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Today was our third day at Vacation Bible School in our church. With my three big kids and two “nieces of the heart” attending, I figured I better strap Hoss on my back and participate. I have been stationed with the three-year olds as self-appointed potty master, spontaneous game provider, and conversation starter. I love it.
The best thing about it is a little boy in the group who just reminds me so much of JR at 3. He needs to wander sometimes, has to touch things–ok, everything– and interrupts with brilliant ideas. For fun, let’s call him Matt. Matt is simply not designed for the contained movement /quiet listening activities that an indoor class requires. He can do it, sure, but only for short periods of time.
I seriously love him.
The other kids (even bouncy Lumpy) are content to sit and listen to a story while Matt’s feet are tapping out heavy metal drumbeats on the floor in front of him. What on earth are we supposed to do with a child like Matt? Like my JR?
Heavy work.
Little story for you. Sometimes a woman in labor is interrupted by getting in a car, an unsettling nurse or doctor, or having an anxious relative in the room. If this woman’s body secretes an adrenaline rush, it can take 20 minutes of vigorous physical activity (or a whopping dose of Pitocin, no comment) to overcome its effects. Vigourous activity refocuses the body.
Antsy kids are very similar.
You can start disciplining them (“Sit still, Matt”), physically redirecting them (“Hold my hand now, Matt”), or punish them (“You’re going to have to leave the room if you can’t participate, Matt”). But, you’ll fail. The thing that reverses the antsy-ness in these kids is heavy work. All of my kids need this some days.
I didn’t always call it “heavy work.” I learned the term in this incredible adoption book, which should really be re-packaged as a plain old parenting book, The Connected Child.
I watched the practice of it through two amazing adoptive parents who committed fully to helping their son overcome his destructive behaviors. It works like this: instead of making our expectations more clear to a bouncing, distracted child, my husband and I try to put their muscles to work. Here’s how we do it.
1) We set the task. Note, no correction, I go to kid, and make the offer, no preamble. A distracted child has a very hard time knowing what will bring him back down to earth. This can be:
-“I really need someone to move 12 logs from the woodpile next to the shed.”
-“Can you please pull this laundry basket filled with all the books on the floor upstairs to your bedroom?”
-“Can you take all of the cans and put them in this box for me?”
It has to be weird enough that the kiddo is intrigued. Also, it can’t just be just a running activity or a large body-movement activity. Those activities seem to ramp my kids up and encourage more distraction, with the calm alertness following maybe 30 minutes later. It needs to have some resistance to make it count. By setting the task for him we are also ferreting out true “energy overload” from disobedience. (The disobeying kid will refuse in a nasty way…well, my kids will anyway.)
2) Let go of any expectation that kiddo will return to a chilled-out state immediately. Let him do heavy work until the group starts a new task.
3) Don’t make a big deal of it. Thank him, and move on. Defend him if other kids ask what that was all about: “JR was just helping me with something.”
Today we were two hours in, and fresh from the creative (light) play room, where there was no splashing allowed at the water table and you could use playdough while sitting only. This meant music time was doomed from the start for Matt. The problem came on suddenly, and I intended to step back, as one of the counselors was his regular babysitter. But I intervened when he was cornered, and about to be begged to sit and listen.
I approached them and asked Matt to push the chairs across the carpet for me, which he could accomplish soundlessly and out of the line of sight of the other kids. Without hesitation, he complied. He moved heavy wooden chairs one side to the other five times while I stood back and “ignored” him. The teacher, however, noticed, and came up to correct Matt, leaning on the chair he was about to start moving to get him to stop. I don’t fault her at all.
The traditional model of good teaching means full compliance from every student, to ensure the knowledge is transferred and none of the other children are distracted. But Matt is three years old. He has ages to put in place the ability to override his body’s need to move in a way that is deliberate and calorie-burning and with great purpose. But, he also has a good three years to be corrected, disciplined and pushed before he is ready into this desired outcome.
I came up to our teacher a half-second later, and briefly explained he was doing the work for me. It really wasn’t fair of me to spring such a radical idea on her, directly in her line of sight, while she was in charge of the whole class. She did smile indulgently at me, and continued the class, like it was part of the plan. Wonderful woman. But, I thought it was worth the risk of insulting her, because Matt was so, so good at it. When he initially refused to sit down, he wasn’t asking for unstructured, special exemption, breaking the rules time. He was asking for something he could do with his body that would let some of the anxiety he was feeling burn itself out.
At craft time, 10 minutes later, he sat down, was engaged in the craft, and was just part of the class.
And I felt really good. Actually, egotistical parent that I am, I came here to brag about it. But, mostly, to give you, and your kid, another tool. Our children were designed to learn with physical movement and play at this age. We are transferring so much knowledge into them at such a young age, desk time is considered more and more valuable. Maybe these ideas will let our classroom-bound little ones have access to heavy blocks instead of light-weight cardboard ones. Or carry weights in relay races instead of light batons. Or have full-weight balls to hurl at a target instead of lightweight foam balls to gently toss. Are we truly trying to teach our children that they must always be gentle? I’m not.
Heavy work can be lifeline for children who have not yet mastered homeschool or traditional classroom expectations of impulse control, contained play, fine-motor skills, and good listening. I hope that someday when they are able to do these things, they will not be defined by the discipline and stigma of who they were as preschoolers.
BigLittleDays 