10 Minutes With The Twos
"I'm gonna put the school bus in here. Here we go. All aboard."
"Here we go at the Sciencenter. I'll be the Sticker Girl."
"Valerie, do you have snakes here?"
Me: "Have you seen snakes here?"
"No."
(Gracie rings the sandbox meeting bell.)
"It's sandbox time."
I'm outside with the two year olds, Grace and Lia. For 10 glorious minutes I'm alone with just the two of them and able to observe. My only job is to pay attention. All they seem to want from me is my attention. They are content, running around the yard, each with a sled banging behind her. Chatting, charging, and changing direction. Their play is independent, yet sometimes influenced by each other, moving between parallel and associative play. Like staccato raindrops on a metal roof; each one driven by her own intentions, yet influenced by the sounds around her. Separate, yet part of a larger whole.
"Lia, what are you doing?"
"I'm a big girl. Gracie's a little much bigger than me because I'm taller."
"Where's Lia?"
"I'm Clara the Nutcracker."
"That's not Lia."
"Yes, it is. I'm Clara the Nutcracker."
"It's a track. I'm going to look for the train."
(Gracie climbs to the top of the ladder, and rolls her head around, as if she's looking for the train.)
"Valerie, can we have a tea party and I'll make a track?"
"I'll make a track."
"That one's broken."
"Gracie, you can't share. We can't share out here."
I must admit, teaching two year olds is not my forte. I all too often find myself in a power struggle I will never win. (And after 20+ years I should know better.) But these 10 minutes changed some of that for me, and helped me to understand the two year old mind a little better. The constant stream of chatter is their tether to another person, and they tug and tug upon it to see if we're still there. They are seeking the answers we all may be wondering in our interactions, "Are you still listening? Do I still have your attention?"
Yes, you still have my attention.
"Here we go at the Sciencenter. I'll be the Sticker Girl."
"Valerie, do you have snakes here?"
Me: "Have you seen snakes here?"
"No."
(Gracie rings the sandbox meeting bell.)
"It's sandbox time."
I'm outside with the two year olds, Grace and Lia. For 10 glorious minutes I'm alone with just the two of them and able to observe. My only job is to pay attention. All they seem to want from me is my attention. They are content, running around the yard, each with a sled banging behind her. Chatting, charging, and changing direction. Their play is independent, yet sometimes influenced by each other, moving between parallel and associative play. Like staccato raindrops on a metal roof; each one driven by her own intentions, yet influenced by the sounds around her. Separate, yet part of a larger whole.
"Lia, what are you doing?"
"I'm a big girl. Gracie's a little much bigger than me because I'm taller."
"Where's Lia?"
"I'm Clara the Nutcracker."
"That's not Lia."
"Yes, it is. I'm Clara the Nutcracker."
"It's a track. I'm going to look for the train."
(Gracie climbs to the top of the ladder, and rolls her head around, as if she's looking for the train.)
"Valerie, can we have a tea party and I'll make a track?"
"I'll make a track."
"That one's broken."
"Gracie, you can't share. We can't share out here."
I must admit, teaching two year olds is not my forte. I all too often find myself in a power struggle I will never win. (And after 20+ years I should know better.) But these 10 minutes changed some of that for me, and helped me to understand the two year old mind a little better. The constant stream of chatter is their tether to another person, and they tug and tug upon it to see if we're still there. They are seeking the answers we all may be wondering in our interactions, "Are you still listening? Do I still have your attention?"
Yes, you still have my attention.
