I’m wrestling, sorry, ‘dressing’, the littlest on his changing table. It’s 6.20am and basically lunch-time given the hour we were all awake.
I’m being kicked: he’s fifteen months and is discovering boundaries. Mine, mostly.
The dog is eyeing up his discarded nappy, but I’m employing effective resistance in the form of a shin and a few staccato, ’Aways!’.
I like to think I’m doing ‘intermittent fasting’ because it sounds grown-up and very 2020, but the truth is I just don’t have time to eat.
The biggest little is careering around the house on an imaginary race-track. Naked. He might be Batman, or is it Blaze this morning?
Either way, myself and his bro are part of the scenario and as he swerves past there’s a call to assume my role and I’m to parrot a line of dialogue - the right line - from the scene playing in his head.
After lap 58, he pulls up, brakes screeching. I’m still dancing with the dog and manipulating the baby into his leggings.
‘Sky?’ (I’m now Sky, from Paw Patrol, obviously.)
‘Yes, Batman?’
‘No, I’m Blaze,’ says Blaze with a long-suffering roll of his eyes.
‘Yes, Blaze?’
I’m anticipating the usual, ‘Let’s get those guys!’ Or maybe a, ‘Watch me fly / ride / jump off the couch narrowly missing gouging my eyes out on the coffee table.’
So I’m a little floored when he asks, ‘How do magnets work?’
The baby is now standing and drumming on my head, the dog looks demure, but I know she’s planning something.
‘Well, they are opposites, so they erm, so they stick together.’
‘Why?’
I’m not sure if the pounding in my head are the baby’s fists or the internal combustion of my last shred of sanity.
Surely, this is the question all parents dread.
One solitary word and we see the vortex - we’re teetering on the edge of the rabbit hole, peering into the abyss of asking, answering and oblivion.
Because we all know…once they start, the ‘whys’ will never cease.
There will be no answer we can give that will oblate the querying, satiate the hunger, satisfy their curiosity.
I dig deep.
I genuinely want to help him understand. Explain without patronising, with efficacy and clarity. Give the perfect reply to provide the answer - and nip this question-spiral in the bud. And then maybe have a cup of coffee.
‘Magnets have an invisible force that attracts the part of the other magnet that’s not the same and pushes away the part of the other magnet that is the same.’
‘The force is strong: between the opposite parts it almost glues the magnets together, between the part that’s the same, it’s like an invisible wall is built, so you can’t get them to touch.’
There’s a moment of silence. The baby quiets. My son looks up, absorbing my reply. Then his gaze, misty now, falls past me.
And I see it - the actual moment of realisation, of discovery, of understanding. His eyes widen and his mouth falls open.
It’s beautiful - I’ve done it! I’m totally bossing this mum lark.
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, darling?’ I reply, hoping for a quick, ‘You’re the best…’ or even a, ‘Thank-you for showing me the light of science,’ type of thing.
.
.
.
‘Mummy!’
‘Ginny’s got the nappy AND THERE’S POO ALL OVER THE WALLS!’
Well, at least it wasn’t a question.
I’m chalking that one up as a victory.
Wherefore art thou?
I jest, of course. It’s our role to tend to our kids’ curiosity, whenever its sprouts appear. And I say that through only slightly gritted teeth.
As the third element of the PACE approach to parenting - the over-arching model incorporated into Bartley’s Books, more about which is featured on earlier blogs - curiosity is a vital part of our parenting and to deepening the attachment relationship.
And, perhaps aptly, it’s a curious thing in itself.
As a secondary English teacher, I learned about the multiplicity of curiosity early on in my career.
There was absolutely nothing worse than a sea of blank faces, bored stares, disengaged doodling. (OK, there was - teaching the tome of Bleak House to Year 9s, but that’s a whole other blog…)
Thirty closed doors, saying, ‘Not today, thanks.’
As a teacher, maybe especially as an English teacher, you want, need even, questions from the floor. You want to see they care about the text and its world.
How a teacher gets a class from bored to buzzing is the mark between a good and a great one.
And the answer is in questioning…
Firstly, you need to model curiosity.
Sometimes this is an act.
We’re analysing a text - could be an article, could be a poem, could be a novel. You know what’s there to be found - patterns in words, interesting imagery - but your role is not didactic, you play the discovery game, leading them onwards through questioning, helping them turn over the words to find the beauty, the wit, the intelligence hiding underneath them.
Occasionally though, you find something new yourself - and the revelation elevates the moment beyond the performative.
The lessons I’ll forever remember is when these quests reignited my genuine curiosity - and the kids witnessed the fruits of it with me. My energy effervesced into the group: discovery is a great feeling and they want part of it.
So, being curious yourself is one facet.
But, and this is key, I could wax lyrical for hours about Shakespeare, poetry, rhetoric or whatever and although most would be 50% invested in it, that alone would never get them totally on board - that alone would never get them to trust me. And you can’t teach effectively without trust.
To really get them to be curious in my lessons, I had to be curious about them.
I had to care enough about their inner worlds to ask about them.
Of course, this takes time, but that’s when the lights came on - that’s when the classroom came alive. That’s when doors were opened and whole corridors of possibility opened up.
And it’s the same with parenting.
We need to perform curiousness in a world we already have discovered and take time to be curious about our kids’ inner worlds. A place we might think we know, but probably don’t.
A Nudge in the right direction
The lift-the-flap element to Bartley’s Books is a fundamental part of their brilliance.
Firstly, we hear the voice of a great character, the inquisitive squirrel, Nudge. He’s our guide through the story - talking to us and asking questions about its events. Many of these are around what’s going on in Bartley’s mind, and prompting us to reflect on how his emotions might be influencing his behaviour.
Hmm, I wonder why he didn’t want to go?
Bartley’s frowning, I wonder why.
Nudge personifies (or ‘squirrel’ifies) curiosity.
His function helps children understand Bartley better - and in parallel we hope, themselves. But his wider role is to teach the adult readers about curiosity…he’s modelling the kinds of questions we could be asking our kids outside of reading time.
These little flaps are doors into Bartley’s inner world. And the keys to opening similar doors in our own kids are the simplest of words…what, how, why.
Doors of Perception
In the effluvium of the everyday, it’s tough to retain a curious mind-set. The bills, the to-dos, the worries of life impact on curiousness as much as playfulness (the first element of PACE).
But, the puddle that to us is to be skirted around, to a kid is a croc-infested swamp to be navigated through.
The more we say, ‘Hurry up!’ ‘Careful, don’t get wet!’ the more we’re modelling indifference to the magic they see in the mundanity, and by extension expressing indifference to their world-view, to their perspective and even to their right to it.
So, how do we flex our inquisitive muscle? How do we keep curious?
Of course, it’s all about doors and rabbit holes.
Fairy Secret
My mum has a secret.
Well, I do. And now, so do you. But, ssshh.
Clearly, my mum is utterly bonkers and also in possession of a beautiful soul. Call it art-instillation if you like, its intent is purer and maybe even deeper than that; its expression more playful and it’s devoid of ego. It’s all about cultivating curiosity - and making people smile.
Now, I’m not suggesting you pop out to your kiln and whip up some doors yourselves (but, really, you could)…however, the lesson is clear. We adults can be curious, and must take responsibility for being so.
We must encourage exploration and questing behaviour and find newness in the everyday: under rocks, within books, behind doors.
We must go down the rabbit holes.
Why?
I’m so glad you asked.
Because it’s fun.
Because it will deepen our attachment relationships.
Because being curious about the world around them is the only way we should be teaching our kids to be. We should encourage them to open literal doors, imaginary doors and metaphorical doors to ultimately open their minds.
But most vitally, we must cultivate curiosity because in its truest expression curiosity is not just about the world around them, but about themselves and the people around them as well.
Curiosity leads to self-awareness - a fundamental part of happiness.
And curiosity ultimately leads to perhaps the most important quality a human can possess: empathy.
… the final element of PACE.
x Becks
The big news is that our Crowdfunder campaign goes live this Thursday, the 12th of March!
Put the date in your dairy and head over to our Crowdfunder page when it launches. Not only can you browse our pledging rewards, but also check out our fab film introducing you to Sarah, the picture-books and to the psychological theories which underpin the project.
Parenting Through Stories really needs your support - please share and spread the word and let’s get Bartley’s paw-prints on bookshelves by summer!