Science Minded

04/06/2026

Young children learn through repeated actions and experiments. They are little scientists, constantly testing ideas about their bodies, objects and the world around them.

My little one putting a bucket on his head could be part of a positioning schema (exploring how objects fit on, in, under or around things). It may also involve an enclosure schema, where children are fascinated by covering themselves, hiding, containing or being contained.

He might be asking:

What happens if I put this on my head?
Can I still see?
Can I hear differently?
Does it stay on while I walk?
What do the grown-ups do when I wear it?

To us, it looks silly, but to an 18-month-old, it's research.

The more we understand schemas, the easier it becomes to see behaviour as learning rather than mischief. Suddenly the bucket on the head isn't a problem to solve. It's a clue about how a child is making sense of their world.

And honestly, childhood is a lot more fun when we remember that sometimes the scientific method involves wearing a bucket as a hat.

👉 Comment SCHEMA and I'll send you my free guide all about children's schemas and play drives.



References: Arnold (1979); Athey (2007); Nutbrown (2011)

28/05/2026

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)

23/04/2026

Something happens in our brain when our child melts down.

We want to fix it. Fast. So we say the first thing that comes out. And often, that first thing, however well-intentioned, makes everything harder.

I've done it. Most of us have. And it doesn't mean we're doing it wrong, it means we're human, and our own nervous systems are responding right alongside our child's. When someone we love is distressed, our brain registers it as a threat. We move to action. We want the distress gone, for them and if we're honest, for us too.
That's not a character flaw. That's biology.

But it's worth knowing which phrases tend to backfire, because once you can see them, you can start to catch them.

❌ "Calm down."
Telling a flooded child to calm down is like telling someone drowning to swim better. They would if they could. A dysregulated nervous system cannot follow verbal instructions, it needs a regulated nervous system nearby to co-regulate with.
Try: "Let's slow down your breathing, then we can talk."

❌ "Just breathe."
Same problem, different packaging. Telling a flooded child to breathe is like handing that same drowning person a map. They need co-regulation first, not instructions.
Try: Modelling slow, exaggerated breaths yourself. Their nervous system will often follow yours, even when words can't reach them.

❌ "You're fine."
This one dismisses before it connects. Even when we mean it kindly, even when it's technically true, it communicates something the child hears loud and clear: your experience isn't real. And that lands hard.
Try: "This feels hard. I'm here."

❌ "There's nothing to be scared of."
Fear doesn't respond to logic. Not in children, not in adults. You can't think your way out of a felt sense of threat, and neither can they.
Try: "This feels scary for you. I'll keep you safe."

❌ "It's not a big deal."
It is a big deal. To them, right now, it is the biggest deal. Minimising it doesn't shrink the feeling, it just quietly teaches them not to trust you with the next one.
Try: "This really matters for you. I get it."

And then, if you can, try to imagine it from their perspective. Not who's right and who's wrong. Simply what feels real for them in that moment. That shift alone can change everything about how you respond.

The goal in a flooded moment isn't compliance. It's safety. Once they feel safe, everything else becomes possible.

I'm curious about your experience with this. Which of these phrases is hardest for you to resist in the moment? And is there one that surprised you, that you hadn't thought of as dismissive before? I'd genuinely love to hear from you in the comments.

Carollo et al. (2023); Siegel & Payne Bryson (2012); Porges (2011)

20/04/2026

The relationship we have with our children doesn’t just shape their behaviour.

It quite literally shapes their brain.

And I don’t mean that metaphorically.

From the very beginning, our children’s brains are developing in the context of relationship. The repeated, everyday interactions we have with them become the architecture their brain is built on. The way we respond when they’re overwhelmed, the way we repair after a hard moment, the way we stay close even when behaviour is big or confusing… all of this is doing something.

It’s wiring their brain.

It’s building the systems that help them regulate emotions, manage stress, feel safe in relationships, and eventually think, learn and problem-solve.

And here’s the part I think many of us need to hear.

It’s not about getting it right all the time.

It’s not about never losing patience, never feeling frustrated, or always knowing exactly what to do.

The brain isn’t built through perfection.

It’s built through patterns.

Through enough moments of being responded to.
Through enough experiences of feeling safe.
Through enough repairs after things go wrong.

That’s what shapes development.

Not the one moment we wish we could take back.
But the hundreds of moments where we show up again.

When our children are dysregulated, their nervous system is leading. In those moments, they’re not accessing logic or reasoning in the way we might hope. They need us to help bring their system back to a place of safety first.

That’s what co-regulation is.

And over time, those repeated experiences of being supported in that way become the foundation for their own ability to regulate.

This is why connection isn’t separate from “discipline” or “behaviour support.”

It is the foundation of it.

So I’m really curious to hear from you.

What feels hardest about staying connected in those moments?
When your child is pushing back, melting down, or not listening… what’s the part that challenges you the most?

And on the flip side, have you ever noticed a moment where staying connected actually changed how things played out?

Let’s talk about it 👇

18/04/2026

It’s the weekend. The routine shifts, the pace changes, and often… the behaviour does too (for children and adults alike).

It's not uncommon to see:

More pushback.
More big feelings.
More moments that make us want to jump straight to correcting.

And it makes sense.
We’re often more tired, less structured, and holding a lot ourselves. Our own nervous system is closer to the edge too.

So when things escalate, it can feel urgent to fix it quickly.
To stop the behaviour.
To get things back on track.

But here’s the reminder we all need (myself included):

Connection comes first.

When our children are overwhelmed, dysregulated, or pushing against a boundary, their nervous system is leading, not their logic.

And when the nervous system is in charge, correction doesn’t land.

Not because they don’t care.
Not because they’re ignoring us.
Not because they’re being deliberately difficult.

But because, in that moment, they can’t access the part of the brain that could use what we’re saying.

They’re in protection mode, not learning mode.

This is where connection becomes the most powerful thing we can offer.

Connection helps their nervous system settle.
It communicates safety.
It tells them, “You’re not alone in this.”

Connection sounds like:
“I can see you’re really upset.”
“That was hard, hey.”
“I’m right here.”

It can look like:
Getting low and into their space
Softening our tone, even when it’s hard
Staying close instead of stepping away
Choosing curiosity over quick judgement
Injecting a little humour to shift the energy
Engaging playfully to bring their system back online

It doesn’t mean we drop the boundary.

It means we momentarily step out of “teaching” and into “regulating together.”

We remind our child, through our presence, that our relationship is steady and strong enough to hold both them and the limit.

Because when children feel safe and understood, they are far more able to:
• Hear us
• Trust us
• Work with us

And over time, this is what actually builds their capacity to handle boundaries without falling apart.

Correction still matters.
Boundaries still matter.

But without connection, they often escalate the very behaviour we’re trying to reduce, because the need underneath hasn’t been met.

So this weekend, if things feel hard:

Slow it down.
Notice your own state.
Lead with connection.
Then guide.

That’s where the real shift happens.

Discussion question:
When things escalate at home, what do you notice happens in your own body first, and how might that be shaping whether you move toward connection or correction?

16/04/2026

16/04/2026

Goodness of fit is a simple but powerful idea from child development.

It’s about how well a child’s natural temperament (how they’re wired) matches with what the environment expects from them, and how the adults around them respond.

Not all children experience the world the same way. Some are more sensitive, some are more active, some take longer to warm up, some adapt quickly. None of these traits are “good” or “bad” on their own. They just are.

Where things get easier or harder is in the fit.

A good fit looks like:

❤️an adult noticing who a child is and adjusting expectations
❤️a slower-to-warm child being given time instead of rushed
❤️a highly active child having space to move rather than being expected to sit still for long periods
❤️a sensitive child being supported gently through big feelings, not pushed to “toughen up”

A poor fit looks like:

💔expecting all children to behave the same way
💔seeing temperament as a problem instead of a difference
💔lots of power struggles, overwhelm, or repeated “challenging behaviour”

When the fit is good, children feel understood. Their nervous system settles more easily. Behaviour improves, not because we’ve controlled it, but because we’ve reduced the mismatch.

And importantly, goodness of fit doesn’t mean letting go of boundaries.

It means holding the boundary and adjusting how we support the child to meet it.

So instead of:
“Why is this child so difficult?”

We shift to:
“What does this child need from me so they can succeed here?”

That shift is where so much change happens.

References: Thomas & Chess (1977); Thomas, Chess & Birch (1968);
Rothbart & Derryberry (1981); Rothbart (2011); Woodhouse, Scott, Hepworth & Cassidy (2020)

04/04/2026

Easter, through a child's eyes is magic. Not just because of chocolate (although… that helps).

But because so many Easter traditions line up beautifully with how young children learn, connect and make meaning. Across the world, Easter is full of different traditions, but all share the same core ingredients: connection, play, meaning.

For our children, Easter isn’t really about chocolate or bunnies.

It’s about:
🐣Shared joy
🐣Connection with us
🐣Predictable rituals
🐣Playful exploration

The kinds of experiences that quietly build secure relationships and a sense of belonging.

Think about it…

🥚The Easter egg hunt

Searching, noticing, problem-solving, remembering where they’ve already looked… this is early executive functioning at work.

🐰 The Easter Bunny

Between the ages of 2-7 years children live in a world where fantasy and reality overlap. This isn't because they're confused, it's developmentally necessary. The skills that their vivid imaginations help to foster include creativity, flexible thinking and social understanding (Lillard et al., 2013).

🍫 Rituals and traditions

Whether it’s Easter baskets, family meals or the same egg hunt every year, repeated experiences and traditions create predictability. And predictability builds a sense of safety. And when children feel safe, they’re more able to explore, connect and learn.

🌏 Around the world…
Easter often places children right at the centre:

• In parts of Europe, children decorate eggs (fine motor skills + creativity)
• In Sweden, children dress up and go door-to-door like little Easter witches (social rules and norms)
• In Australia, we’ve embraced the Easter Bilby 🐰➡️🦡, blending culture with environmental awareness

So this weekend, alongside the chaos and sugar highs, let's remind ourselves:

These beautiful moments of ritual, connection and play? They’re doing more than we think.



References:
Lillard et al. (2013); Pellegrini & Smith (2005); Ginsburg (2007); Panksepp (2007)

31/03/2026

Anxiety in 3 year old doesn’t usually look like what we picture when we think of anxiety in adults.

It often looks like:

😳 Clinging tightly at drop-off
😳 Big emotions when we leave or enter the room
😳 Saying “no” to new people or new experiences
😳 Wanting things done the same way every time
😳 Difficulty at bedtime
😳 Sudden meltdowns that seem to come out of nowhere

A three-year-old’s brain is still developing the ability to understand and regulate those feelings. So when something feels uncertain, unfamiliar or overwhelming, their body goes into a kind of “uh oh, not safe” response.

Importantly, this is not the same as clinical anxiety. This is developmental anxiety.

It’s a completely normal part of being human. All of us experience anxiety, to different degrees. At age 3, those feelings are just louder, faster and harder to manage because the systems that help, our abilities to regulate is still under construction.

So what do our children need from us in these moments?

Sometimes it’s sitting with them, holding space for the feeling.

And sometimes it’s gently taking charge. Letting them know: “You might not feel okay right now, but I’m here. I’ve got this. I’m going to help you through.”

Practical ways we can support:
💜Stay close (our presence helps their nervous system settle)
💜Keep routines predictable where we can
💜Go gently with new experiences (slow exposure, not overwhelm)
💜Hold clear, calm boundaries (“I’m going now, I’ll be back after rest time”)
💜Let them borrow our calm (tone, body, pace matter more than words).

Over time, these repeated experiences of being supported through hard feelings build something powerful:

“This feels scary, but I've felt this way before… and I’m not alone.”

That’s what grows resilience.

Not the absence of anxiety, but the experience of being supported through it.

03/03/2026

Excited and anxious can feel almost identical in the body.

A racing heart.
Butterflies in the stomach.
Shallow breathing.
Sweaty palms.

The physiological signature of excitement and anxiety is remarkably similar because both are forms of arousal. In both states, our sympathetic nervous system activates. Our bodies prepare for action. The difference is often not in the body itself, but in how our brain (influenced by past experiences, society, culture, family dynamics, our access to language) interprets what is happening.

For children, especially, this distinction is not always clear. A birthday party, a school concert, the first day of term, a sleepover, even Christmas morning can produce the same physical sensations as fear. Without scaffolding, a child may interpret that arousal as “something is wrong.”

Research on emotion construction suggests that emotions are not simply triggered but interpreted through context, past experience and language. When we help children label arousal as excitement rather than danger, we are helping them to shape the meaning of these sensations.

This is why some children melt down before events they’ve been looking forward to. They're not being dramatic. It is physiology.

Instead of saying, “But you were so excited,” we might say, “Your body feels buzzy. That can happen when something really big is coming.”

We don't need to dismiss or lean in to anxiety, we can instead help them widen their understanding and interpretations.

Helping children understand that strong feelings share body sensations builds emotional literacy and regulation. It teaches them that intensity does not always mean threat.

Sometimes it means something wonderful is about to happen.



References: Barrett (2017); Lindquist et al. (2012); Quigley & Barrett (2014); Gross (2015)