Science Minded

Fire alarm aren't the problem.

They alert us to a problem.

The same is often true of children's behaviour.

When children hit, scream, refuse, throw, run away or melt down, our attention is naturally drawn to the behaviour itself. We want the behaviour to stop.

Sometimes this leads us to focus on consequences, rewards, scripts and behaviour management strategies.

The difficulty is that behaviour is often a symptom, not the cause.

A child who lashes out may lack the skills to handle frustration.

A child who refuses may feel overwhelmed.

A child who melts down may be exhausted, stressed, hungry, anxious or struggling with expectations that exceed their current capacity.

When we focus exclusively on stopping the behaviour, we can miss the information the behaviour is trying to communicate.

This doesn't mean having no boundaries. Children need clear, consistent limits.

It means pairing boundaries with curiosity.

Instead of only asking, "How do I make this stop?"

We can also ask, "What need or skill is this behaviour pointing me towards?"

Because when we address the fire, the alarm becomes a lot quieter.

References:

Greene (2014); National Scientific Council on the Developing Child. (2004);
Siegel & Bryson (2011)

Recently I was in a Kindergarten room and observed one of the most amazing things. An educator encouraging 4 and 5 year old children to lie on the floor and use the ground to support their elbow while writing their name.

It might seem small, but developmentally, it was a HUGE and an incredibly thoughtful adjustment.

At this age, many children are still developing the core strength, postural control, shoulder stability and fine motor coordination needed for drawing and writing tasks. When we ask children to sit upright at a table and write, they are often managing multiple physical demands at once before they even get to the actual learning task.

By lying on the floor with the elbow supported, children gain physical stability through the ground. Their body no longer has to work quite so hard to hold itself upright, freeing up more energy and control for the writing itself.

This educator I observed demonstrated this beautifully with a little boy I’ll call Leo. Leo was sitting up and having a hard time writing his name. He seemed disheartened and dejected. She encouraged him to try it again but lying down with the ground supporting his elbow. The educator then showed him the difference between the two attempts. It was obvious. His letters when lying down were clearer, more controlled and easier to recognise.

But what mattered most was that she helped Leo notice the difference himself.

This shifted the moment from adult-directed correction to child-centred learning. Leo wasn’t simply being told how to do it “properly.” He was being supported to understand his own body, his own learning and what had helped him succeed.

That kind of reflective noticing builds far more than writing skills.

It builds confidence. Agency. A sense of “I can do this.” From there the skills feel possible.

This is what strong developmental practice often looks like in early childhood.

Not harder, stricter, not pushing children faster.

A deeply understanding of children and thoughtful adjustments to the environment to support their success.

References: Haan (2015)