautifully was this: "This tool is really sharp. The only thing that can go under the blade is paper. Keep your fingers out from under it when you push down on the lever." I'm happy to report that no fingers or other appendages became victims of the paper guillotine that day. All of the kids knew exactly what to do with the tool, because they'd been told what to do with it. We took the time to clearly and positively instruct them. Everyone who tried it appeared to find it fascinating, and dare I say, fun. Every single one of the kids went in giving the machine the side-eye, but knowing what to do, their self-confidence grew when it worked.
Raising our own children can be a lot like that: seemingly kind of scary at first, but when everyone figures out what to do, life can really go quite smoothly. The more we practice positive parenting, the more our confidence in the process can grow. And with peaceful smiles on our faces, we'll watch our kids' self-confidence soar.
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*Source: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/compassion-matters/201106/your-child-s-self-esteem-starts-you
Every week, I help teach a dance class. And every week for the past three months, six-year-old Lexi (not her real name) has had to be first in line when the children await their dance props (scarves and whatnot). When it's time to line up, she'll push other kids out of the way to get the prime spot. When she's dancing on stage and someone has a more desirable position than hers, she'll inch her way into the other dancer's space, slowly edging her out until she's right where she wants to be. Some of this can be very normal in child development. It's frustrating at times and certainly not how all kids develop, but normal for some children, nonetheless.
And up until last Monday, the kids in dance class had been finding ways to coexist with her without too much strife. I chalked it up to the world needing both leaders and followers. Some people are just a bit trickier than others.
Last week, however, Lexi was particularly rough when barreling over some of the other girls. This time, they didn't like it. And the more they tried to work with (and around her), the more determined she became.
Try as I might to stay patient and let them work it out, I was getting frustrated with this girl.
When I'm busy with a lot of kids, it's sometimes hard to remember that children usually know exactly what they need. They often know what would help remedy their undesirable behavior. Fortunately, I saw the struggling child in front of me, along with the opportunity to facilitate. So, I pulled her aside, hoping she'd take a shot at figuring out how to be fair to the other girls.
At first when I tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to leave the stage with me for a moment, she furrowed her brow and crossed her arms, clearly in a defensive posture. She followed me, and we sat side-by-side on a stair. Starting with a problem statement, I told her, "I'm seeing lots of sad faces on lots of girls today. It seems that many of them want to have a turn being first in line."
I continued, "I wonder what we could do to keep it fair for everyone. Let's talk about some ideas."
Observing a wave of relief wash over her when she realized I was engaging her peacefully, she replied, "Oh, I know! We could make a list of everyone's names and then take turns, going down the list, to see who goes first."
Smiling, I told her I thought that seemed really reasonable.
And then I promptly ruined the moment by saying something about the "need to be fair" in a way that she could have perceived as condescending, which was exactly the opposite of what I hoped to do. Grrr. I felt instant remorse, but it was too late.
She continued just as she had before, pushing and clamoring over others to be first.
I heard myself wonder more than once, "What in the world is going on with her?"
As I've written about before, expert Kelly Matthews of A Place for You Early Childhood Consulting suggests (and as she learned from her mentor, Deb Curtis), “Don’t get mad, get curious.”
I'm decent (not perfect, but decent) at "getting curious" when it's my own child, but I'd forgotten this sage advice in a busy room full of movement and noise. Fortunately, that wisdom returned to me while I still had another chance to try it.
I pulled Lexi aside again. Her demeanor wasn't much better than the first time I'd done it. I don't blame her. But I stated factually, "It seems like something is hard for you today. I'm here if you'd like to talk about it."
And this time, she sat me down on the stairs, girls moving all around us. She seemed oblivious to them. She proceeded to tell me how she "never" gets to be first for anything at home: she has an older brother, and "he's the meanest". In her words, he never lets her do anything, and her parents always side with him because he's older and "knows more." She reinforced how hard that is before adding that she was missing her Mom.
I sat quietly, listening.
She continued that her Mom has been gone for awhile, visiting her Grandma far away. And her Grandma is dying. And she doesn't really know what that means, but she knows she misses her Mom and doesn't know why she can't come home to be with her.
On she went, citing all her very real troubles. Suddenly it made perfect sense why she was acting out here in class.
Understanding children's behavior happens best when we connect with them. When she was done sharing her story, I simply nodded, said I understood, and asked if she'd like a hug. She said yes. And then she wanted another. After that, she ran off, back to the group, and then out the door as class was ending.
For the next week until class met again, I wondered about her.
And then it was class time again.
I said nothing. However, I made sure to smile and go out of my way to say I was glad to see her. She told me about her new loose tooth (it's her first one!).
I observed that every time the girls lined up at the wall, she put herself third in line. Always exactly third. She didn't push anyone or do anything that would cause a teacher to raise an eyebrow.
So, at the end of class, I tapped her on the shoulder and said, "Hey, I wanted to let you know I saw how hard you worked to keep class fair for everyone today. You let others go first. I see the effort you made. Thank you so much."
She smiled sincerely and added, "Yes, and I even offered my purple dancing scarf to another girl who I know likes purple, even though it's my favorite color!" She switched from smiling to all-out beaming, proud of herself. As she should be.
I get a lot of things wrong, but I do my best to assimilate what I've learned from other wise parents and teachers. I don't take credit for anything here--all I did was listen to Lexi. It's the simplest idea; the simplest way to connect. And as it turns out, that's exactly, and all, she needed.
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Update: Three more weeks have passed. She runs up to me and says hello every time she sees me. Her tooth is still loose, and her cooperation in class continues to be stellar (with no prompting whatsoever). Connection works, friends. I'm so proud of her.
I was just waking up and remembered that I needed to move some food from the night before from the refrigerator to the freezer. Upon opening the fridge, I noticed that the lid on the food wasn't secure, so I tried to push it down. In doing so, my Superheroine-Like Muscles (that must be it, right?) managed to push down the entire shelf. Half the food went airborne and the other half, along with the shelf, came crashing down like an avalanche. That's one way to wake me up!
Some of the food flew far enough to land on a Magna-Tiles creation (afflink) that my daughter had made. Now, unlike many kids who assemble and dismantle toys as often as they blink, my child, who's a self-proclaimed engineer, will painstakingly plan and build her creations, adding to them over weeks and months until they're "just right." She develops intricate stories about the imaginary people living in her elaborate villages, and if I didn't know better, I'd think they were really there.
So, when the Food Monsoon came through and damaged her village, she was devastated. 
I was still tired and a bit grouchy. The chaos I'd created before having my morning tea didn't help matters. Rather hastily, I instructed her to back up while I cleaned the mess. I wasn't thinking about the effects on her Magna-Tiles; I just wanted to get the food off the ground as quickly as possible.
Hot on my heels, she followed me to the utility room to get the cleaning supplies. I barely noticed she was there until I heard the distinct sound of a muffled sob. She was trying to let me work, but her sadness was finding its way out.
Only then did I see her. I knelt down despite my frustration and, still in my rational adult brain, I hugged her and told her calmly that I just needed to clean up and then we could get ready for breakfast.
Woah, Nelly. Not so fast.
"But Mommy," she struggled to say through an increasingly reddening face, "What about the family who lived in the house I built?"
Oh, right. The family. There were (imaginary) people in there. Still not "getting it," I replied softly, "Let's make the houses again together as soon as the materials are clean."
I needed to wake up. It wasn't the loss of the houses she was mourning; it was the people. The people she'd imagined; the people she'd grown to love in perfect childlike endearment.
Finally, I got it. I had to get out of my adult brain and address it from the perspective of a five-year-old. I know better than to "solve" problems as I'd been trying in my haste; she needed me to actively listen and to see her.
"I hear you're really concerned about the people," I started, "and you're worried they won't have a place to live."
Cue the big sobs. I'd hit the right nerve. The tears came heavily then and lingered for a long while; her heart weighed down with a child-sized natural disaster. It was completely real to her, as it should be. That's how kids' brains work.
"Yes, Mommy! What will they do?"
Finally connecting as I should have since the beginning, I replied, "I hear your deep concern for the family. You really care about them." Without attempting to solve her problem, I listened. I held her as she mourned and processed her feelings. After she'd allowed her storm to pass, she regained a sense of calm. Rushing her or reassuring her that she was alright (when she didn't feel that way) would've invalidated her experience. Listening empathetically as she worked through her sadness allowed her to build resilience, along with fostering trust in herself that she can get through hard things.**
At this point, still fully entrenched in her imagination and worry, she looked to me for guidance. The best way to connect with her in that moment was to join her right where she was: understanding her imaginary people's needs. She needed to play it out.
When she was ready for problem solving but too emotionally spent to suggest something on her own, I offered, "I want to you to know something important. I'm not sure if you saw it last night, but the family left a letter for us. It said they were going on vacation and that they wouldn't be at home today. They were planning to have some renovations done to their house and knew it would have to come down for awhile, so they were going camping in the other room. They were planning to sleep under the stars on top of your trampoline."
She blinked at me.
"But Mommy, couldn't they just sleep under the trampoline if they wanted to be in the dark? I think that's what they would want to do."
I agreed that, oh yes, it would be darker under there. That's likely what they did, and I told her so. Her mood instantly lifted.
She needed to know that I "got it" and could reassure her in her terms, not mine, that all would be well with the world again.
After all, when bad things happen to good people, isn't that what we all want?
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** This is a helpful book for learning how to support your kids' emotional intelligence. To see all the cooking, child-, and parenting-related items that have stood the test of time in my house, including my favorite books, click here. As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.
Due to my Mom’s work as an international model and actress, I spent most of my formative years surrounded by some of the World’s Most Beautiful People. Some, like my Mom, just happened to be beautiful on the inside, too, but that certainly wasn’t the case for everyone. Couple my surroundings with my passion for ballet and the level of fitness that ballet requires, along with normal peer pressure to look good, and I developed kind of a skewed perception of what makes a beautiful body. Sure, I had enough self-esteem to get by, but it was tricky territory.
With that as the backdrop, I’ve been very intentional with my daughter about the subjects of beauty and self-confidence. Although I’m not a model for magazines, I most certainly am her role model. I’m her Mommy. When she sees me look at my face or body in the mirror, I want her to see a woman who accepts every bit of her physical self (or, at least, a woman who’s gentle with herself).
Awhile back, I wrote about my daughter’s and my first “official” discussion about beauty and its effect on her self-esteem. Ever since that day, we’ve openly and often talked about healthy bodies, exercise, and nutrition. We read wonderful books about liking ourselves (afflink), and as far as I can tell, she’s growing in self-love and confidence. Most of all, we’ve discussed inner beauty. Focusing on the qualities that contribute to who we are and what we believe is so much more important than how we look. That’s what matters, right? All the external stuff is fleeting.
My child has seen me put on makeup and has asked me why I do it. I work to keep my answer as low key as possible. I’ve never mentioned wanting too look or feel prettier. I’ve intentionally divorced it from how I depict self-worth. I usually say something along the lines of “I just like to wear it,” or “I’ve worn it since I was young, so it’s habit.” Up until today, she acted as if she bought it.
I should’ve known better. Kids always seem to know when there’s more to the story.
As I waited for her to finish her breakfast today, I pulled out my makeup bag at the table and started applying concealer.
“Why are you doing that, Mommy?”
I replied with one of my trusty fallback lines.
To my surprise, she responded, “Mommy, I don’t think you need it to be more beautiful. I think you’re pretty just as you are. What matters is that you’re kind, and you’re kind with or without makeup.”
My heart melted at her sweet statement. Shortly thereafter, my inner voice replied, “But I still need makeup.” Outwardly, I just looked at her and smiled. I thanked her.
I know I’ve never told her that I wear it to make myself prettier. I sincerely don’t know where she got the idea.
Holding my lipstick in limbo halfway between my makeup bag and my face, I thought about what she was really saying. I realized that she was watching closely to see whether I agreed or disagreed with her. Despite what I tell her, what makes me feel good about my appearance? Is it something internal or external? I knew this would be one of those “teachable moments” about self-esteem and self-worth.
At the risk of sounding completely vain, I struggled briefly with what to do. I mentally catalogued who we’d see that day, and to what extent I wanted to look “a certain way.” Now, my “certain way” is fine, but I stress–I’m quite regular looking and currently quite sun deprived.
I paused. Then, I did what any self-respecting woman would do. I said, “You’re right. I don’t need makeup to be pretty.”
And we went about our day, both of us makeup-less and genuinely happy about it–-her, because she’s little, and me, because I’m her role model. If I’m going to tell her that what matters most is inner beauty, then I need to live it, especially when she’s watching. And asking.
This was a test. It didn’t matter who we’d see today.
We both know I’ll wear makeup again, and that’s fine, too. Sometimes I’ll even put on fancy jewelry or break out my “good jeans” (hey, I’m a Mom).
I felt more free today than I have for awhile–not because I lacked makeup, but because my child gave me an opportunity to overthrow my old way of thinking. There’s nothing I “need” to do just because I’ve always done it. She helped me escape my own hypocrisy, telling her one thing but holding myself to a different standard. I’m thankful that my daughter continues to teach me what’s really important. I’m glad she’s holding me to what I attempt to teach her about self-esteem. She has every right to do that.