Mine!

From the time they learn to talk, the word “Mine!” often plays a prominent role until a child is three or so. In fact, the first year I started working with toddlers, a sheet of paper was passed around titled “Toddler Property Laws.” It starts out:
       -If I like it, it's mine.
       -If it's in my hand, it's mine.
       -If I can take it away from you, it's mine.
       -If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
It goes on from there, but you get the idea. Everyone who has spent time with toddlers laughs when they read it. As I've spent more and more time with toddlers, however, my views on the word mine have changed.  I've come to believe that most of the time that a toddler (especially a young toddler) says “mine,” what he's really doing is expressing recognition of this object, explaining that he has a relationship with it. What do I mean by this? Well, here's a conversation that I have on a regular basis at Rainbow Bridge. Let's choose a little girl named Jojo. Jojo sees Sylvia playing with a toy that she recognizes:

Jojo: Mine!
Me: Were you playing with that before?
Jojo: (nod)
Me:  Yes. (pause) You were playing with it, and now it's Sylvia's turn. (pause again) Now you're playing with the dolly.
Jojo looks down at the doll in her hands, then up at me, and nods.

At least half the time, this is the conversation in its entirety. I acknowledge Jojo's relationship with the toy, then point out what she's playing with now. This feels satisfying to her, and she goes off to play with her doll. Unfortunately, many times we adults misunderstand toddlers' limited vocabulary, and assign the meaning that WE would give to the word “mine” when we hear them say it. When a child sees a toy in another child's hands and says “Mine!”, the adult often refutes them, going on to say who it really belongs to, who's allowed to play with it when, etc. And often, this ends up with an unhappy child. My idea is that to them, this feels like we're denying their relationship with that toy, which is completely unjust. They keep trying to explain (by saying “mine!”), and the adult keeps telling them that no, it's not actually theirs. How frustrating.

On the other hand, sometimes when they say “Mine!” it's because they see another child playing with a toy and they wish they could play with it. (I have a theory that toys 'come alive' to children when they are being played with, which is why toddlers always want a toy that somebody else is playing with.) When that happens, we go through the conversation above, but instead of wandering off, Jojo responds with a firm, “Mine!” Here's what I do then:

Jojo: Mine!
Me: Do you want another turn with that toy?
Jojo: (nod)
Me: Why don't you ask her? You can say, “Sylvia, can I have a turn when you're done?”
Jojo (to Sylvia): Can I have a turn when you're done?
Sylvia: Yes
Me: She said yes! You can have a turn when she's done! What will you play with while you wait?

At this point a child usually is happy to find something else while they wait, although sometimes she may need my help to find something that is as “alive” as the toy in Sylvia's hands. I make another toy come alive by starting to play with it, then offering it to her.

There are a couple of things that can trip up this conversation. One is if Jojo fails to get Sylvia's attention before she asks, speaks too quietly for Sylvia to hear, or asks me instead of asking Sylvia. If this happens, I'll either encourage Jojo to get her attention first, or I'll help: “Sylvia, Jojo has a question for you.” If Jojo is too young or too shy to ask for herself, I'll position myself right next to her and ask for her: “Sylvia, can Jojo have a turn when you're done?” Another problem can arise if Jojo asks and then Sylvia says “No.” If this happens, I'll simply explain to Sylvia, “Oh, she doesn't mean right now. She means when you're ALL DONE.” Usually Sylvia is happy to agree with this.

If Sylvia is playing at Jojo's house, there is another layer to the word “mine.” Then the question of ownership may really be coming into the discussion. In that case, I would reassure Jojo: “Yes. That toy is YOURS. Sylvia's having a turn with it right now. (pause). What are YOU playing with?”

Certainly it's clear that the word “mine” can mean different things at different times and in different situations. I don't know if toddlers really use it to express a relationship to the object, but I do know that when I think of it that way, and I acknowledge it as such, children often seem satisfied with no further action needed. Give it a try!

Warmly,
Miss Faith

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Having Their Own Experiences

Whether we work with children or we are caring for our own, we are with these children because we love them, and we will do anything to help them. Some of us have devoted our careers to them, others have given up careers to be with them. With such large commitments on our parts, it is natural that we want to be right by their sides as they explore the world, be with them for each new discovery. When we see that they want something, we reach to give it to them. When they tumble down we go running over. When they laugh for joy, we are laughing along with them.


Children experience things so fully, it can be lovely being with them as they go through it. And we are, most of the time. But I would remind all of us to consciously take a step back as often as we think of it, and let our children experience the world on their own. Children have inner lives of their own, and they need space to experience and develop them. When we give a running commentary on what our children are doing or seeing or experiencing, we shape their experience into what we are experiencing. Many times I've seen a child playing in the play-kitchen, and an adult walks over saying, “Oh, are you cooking soup?” The child nods. He may not have been cooking soup when he was playing alone, but by putting that suggestion out there, the adult has transformed it into soup. “What kind of soup are you cooking?” the adult asks. The child thinks for a minute. “Tomato,” he answers. He has now been taken out of action of his play, and moved into his head, into thinking about play instead of actually playing. “Can I have a taste of your soup?” asks the adult. “Mmmmm! This soup is delicious!” The child is watching the adult intently, and has stopped playing altogether. He waits for the adult to ask him to do something else. “Would you cook me some eggs?” asks the adult. The child is happy to comply.

I'm not saying that we should never play with our kids, or that playing with our kids always takes them away from their own play. If we're reading on the couch and they come over with a spoon and say, “Taste!” then by all means taste the delicious soup. And there are times when it is lovely to play imaginatively or energetically or joyfully with our kids. But what I'm suggesting is that it's valuable for children to have times when they can delve deeply into their play without having it shaped by us at all.

Likewise, if we notice a child has been sitting for a long time in one place outdoors, we will often go over and start asking them questions, or trying to engage them in play. But just sitting outdoors can be stimulating for a child in all the right ways. Maybe she was experiencing the wind blowing through her hair, or feeling the sand beneath her feet, or watching a bug that we couldn't see as it crawled over a leaf. When we go over and start asking her questions, or try to prompt her into play, we are taking away her own experiencing of the world. Even if we notice what she's noticing, when we comment on it, we shape her experience into the form of our experience “Oh, are you watching a bug?” we say. “Look, he's black and red!” Instead, let's let her notice her own things; they don't have to be verbalized to be appreciated.

Even when a child takes a tumble, it can be useful not to rush in too fast, and let them truly experience it. When a child tumbles down at Rainbow Bridge, I watch them first. If they look to me or start to cry, I will let them know that I'm there. “I saw you fall. I'm right here if you need hugs and kisses,” I'll say. If the tears continue, I hold out my arms. Quite a few times I've seen a child fall down and start to cry. I invite them over, but they stay on the ground. Soon their crying stops, but they don't get up: they have discovered a whole new world down at grass-level. Other times they get up, and start to come over to me, but see something more interesting, and away they run. They didn't need me after all. And sometimes, they get up and come to me for hugs and kisses. Being there in my chair with me, they can stay as long as they want, and we watch the world together from our perch. Whichever option they choose is fine, I'm available but watching as they go through their experience.

Children who are used to having a constant commentary on their lives may not initially know what do without it if you stop. You might say, “Well, I try to step back but my child doesn't know how to play by himself.” If this is the case, you will have to be even more conscious of this. If your child always wants you to play with them, stop making yourself the most interesting thing in the room! There is a certain way of being present for a child that lets them know that you are there and available for them, without having to be involved. The best way to cultivate this is to find “something else” to do. This “something else” should be something that you can do in the presence of your child, that your child can help with -or imitate- if they wish, and something that you can start and stop easily if your child needs something. As you do this “something else,” you can gradually become invisible. Household chores are really good “something else”s: folding laundry, doing dishes, sweeping the floor. Instead of thinking of these things as items to be rushed through so you can do something else, try lingering over them, stopping and starting again as kids need you, but you are always drawn back to it, like a magnet. Knitting or other types of craftwork can be good for this too, and raking leaves or working in the garden are great in the yard. The trick is to be available for them if they call you; don't tell them that you're busy. But you are soon back to doing “something else,” and invisible. The more invisible you let yourself become, the deeper they can get into their own experiences.

The Art of Re-direction (More Thoughts on Positive Dicipline)

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Taming the Wild Beasts
What I want to talk about here is the art of re-direction. That’s a large part of what positive discipline is: instead of saying what NOT to do, say what you DO want your child to do. This can be very straightforward (“Please talk in a quiet voice”), but it can also be creative, and here is where you can really learn to enjoy being with young children in a whole new way. My first exposure to this was when I was first considering working in early childhood, and I was observing a kindergarten class at a Waldorf school in Colorado. It was a class of 18 children, and during the free-play time there was a group of four 5-year-old boys who were playing that they were a pack of wild dogs. They roamed wildly around the classroom, growling and barking and wreaking havoc on the games others were playing. The teacher called them over to her, and they came running over. “We’re a pack of wild dogs!” they proudly announced. The teacher looked at them thoughtfully. “Wild dogs!” She said, finally. “Wild dogs don’t come inside. If you’re inside, you must be tame. Where are your owners? Each dog MUST have an owner, you know.” The four boys looked at each other, and an animated discussion immediately broke out amongst them about who would be the dogs, who would be the owners, where they could find leashes, etc. I was impressed. She didn’t try to get the boys to “stop” being loud, or “stop” being wild, or “stop” interrupting the other children’s play. She simply re-directed their play into something more appropriate. These boys came out with absolutely no sense of being wrong; in fact, they never came out of their fantasy at all. It merely changed its form. I remember thinking, “Wow.”

Re-directing play sometimes comes in the form of entering into a child’s fantasy-play and changing its direction: if the “monkeys” on the bed are getting a little too rambunctious, you might suggest that it’s time for them to start making a monkey-home because a baby monkey is on its way. If two boys desperately want to play with the same truck, you might suggest that one boy is the owner, and the other is the mechanic. Once the mechanic finishes fixing it, he gives it back to the owner again. If two children are upset that a littler child keeps ruining the house they’re building, suggest that the littler child can be a kittycat, and if he crawls up to them, they might give him a bowl full of milk. In these ways, children don’t have to “stop” whatever it is they’re doing that is unacceptable; they simply do something different. This method of re-directing boosts our enjoyment of the children we care for in a very immediate way, as we transform behaviors that are annoying or inappropriate into more appropriate behavior, without using the word "stop" at all.

In addition to dipping into a child's fantasy, re-direction can also be used to introduce fantasy, either to make a suggested action more attractive, or to transform a situation in which no fantasy had been previously. This is especially effective with toddlers.

Re-direction for Toddlers
Using imagination to change behavior can still work when children aren’t consciously playing a game, or when they’re still too young to be fully in the throes of fantasy-play. The example I used in the last article, about a child banging his spoon on the table during a meal, might have been just as easily (or more easily) diverted by saying, “Look, my spoon is a bulldozer. It’s scooping up some rice: Zzzzzzz” (sound effect as you scoop some rice laboriously towards your mouth). Chances are good that little Luke, who loves bulldozers, would immediately realize that his spoon is a bulldozer also. This technique of introducing fantasy is very useful when doing things that need to be done, when your child doesn't want to do them. When a two-year-old doesn't want to get her shoes on, her attention might be re-directed away from the power struggle if her shoe magically changed into a bunny. "This little bunny is trying to find a home. Hip-hop! Hip-hop!" If she has been protesting the shoe going on, she might need some time to enter into the fantasy with you. So don't go directly to the foot: "Is this my home?" The shoe hops onto the child's ear. "No! That's no home for a bunny!" (pause) "Is this my home?" The shoe hops onto the child's hand. "No! That's no home for a bunny!" "Is this my home?"Finally the shoe hops to the child's foot. "Hooray! The bunny has found a home. This is a good home for a bunny."

Sometimes re-direction can be accomplished with just a word or a phrase, but on some occasions, more effort is required. After working with toddlers for three years, I finally discovered what I could do with toddlers who just NEED to run while we’re inside, especially during our snowy Colorado winters. One child would start running, and this would excite another child to start running, and soon there’d be a pack of them, running and yelling. It was so fun for them, my re-direction efforts fell on deaf ears. It always seemed to be twenty minutes till lunch, too short to dress everyone to go outside. What could I do? Well, after three years, I finally came up with this perfectly simple game: I would see children running, and I would start singing a little song that I made up: “You’re running, you’re running, you’re running ‘round the room.” Then came the key part. I’d continue the song: “You’re running, you’re running, fall—down—boom!” And down they’d all go. From that down-position, I could start another action. “You’re crawling, you’re crawling, you’re crawling ‘round the room. You’re crawling, you’re crawling, fall—down—boom!” When I was first establishing the game, I did it with them to reinforce the actions, especially the falling part, which is vital. Soon they would do it on their own. As I got more savvy, I’d start with lots of big-motor movements: running, jumping, giant steps, spinning. After spinning I’d move on to lower movements: crawling, bear-walking, rolling. And sometimes, depending on the mood, I’d end with a very soft, “You’re sleeping, you’re sleeping, you’re sleeping round the room. You’re sleeping, you’re sleeping, shhh---shhh---shhhhh.” And I’d tiptoe over and cover each one with a soft cloth, then tiptoe away. They didn’t stay down very long, but when they got up, the energy was completely different from the running energy before the game. This is a fairly involved re-direction effort, but compared to groups of toddlers running and yelling, and me tearing my hair out, it was well worth it. The children loved that game, and would often request it. And I enjoyed my time with them through the long winters.