Teachers are underpaid, under-resourced, over-scrutinized, and somehow still expected to transform a beige room containing 31 mismatched chairs and one dying pencil sharpener into an inspiring educational sanctuary.

I’m not mad at the teachers, not even a little bit. I’m mad at the internet.

More specifically, I’m mad at the corner of the internet that has convinced teachers that a “good classroom” must have:

• a theme

• twelve coordinated bulletin boards

• three alternative seating zones

• an affirmation mirror

• a neon sign

• individually labeled containers for every object ever manufactured

• and enough laminated décor to survive a minor flood

So with love in my heart and a staple remover in my hand, I would like to discuss a few classroom-design trends that I simply cannot support.

First, a confession

During my first years of teaching, I went absolutely feral over my classroom. I spent hours searching Pinterest and hundreds of dollars I couldn’t afford. I printed, crafted, cut, laminated, labeled, rearranged, color-coordinated, attached things to other things, and took so many photos that I promptly uploaded to Instagram.

Here’s the proof:

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I wanted my classroom to look cute! Functionality, adaptability, and responsiveness were secondary concerns.

And omg it looked SO cute! For like, a week.

Over the next several weeks, things fell off the walls, supplies went missing, posters were torn, and flexible seating was eliminated because I simply couldn’t handle the debates over “who got to sit on the bouncy ball.”

Now I can see the glaring problem…I was focusing on everything instead of the right things.

That experience (and everything I learned afterward) is a huge reason I created Calm by Design: a guide to building classrooms around function, inclusion, sensory needs, student development, and what teachers can actually maintain (while also maintaining sanity).

It used to be $30 in my Etsy shop, but now it’s free here (scroll to the bottom of this article for the download). I’m not here to gatekeep and truth be told, I’ve seen far too many “Retro Sunshine” classrooms and high-priced decor packs for sale on my feed recently.

Anyway, as I’m sharing more opinions that nobody asked for, let’s go over some of my biggest classroom-design pain points.

Your classroom does not need a theme!!!!!!!!

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Sorry for all the exclamation points, but this is one that I want to scream from the rooftops.

Your classroom is not a baby shower or a birthday party. It does not need to be “Boho Rainbow,” “Groovy Smiley Face,” “Under the Sea,” or “Farmhouse Chic,” which IMO is a particularly odd aesthetic for a room containing a projector and a Chromebook cart.

Cohesion creates calm and a few recurring colors or natural materials can create warmth, there’s no denying that. Yet there is a difference between visual cohesion and turning the entire room into a branded immersive experience.

Themes are not inherently evil or problematic, but they often end up encouraging us to make decisions based on whether something matches rather than whether it helps.

Try this instead

My top tip to create visual cohesion is to choose a small, flexible palette and let the room develop around the students.

You can start with what is already there. Use neutral backgrounds when possible and add color through books, student work, natural materials, textiles, plants, and a few intentional accents.

A classroom absolutely can (and should) feel coherent without looking as though it has a sponsorship deal.

Also…

We need to discuss the walls.

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Lovingly and respectfully, do either of these walls feel calm to you?

I’m really not trying to be a hater here because I know the intentions are positive and pure (and lord knows I had at least 25 posters stapled to the walls of my first classroom), but a certain point, the walls are simply no longer supporting instruction.

Classroom displays can be useful, for sure, but when every surface is covered, students must constantly filter relevant information from visual noise. This can be particularly demanding for children who are easily distracted, anxious, autistic, have ADHD, or just process sensory information differently.

Also, from a practical standpoint, every item on the wall becomes something the teacher must print, prepare, hang, repair, update, remove. It’s just doing too much and we don’t have time for the constant maintenance.

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Try this instead

Start with the most essential of materials, leave lots of blank space, and slowly add what is essential.

In my current classroom, I’m starting the year with a visual schedule, a birthday poster (because we have a special birthday ritual my students will never let go of), and a handmade cursive alphabet. THAT’S IT.

Blank space allows the eye to rest, gives meaningful displays more impact, and creates room for students to contribute to the environment over time.

Prioritize:

• information students currently use

• student-created work

• anchor charts developed during instruction

• visuals that increase independence

• materials that are legible from where students sit

I will eventually be posting curricularly-relevant anchor charts and academic material, but it can all be rotated. Your walls won’t enforce the rules, routines, or prove that learning is happening. You do that.

Furthermore…

The fonts :’(

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Don’t get me started on the FONTS…the bubble letters, the curly handwriting, or the drippy melting crayon. It’s my personal haunted house.

Decorative fonts may seem harmless, but classroom text has a job…to be read.

This is especially important for emerging readers and writers who are still learning consistent letter formation. Think about it…if our classroom presents six different versions of the letter g, a student still learning to read or write is going to be very confused about how to recognize or form that letter.

Try this instead

I recommend using clear, familiar, sans-serif fonts such as Arial, Helvetica, or even Comic Sans if you must.

Also, don’t forget make the print large enough to be read by the child sitting farthest away.

Accessibility is more important than whimsy.

And a hot take I’ve gotten pushback on before…

You do not need a permanent affirmation mirror.

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I get the intention and agree that positive self-talk can be powerful. Affirmations are absolutely worthy of being taught.

Yet I remain unconvinced that we need to install a permanent mirror in the middle of the classroom to accomplish this.

I tried it, but I was shocked to discover that not a single one of my students used it to look deeply into their own eyes and declare “I am resilient.” It became our de facto makeup counter.

This makes sense to me now. Mirrors attract attention…that is one of their central features.

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Try this instead

Teach affirmations directly and model realistic self-talk such as:

“This is hard, but I can take it one step at a time.”

“I made a mistake, and I can fix it.”

“I don’t understand this yet.”

You can also use a handheld mirror for a specific activity and then put it away or ddd affirmations to restroom mirrors or another space where looking at oneself is already part of the environment.

We can teach the skills without installing a tiny self-service distraction kiosk.

Another hot take…

Flexible seating should be reactive, not proactive.

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I’m against flexible seating, but I am against purchasing eight different categories of novelty furniture before knowing whether any of it will help the children in the room.

Wobble stools, floor cushions, standing desks, beanbags, scoop chairs, balance balls, lap desks, rocking seats, and low tables can all serve a purpose and I use several of them in my own classroom. However, if provided before true need or rules of use are established, they can also create:

• arguments

• distraction

• storage problems

• tripping hazards

• unclear expectations

• student inflexibility (as in “ I refuse to do anything unless I’m sitting on a bouncy ball”)

Comfort, choice, and movement all matter, but they need to coexist. Students also need stable work surfaces, clear pathways, appropriate posture options, and enough room to complete actual tasks without tripping over a refurbished, pillow-stuffed canoe.

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Try this instead

Have a few kickbands and wobble cushions at the read, and then observe your students before adding more.

Ask:

• Who benefits from this?

• What need does it meet?

• During which activities will it be available?

• Can students use it safely and independently?

• Where will it live when it is not being used?

• Am I prepared to clean it?

Flexible seating should solve a problem, not become one.

One more…

You do not have to spend your salary proving that you care.

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Teachers are routinely (even if not directly) encouraged to furnish their classrooms with their own money.

Social media and the expectations influencers often create are hugely responsible for this. Online, we may see the finished room, but we don’t see the credit-card balance, donated labor, or brand partnerships.

Honestly, this is an equity issue. Teachers shouldn’t have to bankroll their classrooms and the quality of a classroom environment shouldn’t depend on a teacher’s disposable income.

Try this instead

Before buying literally anything, ask:

1. Do we already own something that could serve this purpose?

2. Could the school provide it?

3. Could it be borrowed, donated, thrifted, or repurposed?

4. Will it meaningfully improve student access, comfort, independence, or learning?

5. Will I still want to manage this object in February?

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My official classroom-design rule

Before adding something to the room, you should be able to answer two questions:

Why is it here?

and

How will students use it?

My point here is not that there’s something wrong with beauty, personality, color, or joy in a classroom. Of course, children deserve spaces that feel warm and cared for.

However, beauty is secondary to function. They can coexist, but it’s best to prioritize the former.

A free workbook to help you design your classroom with intention

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It would be deeply unfair for me to criticize your affirmation mirror and then abandon you with a roll of double-sided tape, so I am giving away my Calm by Design classroom workbook for free. It’s 70 pages of guidance, recommendations, photos (many of my own classroom), ideas, and more.

It will help you think through:

• how you want students to feel in the room

• your classroom mission, vision, and values

• student and accessibility needs

• layout and movement

• lighting, sound, color, and other sensory factors

• seating arrangements

• realistic budgeting and sourcing

• what to keep, remove, move, or reconsider

The goal is not to create my ideal classroom, but to help you create a space that works for your students, teaching style, resources, and actual life.

Calm By Design

134MB ∙ PDF file

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Please know that I support you, I believe in you, and I am BEGGING you from the bottom of my heart to use no more than two fonts <3

So, no manifesto today…just 30 practical questions that can help deescalate conflict, uncover what is really going on, repair connection, and move forward.

Use them naturally, one at a time, rather than interview-style. Adapt the wording to the child’s age, the situation, and what they can handle in that moment.

Deescalation:

1. What’s bothering you right now?

2. Can you tell me how you’re feeling?

3. Is there something specific that’s making you upset?

4. Would you like some space, or do you want to talk about it?

5. What can I do to help you calm down?

6. Can you take a few deep breaths with me?

7. Do you want a hug or some comfort?

8. Is there a special toy or activity that might make you feel better?

9. Can you use words to explain what’s going on?

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Problem Solving & Restoring Relationships:

10. What do you think caused this issue?

11. How do you think we can solve this problem together?

12. Can you suggest some possible solutions?

13. What would be a fair compromise for both of us?

14. How can we prevent this problem from happening again in the future?

15. Is there anything we both need to apologize for?

16. Can we find a way to understand each other better?

17. What are some positive things we like about each other?

18. How can we rebuild trust in our relationship?

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Moving Forward:

19. What have we learned from this situation?

20. How can we make sure our relationship stays strong?

21. Are there any goals or dreams we can work on together?

22. What activities do you enjoy doing with me?

23. Can you think of ways we can have more fun together?

24. Are there any changes we can make to improve our communication?

25. How can we support each other in the future?

26. What can we do to celebrate our successes together?

27. Do you have any ideas for making our relationship even better?

28. How can we continue to grow & learn together?

29. What are our shared values & priorities?

30. Can we express our love & appreciation for each other more often?

Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is pause the lecture and ask a better question.

Those things can matter, but they are not the whole picture.

A child can be academically bright and still overwhelmed by the demands of a kindergarten day. A child can know every letter in the alphabet and still struggle with transitions, group settings, frustration, independence, or stamina.

So instead of asking only, “Can my child do kindergarten work?” it may be more helpful to ask:

Can my child function inside a kindergarten day with reasonable support?

This quiz is not a diagnosis. It is not a gatekeeping tool. It is not meant to shame any parent into delaying kindergarten, especially when childcare, work schedules, finances, and public program availability are very real factors.

It is simply a reflection tool to help you think through your child’s readiness in a fuller, more developmentally appropriate way.

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How to take the quiz

For each statement, give your child a score:

0 = Not yet
This is very hard for my child right now, even with support.

1 = Emerging
My child can do this sometimes, especially with reminders, structure, or adult help.

2 = Mostly yes
My child can usually do this in a familiar setting with age-appropriate support.

Try to answer based on your child’s typical patterns, not their very best day or their very worst day.

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Part 1: Separation and emotional security

1. My child can separate from me or another caregiver with support.

This does not mean they never cry. It means they can recover with help and eventually settle into the day.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

2. My child can be comforted by another trusted adult.

They do not need to only accept comfort from one parent or caregiver.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

3. My child can enter a new or semi-new environment without becoming completely unable to participate.

They may feel shy or cautious, but they can eventually join in.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

4. My child can ask for help when they are confused, hurt, stuck, or overwhelmed.

This could be with words, gestures, or another clear communication system.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

5. My child can recover after being upset.

They may still cry, protest, or need comfort, but they do not stay dysregulated for very long periods every time something goes wrong.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

Section score: ____ / 10

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Part 2: Self-regulation and frustration tolerance

6. My child can handle being told “not right now” or “you need to wait” without completely falling apart every time.

Not perfectly or silently, but with growing flexibility.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

7. My child can move through simple transitions with support.

For example: playtime to cleanup, home to school, outside to inside, lunch to rest, or one activity to another.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

8. My child can follow a simple two-step direction.

For example: “Put your folder away and come sit on the rug.”

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

9. My child can tolerate small mistakes.

They may be disappointed, but they can usually keep going with encouragement.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

10. My child can try something challenging without immediately giving up or melting down.

This does not mean they love hard things. It means they are building some ability to stay with a task.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

11. My child can participate in a group activity for a short period of time.

For example: listening to a short story, joining a song, sitting for a mini-lesson, or participating in a simple game.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

Section score: ____ / 12

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Part 3: Social readiness

12. My child can play near or with other children without constant adult intervention.

They do not need to be socially perfect, but just need some ability to exist in a group of children.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

13. My child is beginning to take turns.

This may still require reminders, but they understand the basic idea.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

14. My child is beginning to share space, materials, and attention.

They do not need to love sharing (most young children do not), but they are developing the ability to do it with support.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

15. My child can usually keep their body safe around other children.

Occasional impulsive behavior is normal, but frequent hitting, biting, pushing, bolting, or unsafe behavior may be a sign that more support is needed before a full kindergarten day.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

16. My child can handle simple peer conflict with adult support.

For example: someone takes a toy, someone says “no,” someone does not want to play, or someone changes the rules.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

Section score: ____ / 10

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Part 4: Communication and self-advocacy

17. My child can communicate basic needs.

For example: “I’m hungry,” “I need the bathroom,” “I don’t feel good,” “I need help,” or “I’m scared.”

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

18. My child can usually understand and respond to simple adult directions.

This does not mean instant obedience. It means they can process what is being asked.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

19. My child can tell a simple story, describe what happened, or explain a problem in a basic way.

For example: “I fell,” “She took my block,” “I was playing and then I got mad.”

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

20. My child can participate in simple back-and-forth conversation.

This could be with an adult, sibling, peer, or familiar caregiver.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

Section score: ____ / 8

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Part 5: Independence and practical skills

21. My child can use the bathroom independently or with very minimal help.

This includes recognizing when they need to go, managing clothing, wiping to the best of their ability, and washing hands.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

22. My child can eat lunch or snack with reasonable independence.

For example: opening some containers, asking for help when needed, staying seated long enough to eat, and managing basic cleanup.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

23. My child can manage basic clothing needs.

For example: putting on shoes, pulling up pants, taking off a jacket, or attempting to zip a backpack.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

24. My child can clean up after an activity with support.

They may need reminders, but they can participate in putting materials away.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

25. My child has enough stamina for a school day.

They may still be tired afterward, but they can usually make it through a structured morning or day without falling apart from exhaustion every time.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

Section score: ____ / 10

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Part 6: Learning readiness

26. My child shows curiosity.

They ask questions, explore, notice things, wonder, pretend, build, create, investigate, or want to understand how things work.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

27. My child can listen to a short book, story, song, or group activity.

They do not need to sit still like a statue — movement is normal — but they can attend for short periods.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

28. My child can hold and use basic classroom materials.

For example: crayons, markers, scissors, glue sticks, blocks, puzzles, manipulatives, or play materials.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

29. My child is beginning to recognize some letters, numbers, shapes, colors, rhymes, patterns, or sounds.

This does not need to be mastered before kindergarten.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

30. My child can engage in pretend play, creative play, building, drawing, storytelling, movement, or hands-on exploration.

Play is not separate from readiness. Play is one of the main ways young children develop readiness.

Score: 0 / 1 / 2

Section score: ____ / 10

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Total score

Add up all six sections.

Total: ____ / 60

Now, before you jump to the score, remember:

This quiz is not asking whether your child is “smart enough” for kindergarten.

It is asking whether your child seems developmentally ready for the demands of a kindergarten day.

Those are different questions.

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What your score may suggest

50–60: Likely ready, with normal support

Your child appears to have many of the social, emotional, practical, and early learning skills that support a smoother kindergarten transition.

This does not mean kindergarten will be effortless. Transitions are still big. Tears may still happen. Your child may still come home exhausted. But overall, your child seems to have a strong foundation for beginning kindergarten.

Helpful next steps:

• Practice school routines

• Visit the campus if possible

• Read books about starting school

• Practice opening lunch containers

• Keep bedtime consistent

• Talk about what to do when something feels hard

38–49: Possibly ready, but support matters

Your child may be ready for kindergarten, especially if the classroom is developmentally appropriate, warm, play-based, and supportive.

But there are a few areas that may need attention before school starts.

Look at the lowest-scoring sections. Are they mostly practical skills? Social skills? Separation? Regulation? Stamina?

A child who scores lower in one area is not automatically “not ready,” but it does tell you where to focus support.

Helpful next steps:

• Talk with the preschool teacher, TK teacher, pediatrician, or future kindergarten teacher if available

• Practice independence skills at home

• Set up more play opportunities with peers

• Practice short separations

• Build stamina gradually

• Use simple scripts like “Can you help me?” or “I need a break”

• Consider whether TK, preschool, or another bridge year is available and appropriate

25–37: Consider whether more time or a gentler bridge would help

Your child may still be developing several of the capacities that make kindergarten feel manageable.

This does not mean anything is wrong with your child.

It may mean they need more time, more support, a smaller setting, a TK year, a developmental preschool year, or a more gradual transition.

If your child has a late birthday, struggles with separation, has frequent intense meltdowns, has difficulty with toileting or communication, becomes overwhelmed in groups, or cannot yet recover from frustration with support, it is worth slowing down and looking carefully at the options.

Helpful next steps:

• Talk with your child’s current teacher or caregiver

• Ask your pediatrician about developmental screening if you have concerns

• Tour the kindergarten and ask what support looks like

• Ask about TK, preschool, or transitional options

• Consider whether waiting would reduce stress and build confidence

• If waiting is not financially possible, ask the school what supports can be put in place from day one

Under 25: More support is likely needed

Your child may need more time, more developmental support, or a more gradual path into formal schooling.

This is not a failure. It is information.

Some children need support with language, sensory processing, separation, regulation, toileting, motor skills, social interaction, or stamina before kindergarten feels manageable.

Helpful next steps:

• Talk with your pediatrician

• Request a developmental screening if you have concerns

• Talk with your preschool, childcare provider, or school district

• Ask about TK, preschool, early intervention, special education evaluation, or other support services

• Look carefully at whether kindergarten is the right placement right now

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A few important notes

1. Readiness is not the same as intelligence.

Some children are very academically advanced but not ready for the emotional, social, or physical demands of kindergarten.

That does not mean they are behind. It means development is uneven, which is completely normal.

2. Kindergarten readiness is not only the child’s responsibility.

The question is not only, “Is my child ready for kindergarten?”

It is also, “Is this kindergarten ready for my child?”

A good kindergarten classroom should expect a wide range of development. Five-year-olds are not supposed to arrive as tiny first graders.

3. More time can be a gift when families truly have the choice.

If your child is right on the edge, especially with a late birthday, and your gut is telling you they may need more time, it is okay to listen.

More time to play is not wasted time. More time to mature is not falling behind. More time to build confidence is not failure.

There is no prize for rushing a child into a setting they are not ready to navigate.

4. But not every family can simply wait.

This conversation has to include reality.

Childcare is expensive, work schedules can be inflexible, and public preschool and TK access vary. Some families start kindergarten because it is the only realistic option.

That is not a parenting failure. It is a systems issue.

So this quiz should never be used to shame a parent for sending their child to kindergarten.

It should be used to ask better questions, notice support needs earlier, and advocate for children more clearly.

5. When in doubt, ask: what would make this child feel successful?

Not just challenged or pushed, but actually successful.

For some children, that is kindergarten. For some, that is TK. For others, that is another year of preschool.

The goal is not to keep children little forever, but to let them grow without rushing them past what they are developmentally ready to carry.

Sources & Further Reading

This quiz was informed by guidance and research from:

• American Academy of Pediatrics, “School Readiness,” Pediatrics, 2019

• Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, “Milestones by 5 Years,” Learn the Signs. Act Early.

• National Association for the Education of Young Children, “Developmentally Appropriate Practice”

• Head Start Early Learning Outcomes Framework: Ages Birth to Five

• Center on the Developing Child at Harvard University, “Executive Function and Self-Regulation”

• California Department of Education, “Universal Prekindergarten and Transitional Kindergarten FAQs”

• California Department of Education, “California Preschool/Transitional Kindergarten Learning Foundations”

• NWEA, “Kindergarten Redshirting: What the Research Says About Delaying Kindergarten,” 2026

Chat, let’s be so fr.

The adults heard Gen Alpha say “skibidi Ohio rizzler” and suddenly we’re all clutching our pearls.

Bestie, respectfully, you said “cool beans.” You said “doggo.” You literally said “AMAZEBALLS” and thought you ate.

Honestly, it’s giving amnesia.

Every generation has had brainrot. The kids are not cooked. The language is not cooked.

Thinking our slang was normal and theirs is the problem? Deeply delulu.

The lore continues.

Slang has always been part of how young people create identity, signal belonging, play with humor, and separate themselves from adults. Linguist Amelia Tseng describes slang as a “change from below,” meaning it usually comes from everyday speakers, youth cultures, and subcultures rather than from schools, dictionaries, or institutions. She also notes that slang often carries identity, cultural expression, solidarity, and wordplay. [1]

In other words: kids are not ruining language. They are using it.

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Before we begin:

This is not an expertly organized academic source, a definitive dictionary, an exhaustive list, or a recommendation that adults start saying any of these words out loud.

Please do not walk into your child’s room and say “skibidi Ohio rizzler.” I cannot protect you from the consequences.

This is a working glossary I made mostly for fun, and partly because parents and teachers often hear kids using words we do not understand. Sometimes it is harmless nonsense, humor, or social belonging. But sometimes it is exclusion, insult, or discomfort hiding underneath a joke.

The goal here is not to perform kid slang.

The goal is to understand enough to stay curious, connected, and aware.

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A note on cultural origins:

Not all slang has the same roots.

Some comes from cultural spaces that deserve credit, not flattening: AAVE, Black internet culture, queer and ballroom culture, gaming communities, creator culture, regional slang, and fandom spaces.

That does not make those spaces harmful. Quite the opposite. Many of the most creative, expressive, and enduring parts of American slang have come from communities whose language is often copied, commodified, and then stripped of context.

The caution is not “these origins are bad.”

The caution is: adults should know when words have been lifted from specific communities, when meanings have shifted, and when kids may be using language without understanding its full context.

For example, “clock tea” has roots in New York ballroom culture, where it meant noticing or discovering the truth. It has since moved into broader internet and middle school slang with a slightly shifted meaning closer to calling something out. [3]

Similarly, many widely used American slang terms have roots in African American English, even when those roots become invisible after the words go mainstream. [1]

Understanding origins is not about scolding kids for every word they say. It is about refusing to treat language as if it appeared out of nowhere.

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How to use this glossary:

The purpose of this glossary is to:

• understand (not to perform)

• ask better questions

• notice tone and context

• tell the difference between silly, mean, sexualized, exclusionary, or genuinely concerning language

And remember: by the time you finish reading this, at least three of these words will probably already be uncool.

Let’s get into it.

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1: Pure brainrot and nonsense terms

These are the words that often make adults feel like they missed an entire civilization.

Some have loose meanings, some are mostly vibes, some are funny because they are confusing, and mostly they are funny because adults are confused by them.

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6-7 / six-seven

A mostly nonsensical phrase used as a joke, chant, reaction, or insider signal. It is often written as 6-7, 6 7, 67, or six-seven, but it is pronounced “six seven,” not “sixty-seven.” Dictionary.com named “67” its 2025 Word of the Year and connected its modern popularity to Skrilla’s song “Doot Doot (6 7)” and viral TikToks. [4]

Adult translation: “I am participating in the current joke.”

Skibidi

A nonsense internet term from the YouTube series Skibidi Toilet. It can mean weird, chaotic, cool, bad, funny, or nothing at all depending on context. Merriam-Webster describes it as a nonsense internet term, and Cambridge Dictionary added “skibidi” in 2025. [5] [6]

Adult translation: “This is absurd, and that is the joke.”

Skibidi toilet

The YouTube/meme universe that popularized “skibidi.” It features surreal human-headed toilets and camera/speaker-headed figures. Adults do not need to fully understand this. Honestly, I am not sure anyone does.

Brainrot / brain rot

Low-quality, overstimulating, absurd internet content; also the feeling of being mentally fried by consuming too much of it. Oxford named “brain rot” its 2024 Word of the Year, defining it as both low-value online content and the perceived mental effect of consuming that content. [7]

Italian brainrot

A 2025 style of AI-generated meme content featuring bizarre animal/object hybrids with pseudo-Italian names and chaotic voiceovers. Know Your Meme describes Italian Brainrot, also called AI Italian Animals, as AI videos, art, and memes combining animals with objects and anthropomorphic features. [8]

Italian brainrot names kids may repeat

These usually function more like meme passwords than vocabulary. They are often not words with stable meanings. They are names, sounds, or phrases that signal participation in a specific meme ecosystem.

A few examples:

• Tralalero Tralala

• Brr Brr Patapim

• Tung Tung Tung Sahur

• Ballerina Cappuccina

• Cappuccino Assassino

• Chimpanzini Bananini

• Lirili Larila

• Bombombini Gusini

• Boneca Ambalabu

• Trippi Troppi

• Frigo Camelo

• Orangutini Ananasini

Important note: Some Italian brainrot audio can include offensive, violent, religious, or politically charged content depending on the version. Adults should be careful about repeating these without checking context.

Ohio

Used to describe something weird, cursed, chaotic, or deeply cringe.

Adult translation: “That is strange in a cursed internet way.”

Fanum tax

Taking a bite of someone’s food, stealing a snack, or joking that you are entitled to part of what someone else has. Merriam-Webster defines “Fanum tax” as a humorous internet slang term for stealing someone’s food or feeling entitled to some of it. [9]

Adult translation: “I am stealing a fry.”

Aura farming

Trying to cultivate coolness, mystery, or impressive presence. In 2025, the phrase became closely associated with a viral Indonesian boat-racing dancer whose calm confidence was described online as “aura farming.” [10]

Adult translation: “Trying to look effortlessly cool.”

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2: Emotional state translations

Some slang is silly, but some of it is emotional shorthand.

A kid saying “I’m cooked” may be joking. But they may also be saying, “I’m overwhelmed,” “I’m embarrassed,” “I feel doomed,” or “I think I am in trouble.”

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Cooked

Done for, ruined, tired, overwhelmed, unprepared, or in trouble.

Examples:
“I’m cooked.” = I’m doomed / exhausted / overwhelmed.
“You’re cooked.” = You are in trouble.
“The project is cooked.” = This is not going well.

Let him cook

Let someone keep going. They might be onto something.

You cooked

You did well.

Crash out / crashout

To lose control emotionally, snap, melt down, or become suddenly angry or distressed. Merriam-Webster’s slang entry defines “crash out” as becoming suddenly, uncontrollably angry or distressed. [11]

Adult translation: “I am about to lose it.”

Be so fr

Be serious.

Be frfr

Be really serious.

Fr / frfr

For real / for real for real.

No cap

No lie. For real.

Cap

A lie.

Ong

“On God,” meaning seriously or I swear.

Lowkey

Kind of, secretly, casually, or quietly.

Highkey

Very, obviously, strongly.

Lowkenuinely

A blend of “lowkey” and “genuinely.” Merriam-Webster defines it as saying something sincere in a low-key way. [12]

Adult translation: “I mean this sincerely, but I am trying not to make a big deal about it.”

Delulu

Playfully delusional, overly hopeful, or believing something because you want it to be true. Cambridge added “delulu” in 2025. [6]

Adult translation: “I know this may not be realistic, but let me have this.”

Goblin mode

Messy, unpolished, lazy, feral, or shamelessly low-effort behavior.

Adult translation: “I am not trying to be polished right now.”

Icl

I can’t lie.

Ngl

Not gonna lie.

Istg

I swear to God.

Wtv

Whatever.

ATP

At this point.

RN

Right now.

IRL

In real life.

IJBOL

I just burst out laughing.

Locked in

Focused, committed, or mentally ready.

Adult translation: “I’m concentrating.”

Dialed in

Focused or performing well.

I’m dead

That’s hilarious.

Dead

Laughing hard.

💀 / skull emoji

“I’m dead,” meaning something is funny or shocking. Aleksic notes that the skull emoji has shifted in some internet use to mean “I’m dead from laughing,” rather than literal death. [2]

😭 / crying emoji

Often used for laughter, drama, or exaggerated emotion.

Oof

Reaction to discomfort, embarrassment, or bad news.

Zang

A remix of “dang,” usually used to express surprise, disbelief, or amazement.

Example: “Zang, you finished already?”

Rip

That’s unfortunate.

Big yikes

Very awkward, concerning, or embarrassing.

Yikes

Awkward, bad, or concerning.

Touch grass

Go outside. Reconnect with reality. Get offline.

Chronically online

Too shaped by internet culture; out of touch with offline norms.

Terminally online

A more extreme version of chronically online.

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3. Social status, vibes, and looking cool

A lot of kid slang is about status.

• Who seems cool?

• Who embarrassed themselves?

• Who did well?

• Who failed?

• Who has confidence?

• Who lost aura in the group chat?

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Aura

Coolness, confidence, presence, or social energy.

Aura points

Imaginary points gained or lost based on how cool or embarrassing something is.

Examples:
“+100 aura” = You looked cool.
“-1000 aura” = That was embarrassing.

Rizz

Charisma or charm. Oxford named “rizz” its 2023 Word of the Year and defined it as style, charm, attractiveness, or the ability to attract a romantic or sexual partner. [13]

Adult translation: “Charisma.”

Rizzler

Someone with strong rizz, or a meme character associated with rizz culture.

Unspoken rizz

Charisma without trying or speaking.

Negative rizz

The opposite of charm; accidentally making yourself less appealing.

W rizz / L rizz

Good charm / bad charm.

Skibidi rizz

Usually nonsense. Weird, chaotic, or meme-flavored charisma.

Ohio rizz

Awkward, strange, or cringey charm.

Chopped

Bad, messy, unattractive, low-quality, or ruined. This one can be appearance-based, so I would be careful with it around kids.

Adult translation: “That is not looking good.”

Choppelganger / choppleganger

A worse or off-brand lookalike of someone or something. Merriam-Webster lists “choppelganger” in its slang/trending section as a less attractive version of someone or something. [14]

Mid

Mediocre. Not terrible, not impressive.

Peak

Excellent. The best version of something.

Fire

Good, exciting, impressive.

Gas

Great, hype, excellent.

Bussin

Really good, usually about food.

Cringe

Embarrassing, awkward, trying too hard.

Sus

Suspicious, questionable, or off.

Main character energy

Confidence, presence, or acting like the center of the story.

Main character

Someone behaving like the star of the moment.

Side character

Someone secondary, unnoticed, or not driving the action.

Canon event

Something that feels destined, formative, or unavoidable in someone’s life.

Lore

Backstory or context.

Face card

Someone’s face or appearance.

Face card never declines

Someone always looks good.

Serving

Presenting a strong look, mood, or aesthetic.

Slay

Do well, look good, succeed.

Ate

Did something extremely well.

Ate and left no crumbs

Performed flawlessly.

Devoured

An even stronger version of “ate.”

It’s giving

It has the vibe of.

Vibe

Mood, feeling, or social energy.

Vibe check

Assessing the mood or energy.

The ick

A sudden turnoff or feeling of dislike.

Red flag

Warning sign.

Green flag

Good sign.

Beige flag

Odd but not necessarily bad trait.

Glow up

Positive transformation.

Glow down

Negative transformation.

Drip

Style, clothing, accessories.

Drippy

Stylish.

Tuff

Cool, impressive, stylish, admirable, or well done. Usually a compliment.

Fit

Outfit.

Fit check

Showing the outfit.

OOTD

Outfit of the day.

Flop era

A period of failure, awkwardness, or not being at your best. Merriam-Webster lists “flop era” as a period of diminished success, popularity, or relevance. [14]

Healing era

A phase of recovery, reflection, or self-improvement.

Villain era

Prioritizing oneself, setting boundaries, or being less people-pleasing. Sometimes sincere, sometimes joking.

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4. Online world language

Gen Alpha’s language is deeply shaped by online spaces. Kids are not just using slang from school. They are borrowing from gamers, streamers, TikTok creators, comment sections, Discord chats, Roblox, YouTube, and algorithms that move language faster than adults can track.

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Chat

A way of addressing the group, like a streamer talking to an audience.

Example: “Chat, am I cooked?”

Adult translation: “Everyone, please witness what is happening.”

Twin

Friend, close peer, or someone you relate to.

Pookie

Affectionate or joking nickname.

Unc

Someone acting old or out of touch. Merriam-Webster notes that “unc” comes from “uncle” and was already used in African American English before Gen Alpha popularized it more broadly. [5]

Yap / yapping

Talking too much.

Yapper

Someone who talks a lot.

Yap session

A long conversation or rant.

Put the fries in the bag

Stop talking. Wrap it up.

Teacher note: I would understand this one, but I would not use it toward kids. It can feel dismissive.

Clock it

Notice the truth. Call out what is really happening.

Clocked

Noticed, exposed, or accurately read.

Clock that tea

Notice the truth or call out what is really going on.

Tea

Gossip, truth, or inside information.

Side eye

Judgment, suspicion, or disapproval.

Bombastic side eye

Dramatic judgment or suspicion.

Caught in 4K

Exposed with proof.

Receipts

Evidence, screenshots, or proof.

Screenshotting

Saving proof.

Exposed

Revealed or caught.

Callout

Public criticism or correction.

Toxic

Unhealthy, harmful, or emotionally draining.

Gatekeep

Keep something exclusive or refuse to share information.

Bait

Something meant to provoke a reaction.

Ragebait

Content designed to make people angry.

Clickbait

Content designed to lure clicks.

Fell for the bait

Reacted to something that was meant to provoke you.

Ratio

When a reply or response gets more attention than the original, usually implying the original was bad.

L + ratio

You lost and everyone agrees.

W

Win. Good thing.

L

Loss. Bad thing.

Take the L

Accept defeat.

Common W

A predictable win from someone who often does well.

Common L

A predictable loss or mistake.

Skill issue

You failed because you need more skill. Often teasing.

AFK

Away from keyboard.

GG / GGs

Good game / good games.

EZ

Easy. Often used jokingly or competitively.

Clutch

To succeed under pressure.

Carry

One person does most of the work for the team.

Carried

Won because someone else did the work.

Throwing

Playing badly or causing a loss, sometimes on purpose.

Griefing

Intentionally ruining a game or experience for others.

Spawn camp

Repeatedly attack players where they reappear.

Nerf

Weaken a character, item, or ability.

Buff

Strengthen a character, item, or ability.

OP

Overpowered.

Meta

The most effective or popular strategy.

Lore accurate

True to the established backstory or power level.

Ranked

Competitive mode.

Lag / lagging

Slow or glitchy. Also used socially: “My brain is lagging.”

Glitching

Acting weird or malfunctioning.

Spawned in

Arrived suddenly or awkwardly.

Side quest

A random task or adventure unrelated to the main goal.

Loot

Rewards, items, or stuff collected.

Drop

New release or item reward.

Camper

Player who waits in one spot.

1v1 me

Challenge me directly.

Pog / poggers

Exciting or hype. Slightly older Twitch slang, but still recognizable.

W streamer

Good streamer.

L take

Bad opinion.

Hot take

Controversial or bold opinion.

Cold take

Common or obvious opinion.

Clip that

Save that moment.

Clip farming

Doing something mainly to create a viral clip.

Content brain

Treating real life like content.

POV

Point of view. Often used to set up a skit or scenario.

GRWM

Get ready with me.

Storytime

A personal story format.

Dupe

A cheaper alternative to a product.

Clean girl aesthetic

Minimal, polished style.

Coquette

Bows, lace, soft hyper-feminine aesthetic.

Cottagecore

Soft, rural, nature-inspired aesthetic.

Dark academia

Moody, bookish, old-school academic aesthetic.

Corecore

Emotional montage-style internet aesthetic.

Girl dinner

A random snacky meal.

Boy dinner

A joke counterpart to “girl dinner,” often low-effort or protein-heavy.

Girl math

Playful, irrational budgeting logic.

Boy math

Joke about contradictory or funny male logic.

Roman Empire

Something someone thinks about constantly.

Rent free

Living in your mind constantly.

For the plot

Doing something for the experience or story.

Canonically

As part of the “official” storyline of someone’s life.

Era

A phase of life.

Soft launch

Hinting at a relationship or reveal without fully showing it.

Hard launch

Fully revealing something publicly.

Photo dump

A casual group of photos posted together.

Slideshow

TikTok or photo carousel post.

Liminal space

An empty, eerie, transitional place.

Backrooms

Internet horror setting of endless strange rooms; often referenced as a vibe.

Algospeak

Language shaped by algorithms or used to avoid content filters. Merriam-Webster describes algospeak as coded or self-censored language used to bypass moderation; Aleksic argues it is also part of the larger way social media infrastructure shapes language. [14] [2]

Slop

Low-quality AI-generated digital content. Merriam-Webster named “slop” its 2025 Word of the Year, reflecting the rise of low-quality AI-generated material online. [15]

Opps

Opponents, enemies, rivals, or people someone is “against.”

Adult translation: “People I have conflict with.”

Teacher/parent note: This one can be casual or joking, but it can also signal conflict, beef, exclusion, or more serious social dynamics depending on context.

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5. Terms adults should understand with caution

Not every slang term belongs in the “funny kid language” category.

Some words come from corners of the internet that adults should understand with more caution: appearance-ranking spaces, sexualized slang, identity-mocking language, body-shaming, self-harm algospeak, and dehumanizing insults.

That does not mean we panic every time a child repeats a word they heard online.

• It means we ask better questions.

• Is this silly or unkind?

• Is this bonding or excluding?

• Is this a joke or a warning sign?

• Is this a word I need to understand, but absolutely never repeat?

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Negative tilt

Short for “negative canthal tilt,” referring to the angle of the eyes. Online, it is often used in looksmaxxing or appearance-ranking spaces to judge someone’s face.

Teacher/parent note: I would understand this term, but I would not normalize it. If kids are using it to describe themselves or others, it may be worth paying attention to body image, comparison, teasing, or appearance-based status language.

Looksmaxxing

Trying to maximize physical attractiveness. Sometimes this means ordinary grooming or style advice, but the term can also lead into extreme appearance analysis, body comparison, or status-ranking. Merriam-Webster defines “looksmaxxing” as efforts, sometimes extreme, to look more attractive. [16]

Gyat / gyatt

An exclamation of surprise or admiration, most often about someone’s body.

Adult translation: “This is body-focused slang.”

Teacher/parent note: I would understand this term, but I would not include it in the fun/main glossary. It is commonly used in a sexualized or body-commenting way, so it belongs in the caution section rather than the playful slang section.

Mewing

A tongue/jaw posture trend meant to sharpen the jawline. Often used as a joke or silent gesture, but it is also connected to appearance-optimization culture.

Mogging

Outshining, outclassing, or making someone else look worse by comparison, often in appearance, fitness, confidence, or status.

Adult translation: “Trying to win a comparison.”

Teacher/parent note: I would understand this term, but I would not normalize it. It comes from looksmaxxing/status-ranking spaces and can feed appearance comparison, body insecurity, and social hierarchy.

NPC

Someone acting robotic, basic, unaware, or like a background character.

Teacher note: I understand why this one is common, but I would be cautious with it. Calling people NPCs can become dehumanizing quickly.

Bot

Someone acting robotic, fake, repetitive, or bad at something. Like NPC, this can be funny in a game context but dehumanizing when aimed at a person.

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Terms I intentionally left out

I did not include every term kids might hear online.

Some words are too sexualized, body-shaming, self-harm-related, identity-mocking, or prejudice-coded to casually define in a parent/teacher glossary. Adults do not need a script for repeating those words. We need enough awareness to recognize when language has moved from silly into harmful.

The categories I would handle with more caution include:

• Sexualized slang

• Body-focused insults

• Identity-mocking language

• Ableist or neurodivergence-mocking slang

• Self-harm and eating-disorder algospeak

• Manosphere/status-hierarchy language

• Dehumanizing insults

• Terms kids may use jokingly without understanding the adult context

This does not mean we panic every time a child repeats a word they heard online. It means we pause long enough to ask:

• Is this bonding or excluding?

• Is this funny or unkind?

• Is this nonsense or harm disguised as a joke?

• Is this a word I need to understand, but absolutely never repeat?

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A few better adult responses

When you hear a term you do not understand, you do not need to immediately correct it, adopt it, or pretend you know what it means.

You can say:

• “Wait, what does that mean?”

• “Is that funny or mean?”

• “Where did that come from?”

• “Is this one I should know, or one I should definitely never say?”

• “Are you using that as a joke, or are you actually overwhelmed?”

Kids often enjoy explaining the rules of a world adults do not fully understand. Sometimes, the explanation tells you much more than the word itself.

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Final thought

The point is not to keep up perfectly. We will not. If my students saw this list they would roast me to oblivion.

The point is to stay close enough to be curious.

Kids have always used language to build little worlds adults do not fully understand. That is part of growing up. But when we dismiss all of it as nonsense, we miss what their language is doing: creating belonging, testing identity, marking status, hiding embarrassment, making jokes, and sometimes signaling something more serious underneath.

So please don’t start saying “6-7.”

But understanding what kids mean is one more way of staying connected to the world they are actually living in.

Works cited / fact-check notes

[1] American University’s interview with linguist Amelia Tseng supports the broader argument that slang often comes from youth and subcultures, functions as identity and solidarity, spreads faster through social media, and often has roots in African American English.

[2] Science Friday’s interview with linguist Adam Aleksic supports the algospeak/algorithm framing, including how platforms shape language, how moderation can drive euphemistic language, and how emojis/slang shift through online use.

[3] Reporting from Them and People supports the ballroom/queer-culture context for “clock it,” “tea,” and related terms, including how those expressions can become detached from their original communities when they go mainstream.

[4] Dictionary.com named “67” its 2025 Word of the Year and explains the spelling/pronunciation, the “so-so/maybe” interpretation, the hand gesture, and the connection to Skrilla’s “Doot Doot (6 7).”

[5] Merriam-Webster’s Gen Alpha slang explainer covers “skibidi,” “unc,” “bop,” “mog,” and other terms, while also flagging that some popular words have offensive or harmful uses.

[6] Cambridge Dictionary announced that it added thousands of words in 2025, including “skibidi” and “delulu.”

[7] Oxford University Press named “brain rot” its 2024 Word of the Year and defines it around low-quality online content and the perceived effect of consuming it.

[8] Know Your Meme’s entry on Italian Brainrot / AI Italian Animals describes the 2025 trend as AI videos, art, and memes combining animals with objects and anthropomorphic features.

[9] Merriam-Webster defines “Fanum tax” as a humorous internet slang term for taking someone else’s food or feeling entitled to some of it.

[10] Reporting on “aura farming” connects the 2025 viral phrase to Rayyan Arkan Dikha, the Indonesian boy whose boat-racing dance became a global meme.

[11] Merriam-Webster defines “crash out” as becoming suddenly, uncontrollably angry or distressed.

[12] Merriam-Webster defines “lowkenuinely” as internet slang combining “low-key” and “genuinely,” meaning sincere in a low-key way.

[13] Oxford University Press named “rizz” its 2023 Word of the Year and defines it as style, charm, attractiveness, or the ability to attract a romantic or sexual partner.

[14] Merriam-Webster’s slang pages include entries such as “flop era,” “algospeak,” and “choppelganger.”

[15] Cambridge’s 2025 dictionary update notes the AI-related definition of “slop,” and the broader source list tracks how “slop” has become tied to low-quality AI-generated digital content.

[16] Merriam-Webster’s Gen Alpha slang coverage and slang pages define appearance/status terms like “looksmaxxing” and explain how some of this language comes from more troubling online spaces.

Kids born roughly between 2013 and 2025 are often described as distracted, lazy, disrespectful, socially behind, overly sensitive, addicted to screens, or suffering from the now extremely scientific condition known as “brain rot.”

To be clear, as a teacher, I understand where some of the concern comes from.

I have heard the words “skibidi,” “67” and “tuff” used in sentences that, despite technically being in English, I could not confidently translate. I have watched children act personally victimized by a blank piece of paper. I have seen a student insist he could not possibly write a three-sentence response in his morning journal, only to later create a 142-slide interactive, choose-your-own-adventure slide deck complete with transitions, sound effects, branching storylines, and more narrative commitment than most streaming platforms are currently offering.

So yes…I see the short attention spans, the big reactions, the social friction, the resistance to hard things, and the way some kids can negotiate a simple direction like tiny courtroom attorneys with goldfish crumbs on their shirts. But I do not see broken kids.

I see kids growing up in a world childhood was never designed for.

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This isn’t new.

Before we panic too hard, it is worth remembering that adults have always been very confident that the next generation is doomed.

Our grandparents worried about rock and roll. Our parents worried about television, video games, texting, MySpace, and the fact that millennials were apparently going to destroy society because we liked participation trophies and avocado toast. Before that, people panicked about hippies, comic books, jazz, novels, dancing, radios, and probably whatever Athenian teenagers were doing in the agora instead of listening to their elders.

The moral panic is not new, but the specific conditions of today are.

Gen Alpha is growing up in the most stimulating environment children have ever had to develop inside. Think about it: constant novelty, instant feedback, 7-second videos, notifications, screens in every room, online comparison, adult worries, global problems, academic pressure, less unstructured time, less neighborhood freedom, more adult-managed play, more noise, more speed, more content.

Then we look at them and wonder why they struggle to slow down.

I say this as a Waldorf teacher, which means my classroom and lessons are intentionally structured to slow childhood down. Our days include movement, storytelling, painting, drawing, handwork, gardening, music, rhythm, ritual, and making things with our hands..

And still, the wider world is in the room.

The pace of the culture shows up in their stamina. The noise of the world shows up in their nervous systems. The speed of their digital lives shows up when I ask them to sit with a blank page, listen to a long story, wait their turn, revise a sentence, or handle the devastating injustice of not being first in line.

Kids do not need another round of “kids these days.” They need adults who are willing to ask a better question: What conditions are shaping these kids?

Because when we understand the conditions, we can respond with more precision. Not with permissiveness, panic, shame, or nostalgia, but with leadership.

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Assumption: They can’t focus.

One of the most common complaints I hear about Gen Alpha is that they cannot focus.

And yes, sustained attention can be hard for many kids right now. But attention does not develop in a vacuum. It develops inside an environment.

Today’s children are surrounded by constant novelty, instant feedback, short videos, games, notifications, advertising, background noise, and devices designed to keep them engaged. The American Academy of Pediatrics has increasingly moved away from treating children’s media use as a simple question of “screen time” and toward looking at the broader digital ecosystem children are growing up inside: algorithms, advertising, content, privacy, sleep disruption, family habits, and the design of platforms themselves.

That matters. Because a child’s attention is being trained all day long.

If most of a child’s world is fast, bright, responsive, and instantly rewarding, then of course slow work feels harder. A blank page asks them to generate something from nothing. A long story requires patience before the payoff. A multi-step math problem demands planning, memory, and frustration tolerance. Even quiet can feel unfamiliar when their world is usually full of input.

Yet that does not mean focus is gone. It means focus is competing with a world that is very, very good at stealing it.

It is a skill we have to protect and practice.

Executive function — the ability to plan, focus, manage impulses, and move between tasks — develops over time. It is not something children simply have or do not have. It is built through practice, structure, modeling, repetition, and support.

Teachers see this constantly. A child who “can’t focus” is likely not refusing to pay attention, but may be overwhelmed by the number of steps or need a quieter room, a clearer beginning, a movement break before they sit, or an adult nearby long enough to help them get started.

Intentionally slowing down and practicing executive functioning skills doesn’t need to be dull. Children still need beauty, humor, curiosity, story, movement, and delight.

Focus grows when children are given real chances to stay with something: drawing carefully, revising a sentence, listening to a story, sewing a small stitch, painting a page, building something that falls apart and trying again, solving a problem, tending a garden, or sitting with a task long enough to feel the quiet satisfaction of finishing it.

They don’t need constant entertainment disguised as learning.

They need adults willing to protect the slower conditions where attention can grow.

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Assumption: They’re lazy.

Another common assumption is that Gen Alpha is lazy, but I think that is probably the least useful word we can use for children.

When a child avoids work, gives up quickly, refuses to try, or seems uninterested, there is almost always more going on underneath.

Many kids are overwhelmed, distracted, under-slept, over-scheduled, anxious, discouraged, or used to fast rewards. Hard work requires stamina and stamina is built slowly.

Sleep is part of this conversation, too. Children and adolescents need A LOT of sleep. More than many of them are getting. Sleep affects attention, memory, emotional regulation, learning, frustration tolerance, and behavior.

A tired child may look unmotivated, a dysregulated child may look defiant, and an overwhelmed child may look lazy.

There is a big difference between “This child does not care” and “This child does not yet have the stamina, confidence, sleep, structure, or support to do this independently.” Those two interpretations lead to very different adult responses.

A child who avoids effort probably doesn’t need another lecture about work ethic. They may need a smaller starting point, a reason to care, and enough support to begin without being rescued from the entire experience.

This is one of the tricky parts of parenting and teaching: we want children to become capable, but we often step in right before capability has a chance to grow. We smooth the path, finish the task, lower the demand, or rush to make the discomfort go away.

But children build stamina by doing hard things in manageable doses. They need real responsibilities, chances to contribute, practice finishing what they start, and adults who notice effort before perfection.

Confidence does not come from being told, “You can do hard things.” It comes from doing hard things and realizing it was true.

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Assumption: They’re socially behind.

A lot of kids have had fewer chances to practice messy, ordinary, face-to-face social problem solving.

More play is adult-managed, more communication happens through screens, and many children have less neighborhood freedom, less unstructured time, and less of the everyday “village” where they would have learned how to be part of a group by actually being part of one.

Then the pandemic added another layer. For many children, important years of social development were interrupted or reshaped, and those skills did not magically snap back the moment life became “normal” again.

This is where the research on play matters. The American Academy of Pediatrics describes play as essential to children’s cognitive, physical, social, and emotional development. Play is not a break from learning. It is one of the main ways children learn how to negotiate, take turns, handle disappointment, solve problems, regulate emotions, and work through conflict.

So when children have less real play, we should expect some social skills to need more direct teaching.

That does not mean they are mean, doomed, or incapable of friendship. It means many of them are under-practiced.

In my classroom, I have seen children make tremendous growth when adults stop assuming they “should already know better” and start teaching the missing skill: how to apologize without performing, how to disagree without humiliating someone, how to notice when someone is being left out, how to repair after harm, how to lose a game without collapsing into complete spiritual ruin.

These are not extras, but the building blocks of community.

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Assumption: They’re disrespectful.

This one comes up a lot, too.

Gen Alpha asks why. A lot.

Why do I have to do this? Why does that rule matter? Why is that fair? Why can’t I? Why should I? Why not?

And I will be honest: it can be exhausting.

Sometimes the “why” is genuine curiosity or an attempt to gain control. Sometimes it actually is avoidance, a negotiation tactic, or it comes out with a tone that needs to be addressed.

But questioning adults is not automatically the same as disrespecting them.

I once had students push back on losing group free play minutes because the behavior had come from only two people. Was it annoying to have a room full of children suddenly transform into a constitutional law seminar? Yes. Absolutely.

Were they also kind of right? Also yes.

That is the tricky thing about this generation. Sometimes their pushback is inconvenient, poorly timed, or perhaps needs a lot of coaching around tone, respect, and timing. But sometimes they are noticing something real.

Gen Alpha is growing up in a culture where they are exposed to adult conversations, big world problems, social commentary, online criticism, and public distrust of institutions earlier than many previous generations were. They often have strong opinions, big questions, and a very low tolerance for hypocrisy.

That can be challenging, but it can also be healthy.

The answer is not to turn every boundary into a courtroom debate. Kids still need to hear “no,” respect limits, and learn that disagreement does not always change the outcome.

Gen Alpha often responds better to adults who can be clear without being dismissive: adults who explain the reason, hold the line, and do not take every question as a personal challenge.

That might sound like:

“I hear you. The answer is still no.”

“You can ask about the rule. You may not argue with me about it.”

“That is a fair question. Here is why this matters.”

“I’m going to think about what you said. For now, this is the decision.”

Kind and firm are not opposites. Children need adults who can be both.

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Assumption: They’re too sensitive.

“Too sensitive” is another label I hear a lot.

I understand why. Many kids do have big reactions. Correction can feel like humiliation. Disappointment can feel enormous. A small conflict can become a dramatic full-body slide down the chair.

I don’t think sensitivity is the problem, though. I think many children have more language for feelings than they have capacity to carry them.

They are growing up with constant social comparison, adult information, global worries, public commentary, and pressure to perform. At the same time, youth mental health data continues to show high levels of sadness, stress, and emotional distress among adolescents.

So no, children do not need us to mock their sensitivity, but they also do not need us to remove every uncomfortable feeling from their path. They need help building capacity. They need to learn that feedback is survivable and disappointment will not destroy them.

Feelings are allowed, and limits can still stand — a child can be upset and still repair; a child can feel embarrassed and still try again; child can be disappointed and still respect the answer.

The goal is not to make children less feeling, but to help them become more capable of carrying what they feel.

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The kids are not the problem. The conditions are.

None of this means every behavior is acceptable. Children still need limits, expectations, responsibility, and repair. They still need to learn how to apologize, wait, contribute, listen, disagree respectfully, finish hard things, and survive the unspeakable tragedy of someone else choosing the read-aloud first.

But we need to stop confusing symptoms with character.

A distracted child ≠ lazy
A questioning child ≠ disrespectful
A socially clumsy child ≠ mean
A sensitive child ≠ fragile
A child who struggles with boredom ≠ broken

They are showing us what childhood looks like when the world gets too loud.

And if we want different outcomes, we have to build different conditions.

That does not mean rejecting technology entirely or pretending children can be raised outside the modern world. It means remembering that children need more than efficiency, stimulation, convenience, and constant access.

They need a childhood with texture.

• Time to move their bodies.

• Stories that unfold slowly.

• Work that asks something of them.

• Adults who mean what they say.

• Rituals that help them feel held.

• Relationships that can survive conflict.

• Responsibilities that make them feel useful.

• Spaces where awkwardness is not recorded, measured, or turned into content.

They need to paint, draw, build, dig, sew, cook, clean, climb, pretend, argue, repair, wait, wonder, and try again.

Boredom matters because imagination often needs a little quiet before it speaks up.

Challenge matters too, especially when it is small enough to try and meaningful enough to care about.

And adults matter most of all: adults who can slow the pace without lowering the bar, explain without turning every limit into a negotiation, hold boundaries without making everything a power struggle, and let children do hard things without leaving them to do hard things alone.

Gen Alpha is not broken. They are growing up inside a childhood that has become louder, faster, more public, more stimulating, and less forgiving than the one many of us knew.

So no, they do not need another moral panic.

What they need is protection from the pace, more practice with being human, and adults brave enough to lead them through the world as it is while still making space for the childhood they deserve.

Sources / Further Reading

American Academy of Pediatrics. “Digital Ecosystems, Children, and Adolescents: Policy Statement.” Pediatrics, 2026.

A helpful framework for thinking beyond simple “screen time” limits and looking at the larger digital environment shaping children’s attention, sleep, privacy, relationships, and well-being.

American Academy of Pediatrics. “The Power of Play: A Pediatric Role in Enhancing Development in Young Children.” Pediatrics, 2018.

This report explains why play is essential for cognitive, physical, social, and emotional development, including executive function, language, social skills, and stress regulation.

Center on the Developing Child at Harvard University. “A Guide to Executive Function.”

A clear overview of executive function and self-regulation as skills children develop over time through practice, support, and experience.

Paruthi, Shalini, et al. “Recommended Amount of Sleep for Pediatric Populations: A Consensus Statement of the American Academy of Sleep Medicine.” Journal of Clinical Sleep Medicine, 2016.

Includes sleep recommendations for children and teens and connects adequate sleep with attention, behavior, learning, memory, emotional regulation, and overall health.

American Psychological Association. “Health Advisory on Social Media Use in Adolescence.” 2023.

A nuanced guide emphasizing that social media’s effects depend on the child, content, context, vulnerabilities, sleep, relationships, and adult guidance.

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. “2023 Youth Risk Behavior Survey Results.” 2024.

Provides recent data on adolescent mental health, including persistent sadness or hopelessness, poor mental health, safety concerns, and related youth well-being trends.

Not a subtle door slammer or a “close the door with a little extra feeling” kind of door slammer. I was a full-body, make-sure-everyone-in-the-house-knows-I-have-been-wronged door slammer.

I also remember saying things like “I hate you” when I was angry.

I don’t remember every argument, what my parents said no to, or what rule felt so unbelievably unfair, or what small injustice would send me down the hallway in a fury. But I do remember the feeling. It was usually some messy combination of embarrassment, frustration, powerlessness, and the very adolescent belief that nobody had ever understood anything less than my parents understood me in that exact moment.

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As an adult, I can see it more clearly.

I did not actually hate my parents. I was not offering a thoughtful analysis of our relationship. I was trying to make my feeling visible. I was trying to get a reaction. I was trying to hurt because I felt hurt, or cornered, or misunderstood, or out of control. I was using the biggest words I had because I did not yet have the better ones.

I was a kid and I was still learning, sure, but but that does not mean it was okay.

My parents were not required to stand there serenely while I slammed doors and launched emotional grenades into the hallway. In fact, they did eventually take my door off, which, honestly, was a fairly logical consequence for repeatedly weaponizing it. But that is a different story for a different day.

The point is that when a child says something like “I hate you,” there is almost always more happening than the sentence itself.

And that is what makes it so hard. Because even when we know better, it still hurts.

It hurts when your child says, “I hate you.” It hurts when a student says, “You’re the worst teacher ever.” It hurts when a child looks you straight in the eye and chooses the sentence they know will land. Parents and teachers are supposed to be the grown-ups, yes, but we are still people. We still have nervous systems, histories, and days when we are tired, overextended, under-appreciated, and doing our absolute best with very little margin.

So when a child says something deliberately hurtful, our own feelings can rise up fast.

We want to make sure they understand why this hurt, why it was disrespectful. We want to remind them how much we do for them and make them feel the seriousness of what they said. Sometimes, if we are being very honest, we want them to feel a little bad because we feel bad, too.

That is such an understandable and human impulse. Yet it’s also not usually where the best repair happens.

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The Problem with Lectures

A lecture often gives the adult the feeling of having addressed the problem, but it does not always give the child a usable path forward.

Some kids shut down. Some argue. Some perform the quickest apology possible so the conversation will end. Some get flooded with shame and become even more defensive. The lesson we are trying so hard to teach can get buried under the emotional weight of the delivery.

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Repair is different.

Repair does not mean we ignore the words. It does not mean we excuse them. It does not mean children get to say whatever they want as long as they were having a big feeling.

Repair means we come back to the moment when everyone is calm enough to actually learn from it.

The timing is key here. When a child is still flooded, embarrassed, or in fight-or-flight, they are not in the best place to reflect on impact. Honestly, neither are most adults. In the heat of the moment, a short response is usually enough.

“You’re really upset. I’m not going to fight with you.”

“I hear how angry you are. Hurtful words don’t help me understand.”

“Take a minute. I’ll take one too. We’ll come back to this.”

That is not the whole conversation. That is just the pause button.

The repair comes later, when the child has settled and you have settled too. Sometimes that is ten minutes later. Sometimes it is after dinner. Sometimes, especially with older kids, it is the next morning in the car when nobody has to make direct eye contact and the whole thing feels less intense.

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The REPAIR Framework

This is where I like to use the word REPAIR as a simple map:

Reflect: What happened?
Empathize: How were you feeling when it happened?
Problem-Solve: What’s a solution we can try together?
Accept Responsibility: What was your part in this?
Implement a Plan: What could we try differently next time?
Reaffirm Relationship: How can we keep working as a team?

I go into this more deeply in my upcoming book (more details on that coming soon!!!), but the short version is this: repair works best when it helps a child understand what happened without turning the conversation into a trial.

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Some Language You Can Try

The rest of this article is available to paid subscribers, and offers a more detailed roadmap to steer repair conversations in a positive, restorative direction. You can subscribe and access at any time, whenever you’re ready to go deeper.

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I see it in my classroom. I feel it in my home. And lately, with an 18-month-old who is somehow both tiny and a full-blown tornado, I’m noticing it in a whole new way.

I’m noticing the dishes left out, jackets dropped wherever they land, toys littering the entryway, and most notably, the quiet expectation that someone else will take care of it.

I’m also noticing that more often than not, that “someone” is a woman.

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The invisible load

There’s the actual list of chores…you know, the things you can clearly divvy up like dishes, laundry, or taking the trash out.

But then there’s also everything around the cleaning and chores.

Spotting the crumbs, realizing we’re out of milk, noticing the backpack still hasn’t been unpacked. Keeping track of what’s done, what’s not, and what’s about to become a problem.

It’s constant, it’s unpredictable, and it quietly keeps everything running. Without it, things fall apart fast. It’s made up of all the stuff that’s easy to miss unless you’re the one carrying it.

That’s the invisible load.

The thing is, kids don’t automatically learn how to carry that. They learn what they live.

If they grow up in a home where one person quietly handles everything, they don’t think, “Wow, that’s a lot of work.” They think, “That’s just how it works.” Or they don’t think about it at all.

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I see this every day in my classroom.

Kids will step over a pile of pencils on the floor, sit at a messy table, or leave materials out and move on without a second thought.

This is not because they’re lazy or entitled, but because they genuinely don’t see it as their responsibility.

And why would they?

If the pattern has always been…

Someone notices → someone fixes → we move on

…then that becomes the system.

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The goal isn’t compliance. It’s contribution.

This is the part that shifted everything for me.

I don’t actually want kids who “help” when asked. I mean, of course that would be nice, too, but the bigger goal is to raise kids who:

• Notice what needs to be done

• Feel responsible for doing it

• Follow through without being chased

Because that’s what real life requires. That’s what makes a good roommate, a thoughtful partner, and a capable adult.

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This matters more than we think

When kids don’t learn to notice and contribute, that work doesn’t disappear. It gets absorbed…usually by moms.

It all adds up fast…the mental load, the physical work, and the constant low-level stress of being the only one tracking everything.

I talk a lot on this page about raising kind kids and this is part of that. Noticing when something needs to be done, and then doing it, is a form of care. You could even call it a love language.

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What actually works (and what doesn’t)

Most of us (repeatedly) try some version of the following:

• “Can you clean this up?”

• “Please pick up your things.”

• “How many times do I have to ask?”

• “Could you put these away for me?”

They might do it…eventually. But then you’re right back in the same loop the next day, asking again.

This is because asking isn’t the same as teaching.

When it’s framed as a question, a favor, or something “for you,” it stays optional.
It doesn’t land as part of their role in the home.

Here’s what works better:

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1. Make it visible before you expect it.

Young kids (approximately age 2-4) don’t “see” mess the way we do. Even older kids (and honestly, plenty of adults) who were never taught to notice will need this step, too.

Instead of vague instructions or requests like:

• “Clean up your toys.”

• “Please put your stuff away.”

• “Can you tidy up this mess?”

Try giving them a clear entry point like:

• “Blocks go in the blue bin.”

• “I’ll do cars, you do blocks.”

• “Grab everything on the floor and put it in this basket.”

• “Let’s see how many we can pick up before this song ends.”

• “Put your shoes by the door like this.”

Before kids can notice mess on their own, they need it pointed out and modeled.

This is where the pattern starts.

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2. Teach noticing like it’s a skill (because it is).

Kids age 5-7 are ready to learn noticing as a skill.

Instead of jumping in and fixing it, try asking:

• “What do you notice here?”

• “What looks out of place?”

• “What’s one thing you could take care of?”

Pause. Let them look. It will feel slow at first, but that’s kind of the point. You’re teaching their brain to “see.”

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3. Define what “done” actually means.

Around ages 5–7, kids are ready for clear expectations, but they will still need help seeing the end goal.

This is another reason why instructions like “clean your room” are usually meaningless to a child. They’re too vague and kids can’t see the “done” version you have in your head. They don’t have that baseline yet.

Instead, try:

• “You’re done when the floor is clear, your bed is made, and clothes are in the hamper.”

• “The table is clean when there’s nothing left on it.”

• “Your backpack is unpacked when lunchbox, papers, and folders are out.”

Posting a picture of exactly what “done” looks like helps, too.

When kids can see the target, they can actually hit it.

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4. Stop being the final checker.

This one is really hard for me.

Most of us are used to doing a quick scan, fixing what’s missed, and pointing out what’s still wrong. However, when you do that, you stay the one responsible for the final result.

Instead of scanning and correcting, try:

• “Tell me when you think you’re done.”

Then pause and let them decide.

If you always step in with corrections, they learn that you are the one who makes it “right.” If you step back, they start to take ownership of the outcome.

It won’t be perfect, but that’s not the goal. You’re teaching them how to take responsibility.

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5. Let the problem do the teaching.

This is where things start to shift. Around ages 8-10, kids are ready to connect actions to outcomes, so you don’t have to step in as much.

No clean shirts? → Nothing clean to wear.

Lunchbox not emptied? → Still dirty the next day.

Backpack not unpacked? → That missing homework stays missing.

Sports gear left out? → Harder to find it next time.

You don’t have to lecture or rescue. In fact, the more you step in, the less they feel the impact. Let the situation do the teaching.

It’s not about punishment, but rather helping them experience how their choices play out. That’s what builds responsibility that actually sticks.

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6. Move from “helping” to shared responsibility.

By age 11, kids are ready to move beyond helping and into real ownership.

Try:

• “This is part of taking care of our home.”

• “You’re responsible for dishes after dinner.”

• “The kitchen gets reset before we move on.”

• “Everyone who lives here contributes.”

• “This isn’t just my job.”

You can also bring them into the conversation:

• Have a quick family discussion about what needs to get done each week.

• Let them choose or rotate responsibilities.

• Name what fairness actually looks like in your home.

Because this is about learning how to live in a community where everyone notices, everyone contributes, and the load is shared.

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7. Start now.

Whether your child is 2 or 12 or older, it starts now.

But remember, if they were never taught how to notice and follow through, jumping straight to full responsibility is going to feel overwhelming.

You have to scaffold the skill.

Start small. Hand them one block. Let them drop it in the bin. Or with an older child, start with: “What’s one thing you can take care of right now?” Then build from there.

This might feel basic and it will definitely feel slow, but it’s not too late. This is how the skill actually develops.

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What I’m reminding myself right now

In the moment, it’s almost always easier to just do it yourself.

But I don’t want to be the only one who notices everything.

I don’t want to raise kids who step over the mess and assume someone else will handle it.

I want to raise kids who see what needs doing, and then do something about it.

Even when it’s slower, messier, and I’d honestly rather just do it myself.

Because this is how the invisible load gets passed down…or how it gets interrupted.

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If you’re wondering what this actually looks like day-to-day, here’s a simple, age-by-age chore list to start today.

Chore Recommendations by Age

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You’re mid-sentence and someone talks right over you.

Or maybe you’ve already given the directions twice, and a third voice pipes up: “Wait… what are we doing?”

You’ve tried your attention signal. Then tried it again. The room is still buzzing.

It’s taking every ounce of willpower not to yell or scream.

I’ve been there….more times than I’d like to admit.

But over time I realized something: they were never going to stop talking…nor should they.

So I started wondering: what if I could work with it instead of against it?

Because most kids aren’t loud to be disrespectful. They’re loud because they’re excited, social, dysregulated, or still learning how to manage the space between impulse and action.

And that space? That’s teachable.

Here are the five principles underneath every strategy I use, whether I’m standing in front of a classroom full of 11-year-olds or navigating the noise at home.

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1. Teach Kids What You Actually Mean (Clear Expectations)

These strategies prevent problems before they start.

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1) Teach & Practice Voice Levels

Classroom + Home

Don’t just say “be quiet.” Teach what different voice levels mean (whisper, partner voice, presentation voice). Model it. Practice it. Use visuals or signals to remind them.

Kids can’t meet expectations that haven’t been clearly defined.

2) Provide Designated “Talk Time”

Classroom + Home

Instead of fighting talking, schedule it. Build in short, intentional times where kids can chat about random topics.

When kids know talk time is coming, they’re more willing to listen first.

3) Front-Load the Talking

Classroom + Home

Let kids talk before you need them to listen. Give them a few minutes to greet friends or share something.

Connection first = better attention later.

2. Replace Blurting With Better Tools

These give kids appropriate ways to participate.

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4) Incorporate Hand Signals

Classroom (can adapt for home)

Teach silent signals for:

• “I agree”

• “Me too”

• “That’s funny”

• “I disagree”

Kids still feel heard, without interrupting.

5) Frequent/Random Calling

Classroom

Use popsicle sticks or a spinner to call on students randomly. Ask questions you know they can answer.

When anyone might be called, everyone stays engaged.

6) Incorporate Cooperative Structures (like Kagan’s RallyRobin)

Classroom

For example, instead of one child answering, have partners take turns responding to each other. More strategies like this HERE.

Everyone talks, just in an organized way.

3. Use Playful Attention-Getters

These quickly refocus energy without yelling.

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7) Copy My Clap

Classroom + Home

Clap a rhythm. Wait for them to copy. Repeat with variations. As they get better at it, you can start to create different parts and more complex beats (my students get really into this).

Fun redirections bring more attention.

8) Play the Whisper Game

Classroom + Home

Whisper: “If you can hear me, put your hands on your head.”

Only a few will hear at first and others will gradually join in.

Whispering pulls kids in better than shouting.

9) Use Non-Verbal Cues

Classroom + Home

Instead of talking over them, use:

• A bell

• Music

• Turning lights off

• A silly hat

• A doorbell sound

Visual/auditory cues are more powerful than repeating yourself.

10) Switch Up Attention-Getters

Classroom

If you always say the same thing, it stops working. Let kids help invent call-and-response phrases. Favorites in my class have included:

• “Holy moly!” → “Guacamole!” (Often sung dramatically or in a silly voice.)

• “Waterfall, waterfall…” → “Shhhhhhh” (Students make quiet “waterfall fingers” as they lower their hands.)

• “And a hush fell over the crowd…” → “Hushhhhhhh.”

• “Drumroll, please…” → Students drum on their desks while I “conduct” them to a stop.

Buy-in increases follow-through.

11) Singing for Transitions

Classroom + Home (especially younger kids)

Create simple songs for:

• Clean up

• Lining up

• Bedtime

• Getting ready

Start singing and they’ll join in.

Singing regulates energy without confrontation.

4. Turn It Into a Game

These make self-control motivating instead of nag-based.

12) Secret Word

Classroom

Tell kids a secret word at the start. When they hear it during directions, the first quiet hand raised earns a reward.

It encourages focused listening.

13) Play “BLURT”

Classroom

Each time someone blurts, add a letter (B-L-U-R-T).
If they avoid spelling the whole word, they earn a reward.

Makes impulse control visible and playful.

14) Student vs. Teacher

Classroom (can adapt at home as “Kid vs. Grown-Up”)

If kids meet expectations (eg. quiet entry, quick transition), they earn a point. If not, adult earns a point.

Turns compliance into a friendly competition.

15) Table Points

Classroom

Groups earn points for meeting expectations.

Peer accountability increases regulation.

16) Blurt Beans

Classroom + Home

Start the day with a set number of beans in a jar. If kids blurt, beans don’t get added. When jar fills, reward unlocked.

Visual progress = strong motivation.

5. Reinforce What’s Going Right

These give kids power in positive ways.

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17) Quiet Keeper

Classroom

A student uses a short timer and looks for classmates who are focused. That student becomes the next “quiet keeper.”

Kids notice and reinforce positive behavior.

18) Quiet Critter

Classroom + Home (younger kids especially)

A stuffed animal “only likes to visit” kids who are focused. Pass it along every few minutes (you can structure this similarly to the quiet keeper).

Externalizes self-control in a playful way.

19) Catch a Bubble

Classroom + Home

Say: “Catch a bubble in your mouth.” Count down from 3. Pop the bubble. Take a breath.

This one may not be the best option for kids with anxiety or breath-holding behaviors. Use discretion and adapt as needed.

It’s a fast, embodied reset.

20) Narrate the Positive

Classroom + Home

Instead of correcting constantly, say:

• “I love how Maya is waiting her turn.”

• “I notice Ben is sitting ready.”

Attention goes where energy flows.

At-Home Friendly Strategies (Easiest to Implement)

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If you’re a parent and want the simplest starting point:

• Catch a Bubble

• Copy My Clap

• Singing transitions

• Non-verbal cues

• Narrating positives

• Front-loading talk time

• Blurt Beans (small jar version)

Big Picture Pattern

All 20 strategies in this guide come back to these five simple principles:

1. Clarify expectations

2. Give kids better ways to participate

3. Use playful signals to refocus attention

4. Turn self-control into a game

5. Reinforce what’s going right

Talking isn’t the enemy. Unchanneled energy is.

These strategies teach them how to manage their voice, their impulses, and their attention…without silencing them.

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It was thoughtful and structured and anecdotal and I spent like 4.5 hours on it on my flight last week. And then it disappeared. Gone somewhere between tabs and autosaves and whatever mysterious place drafts go to die.

After realizing this at 11:36 PM on the eve of the day I planned to post it, I knew I didn’t have it in me to start over.

I’m laying here with my baby while she sleeps, typing quickly so I can get back to snuggling.

But the topic I wanted to write about (talking to kids about death) still feels important. I think part of why it’s been sitting with me is that this time of year, two years ago, my dad was dying from ALS (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis). Eric Dane just died of the same awful disease and I’ve found myself thinking of his teenage daughters and the shape loss takes inside a family.

Seasons hold memory, and I’ve been thinking a lot about endings — how they arrive, how we talk about them, and how we move through them.

Anyway, instead of rewriting the whole piece tonight, I’m sharing something simpler: a few books that help open these conversations gently, through story and metaphor and shared language.

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“A Walk in the Woods” by Nikki Grimes, Jerry Pinkney, and Brian Pinkney

A Walk in the Woods is a tender story about a boy retracing a path his father once mapped for him. Rather than explaining grief, it gently shows how memory, creativity, and shared places can keep connection alive. Knowing the illustrations were completed by Brian Pinkney after his father’s death makes the story’s message of enduring connection especially moving.

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“The Remembering Stone” by Carey Sookocheff

The Remembering Stone follows a girl holding tightly to a rock her grandfather once gave her, a small object carrying enormous meaning after his death. This story beautifully illustrates how memory can live inside everyday objects, offering children a gentle reminder that what we hold onto doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else.

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“Grief Is An Elephant” by Tamara Ellis Smith. Illustrated by Nancy Whitesides.

Grief Is an Elephant uses a powerful metaphor to show how grief can feel enormous at first and shift over time without ever fully disappearing. It offers children language for a feeling that’s hard to explain and reassurance that the shape of grief is allowed to change.

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“The Bear and the Wildcat” by Kazumi Yumoto. Illustrated by Komako Sakai. Translated by Cathy Hirano.

In The Bear and the Wildcat, a grieving bear withdraws after losing his friend until an unexpected companion offers simple company instead of solutions. The story beautifully illustrates how healing often begins with being seen rather than being fixed.

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“Flora’s Wish” by Fiona Halliday

Flora’s Wish uses the life cycle of a dandelion to offer children a gentle reminder that endings can exist alongside new beginnings.

I’ll probably rewrite the original article eventually.

But tonight feels like a night for snuggles.

Friends. Family. The neighbors. My partner, twice. I’ve told it in that half-breathless way you tell a story when you’re not trying to impress anyone, just trying to understand why it won’t leave you alone.

It’s a small story. A classroom story. The kind you’d normally tuck away as a “proud teacher moment” and move on.

But I can’t.

Last week, my students played Jeopardy.

This is not a metaphor. This is a literal classroom review game, with dry-erase boards, whispered debates, and a prize so coveted it should probably be illegal in public education: an “I Don’t Feel Like It” pass. Forty-five minutes of choice time instead of structured learning. A golden ticket.

What happened next felt funny at first, then impressive, then quietly devastating in the best way.

Without telling me, the kids made a plan. In the final round, every team wagered exactly the number of points they’d need to lose in order to tie. Then they intentionally answered the question wrong. Every team landed on the same score. Eight hundred points across the board.

Which meant I had no choice but to give everyone the prize.

I stood there, stunned, watching ten-year-olds smile like they’d just pulled off the world’s most wholesome heist. It was clever. It was coordinated. It was deeply justice-minded.

And it felt like the exact opposite of the way the rest of the country has been behaving.

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On the same week my students were quietly collaborating their way into collective joy, the national rhetoric felt louder, harsher, and more fractured than ever. Every headline another line in the sand. Every conversation daring you to pick a side immediately or be accused of something unforgivable.

And then there’s Minnesota.

My in-laws live there. My brother-in-law has been on the front lines of the protests following the killing of Renee Nicole Good, a woman shot by a federal ICE agent in Minneapolis. The details are horrifying. The aftermath even more so. People standing in sub-zero temperatures with whistles and signs. Militarized responses. Conflicting narratives. A widening gap between what people are seeing with their own eyes and what they’re being told to believe.

The stories he’s been recounting aren’t neat or easily digestible. They don’t fit into Instagram slides or cable news chyrons. They sound like fear, confusion, rage, grief, and exhaustion layered on top of one another.

Which is maybe the most honest description of this moment in our country.

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Here’s where I need to be unequivocally clear.

I do not support the orange man currently in charge. Not politically, not morally, not spiritually, not in the “let’s see how this plays out” sense. If there were a Jeopardy category called “Humans Who Actively Make Things Worse,” I wouldn’t even wait for Ken Jennings to finish the question.

But this piece isn’t about him. Not really.

It’s about what we’re becoming while arguing about him.

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Today is MLK Day. And every year, we reduce Martin Luther King Jr. to quotes that make us comfortable. We post about dreams. We avoid the parts where he was unpopular, surveilled, jailed, criticized by moderates, and brutally honest about the violence of the systems we still live inside.

King didn’t call for politeness. He called for a beloved community. One rooted in justice, dignity, and the radical idea that our liberation is bound up together.

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Here’s the part I can’t shake.

My students didn’t ask who deserved the prize. They didn’t debate who worked hardest or who followed the rules best. They didn’t argue about whether fairness meant equality or equity or some abstract principle they half-remembered from a lesson.

They just decided that no one should lose.

That’s it. That was the logic.

And I keep thinking about how many adults would call that naïve or manipulative or unrealistic or socialist or whatever word helps them sleep better at night while explaining why cruelty is just how things are.

But what if it isn’t naïve?

What if it’s actually developmentally appropriate wisdom…the kind we spend our adult lives unlearning?

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I’m not interested in pretending everything is fine. It isn’t. People are being harmed. Language is being weaponized. Protestors are being met with force instead of listening. And the distance between us feels vast some days.

But I also refuse to believe that the answer is louder shouting, tighter camps, or performative righteousness dressed up as moral clarity.

My students didn’t win Jeopardy by screaming at each other.

They won by noticing one another.

By coordinating.

By deciding, quietly, that collective good mattered more than individual victory.

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So on this MLK Day, that’s what I’m holding onto.

Not false unity. Not forced civility. Not pretending we all agree.

But the harder, braver work of asking:

• Who is being left out?

• Who is being harmed?

• And what would it look like if we stopped trying to win and started trying to belong?

I don’t think ten-year-olds fixed America with a game show. But they reminded me that justice isn’t abstract. It’s practiced, often quietly and imperfectly.

Sometimes, it starts with kids who decide that no one should lose.

And sometimes, that’s enough to remind me why this work still matters.

In my work as a teacher, I’ve seen this again and again: one well-timed question can do more than a long lecture or a perfectly worded talk. It can slow things down. It can open a door. It can make a child feel noticed without being put on the spot.

This isn’t about asking “the right” questions or getting meaningful answers every day. Some days the answer will be a shrug. Some days it will be a joke. And some days it will surprise you. What matters is the practice — the steady invitation to reflect, to share, and to connect without pressure.

That’s what this is. One simple question a day. Nothing to prep. Nothing to fix. Just a small moment of attention, offered consistently, over the course of a year.

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January

Remember, there’s no right way to use this list. You can skip days, swap questions, or come back later.

Jan. 1: If you could add more of one thing to this year, what would it be?
Jan. 2: Tell me about one moment from today you’d want to keep.
Jan. 3: What are you excited about that’s coming up?
Jan. 4: What made today better—even a little?
Jan. 5: Is there anything you wish we did more together?
Jan. 6: What made you laugh today?
Jan. 7: When did you feel calm today?
Jan. 8: What did you do today that was hard but worth it?
Jan. 9: What’s been popping into your head a lot lately?
Jan. 10: What was something tricky today that you got through?
Jan. 11: What surprised you in a good way today?
Jan. 12: If adults listened better to kids your age, what would they hear?
Jan. 13: When did you feel most like yourself today?
Jan. 14: If you told one story from today, what would it be?
Jan. 15: What’s something you did recently that made you feel proud?
Jan. 16: What’s something you’re still learning how to do?
Jan. 17: What felt fun today?
Jan. 18: Tell me about something kind you saw today.
Jan. 19: If we added one small daily habit together, what should it be?
Jan. 20: What’s one thing you want to practice more this year?
Jan. 21: What’s a question you wish I asked you more often?
Jan. 22: What caught your attention today?
Jan. 23: What felt easier today than you thought it would?
Jan. 24: What are you really into right now?
Jan. 25: If today had a song, what would it be?
Jan. 26: What’s one thing you hope stays the same this year?
Jan. 27: What’s something new you’d like to try?
Jan. 28: What’s one thing you like about our family?
Jan. 29: What felt the same today, and what felt different?
Jan. 30: If you planned a regular day you’d love, what would it include?
Jan. 31: What’s one small thing from this month you want to keep doing?

If you’ve found these questions helpful, the rest of the year continues in the same spirit — one thoughtful, read-aloud question per day, designed to create small moments of connection without pressure.

February through December are available to paid subscribers. You’re always welcome to join when it feels right.

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I know she’s still tiny, but my brain is already skipping years ahead. I can practically see her in footie pajamas, padding into the living room on Christmas morning while I take a quiche out of the oven. I imagine the twinkle lights, the music, the stories, the little rituals that make childhood feel warm and enchanted.

And because I’m already envisioning these future memories, I’ve also thought about the moment that will one day come. The moment she climbs into my lap with a thoughtful look and asks, “Is Santa real?”

I know exactly how I want to answer her. I want to meet her with steadiness and warmth, keep the magic intact in a new way, and tell the truth in a way that protects both her curiosity and her heart.

That is exactly what the TALK framework helps us do. It’s simple, grounding, and especially helpful for emotionally loaded moments like this.

Here’s how it looks in practice.

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Step 1: Tune In

(Get curious before you get factual.)

Kids almost never blurt “Is Santa real?” in a vacuum. They ask because something inside them has shifted.

You can ask:

• “Hmm, that’s a really big question. What made you wonder?”

• “I can tell you’ve been thinking about this. What’s going on?”

• Or simply, “why are you asking?

This helps you figure out which path they’re on:

Path 1: They still believe, and they’re scared to lose the magic.

Kids on this path will often:

• look worried

• whisper the question

• ask at bedtime

• say things like “Well… my friend said…”

• immediately follow it with “But I think he’s real… right?”

Tuning in lets you see their fear. They’re not just asking about Santa; they’re asking if their childhood is slipping away.

Path 2: They already know, and they want confirmation.

Kids on this path may:

• sound casual

• look proud of their detective work

• ask straightforwardly

• shrug when you turn the question back on them

• say “I don’t think he’s real but I want to know what you think.”

Tuning in keeps you from giving too much or too little. They are not afraid of the truth. They’re looking for clarity

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Step 2: Acknowledge

(Normalize the feelings beneath the question.)

No matter which path they’re on, your job is to name what they might be feeling.

Scripts that help:

• “It makes sense that this feels confusing.”

• “It’s okay to wonder about things like this.”

• “A lot of kids your age start thinking about these questions.”

• “It sounds like you’re not totally sure how you feel right now.”

Validation is the nervous system reset button.

And then you tailor the next step based on their path.

Path 1: They still believe.

You might say:

• “It sounds like this is feeling a little scary or uncertain for you.”

• “It seems like you’re hoping the magic is still there.”

Your tone here is everything. Slow, warm, steady. They need emotional safety before factual clarity.

Path 2: They already know.

You might say:

• “It sounds like you’ve been piecing things together.”

• “You’re sounding pretty confident. Tell me what you figured out.”

This respects their growing independence and critical thinking.

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Step 3: Limit the Load

(Tell the truth gently. Give only what they can carry.)

This is where things get tricky, because the instinct can be either:

1. protect them from sadness by denying reality

2. burst the bubble with too much information

Your goal is to answer honestly, but simply.

Path 1: They aren’t ready for blunt truth.

You can stay in the realm of curiosity and meaning.

Try:

• “Santa is a story families tell to bring joy, magic, and generosity into the holidays.”

• “Different families believe different things about Santa. What matters most is the love and fun we create together.”

This is truthful without being sharp.

If they seem very anxious, you can redirect:

• “It sounds like this is feeling big for you today. We don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

Path 2: The jig is up.

Keep it simple.

Try:

• “You’re right. Santa is something grown-ups do to make the holidays feel magical and fun. The giving and surprises are real because we created them.”

You can add the beautiful reframe:

• “Now that you know, you get to help make the magic for younger kids. You get to be Santa.”

This moves them from loss to purpose.

What to avoid in all cases:

• Saying too much

• Using the Santa conversation to reveal every myth

• Talking them out of their own conclusions

• Lying because they’re crying

• Giving the “here’s exactly how we did it” logistics breakdown

Limit the load so they stay anchored.

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Step 4: Keep the Door Open

(Make it clear that the conversation isn’t over.)

The conversation doesn’t end with the answer. It continues with your presence.

Try:

• “If you ever want to talk about traditions or feelings or anything confusing, I’m always here.”

• “We can decide together how we want our holidays to look as you grow up.”

• “We can talk about this again anytime. You don’t have to figure it all out in one day.”

If they’re sad:

• “I know this feels like a big change. It’s okay to feel sad.”

• “Growing up comes with moments that stretch our hearts a little.”

If they’re proud of themselves:

• “I love how thoughtful and curious you are. You’re paying attention and asking great questions.”

If they want to know if the magic is over:

• “Magic doesn’t disappear. It just changes shape, and you get to help shape it now.”

Keeping the door open reassures them that this conversation didn’t break anything. In fact, it deepened trust.

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It’s okay for you to feel sad, too.

You might feel emotional even imagining this conversation. I do.

The Santa question isn’t just about Santa. It’s about watching your child transition from one chapter of childhood to another. It’s a moment that can feel tender, precious, or bittersweet for us too.

And that’s okay.

You’re allowed to hold both the magic and the truth at the same time.

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In summary

Tune in. Acknowledge the feelings. Limit the load. Keep the door open.

And remember: the magic isn’t lost. It grows with them, and with you.

Yeah. That was cute.

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Now being sick means keeping tiny humans alive while you cough green stuff into a paper towel and whisper, “Mama just needs a minute.”

We’ve been trading colds around our house like Pokémon cards. One ends, another begins. I swear we’ve been collectively sick for about a month now.

The last few weeks have felt like a fever dream — one long loop of tissues, thermometers, and reheated soup. But somewhere in the haze, I’ve found a few things that feel like lighthouses in the fog of my delirium: small, practical mercies that make this whole sick-season circus slightly more survivable.

Let’s start with the most glamorous topic: snot removal.

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Field Note #1: Snot and Salvation

If I could give one award this season, it would go to the Electric NoseFrida (or the Pro, if you want to feel like you’ve entered the first-class lounge of parenting).

If the manual NoseFrida is the minivan of parenting tools (sturdy, effective), the Electric is the luxury hybrid SUV with seat warmers. And the Pro? That’s the one with autopilot and leather interior.

It’s safe, fast, hygienic, and powerful. It even has multiple suction settings (as does motherhood, apparently) and a tiny distraction light that makes wrangling a furious toddler slightly less like a hostage negotiation.

It hums softly like a spa diffuser while obliterating mucus like a tiny Dyson engineered by angels. And don’t forget the saline, which elevates the whole experience to Nirvana territory.

It’s disgusting. It’s deeply satisfying. It’s… dare I say… transcendent.

There’s a unique kind of joy that comes from seeing actual results and hearing your child breathe again — the kind that briefly makes you forget you’re covered in Vicks and snot at 3 a.m.

These should be handed out at baby showers and hospitals with the same reverence as diapers and onesies. Truly game-changing.

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Field Note #2: Water With Delusions of Grandeur

I’ve decided to start romanticizing hydration. If I’m going to spend half my day refilling sippy cups for everyone else, I might as well make mine cute.

So now my emotional support water bottle has lemon slices, curated stickers, accessories, and main-character energy. I light a candle, take a sip, and pretend I’m the kind of person who “drinks water with intention.”

Amazon has some seriously unhinged water bottle accessories that I highly recommend for this purpose. Like this Chrismas kit I just purchased 🎅🏼

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Field Note #3: Screen time, but make it mindful.

At this point, the Bluey theme song is my national anthem and Bandit and Chilli Heeler are helping me raise my child.

Yes, we streamed 3 whole seasons last weekend. Yes, I’m fine with it.

We’ll circle back to boundaries and limits when everyone can breathe through their nose again.

Although, pro tip: Bluey Lo-Fi on YouTube totally gets the job done and somehow makes me feel better about having the screen on. It’s calm, low-stimulation, and just vibey enough that my kid isn’t zoned out — she’s relaxed, happy, and still excited to see her favorite blue dog. I linked our favorite playlist here.

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Field Note #4: The Gospel of Good Enough

At some point in sick season, the goal quietly shifts from thriving to keeping everyone vaguely alive. And honestly? That’s beautiful.

Around here, “toast is dinner” has become a perfectly acceptable sentence. So has “clean-ish counts.” I’ve started grading myself on a pass/fail system, and the only question is: Did we all make it to bedtime?

Lowering the bar isn’t giving up. It’s adapting. It’s acknowledging that parenting during cold and flu season is basically a group project where no one’s read the directions and half the team is coughing.

Some nights, that looks like take-out or TV dinners. Other nights, it’s letting the laundry live in the basket because folding feels too ambitious. And occasionally, it’s just high-fiving yourself for remembering to plug in the humidifier.

Perfection can wait for spring. For now, survival looks like toast, tissues, and calling it good enough.

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Field Note #5: Emotional labor is the real illness.

No one talks enough about how exhausting it is to care for everyone else while you’re sick, too. It’s not just the germs that wipe you out. It’s the invisible work of being the steady one in the chaos.

You’re soothing, wiping, fetching, comforting, remembering the medicine schedule, refilling the humidifier, and narrating calm when you feel anything but. You’re saying, “I’ve got you,” while quietly wondering who’s saying it to you.

The mental gymnastics alone should qualify as cardio. You’re carrying the logistics, the empathy, and the guilt — the trifecta of parental fatigue.

It’s the kind of work no one sees, but everyone feels. And maybe that’s what makes it so heavy. Because even when you’re running on fumes and Vicks, you still show up with softness, which in its own way, is a kind of strength.

So if you’re reading this while refilling a sippy cup, scheduling a doctor’s appointment, and trying not to cry into your soup: you’re doing it. You’re the pulse that keeps the whole house going.

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So if you’re reading this through a haze of congestion, here’s your reminder: you’re doing enough. You are enough. You can’t pour from an empty cup, but you can refill your Stanley, microwave your coffee again, and start fresh tomorrow.

Parenting while contagious isn’t pretty, but it’s proof of how much love can fit inside exhaustion.

Here’s to the messy, the mundane, and the miraculously helpful.

Here’s to every parent currently running on tissues, Tylenol, and pure determination.

And here’s to the day we can all breathe through our noses again (thanks for the assist on that Frida).

It’s one of the rare nights where kids get to feel bold, silly, and just a tiny bit wild. And while trick-or-treating may be the main event, there’s always that post-candy lull: kids unwrapping wrappers like raccoons at a buffet, adults scrolling their phones, everyone crashing at different speeds.

This game turns that moment into something fun, connected, and low-pressure.

No crafts. No printables. No Pinterest-worthy prep. Just a circle of kids, a deck of cards (or a phone), and a chance to laugh together.

It’s called Trick-or-Truth, and it works anywhere: living room, classroom, neighbor’s lawn, or while dumping out candy on the floor.

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How to Play

This is a simple, low-prep game. It’s essentially an adapted, kid-friendly version (5-12) of the classic game “Truth or Dare” with a Halloween twist.

All you have to do is:

• Print Trick and Truth cards

• Each turn, a player draws one (you can have two piles or mix them up charades-style)

  • Truth = give an honest answer

  • Trick = do the thing

• The group gives a thumbs up if it counts

That’s it! It’s fun, simple, and you can play as long or as little as you want with groups as small as 2 or as large as 20 or 30.

Variations (Optional):

• Write questions on Jenga blocks and play during a game of Jenga for an added challenge (smaller groups are better for this option).

• Have kids add their own “Trick” or “Truth” cards.

• If someone doesn’t want to do their “Trick” or “Truth,” have them sacrifice a candy from their stash to a bowl in the center (which can be for the grown-ups, fictional Halloween character, candy power-ups, etc.).

• Introduce other “wild cards,” like:

  • Candy power-up (take an extra candy from the center bowl)

  • Have someone else do your “trick” or “truth”

  • Swap a candy with someone

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Ready to play?

I’ve included a list of 50 Trick-or-Truth prompts below — the first 5 in each category are free. You can print these, copy them onto cards, or use it as inspiration for your own version.

TRICK Cards

Silly, light-hearted dares that protect dignity (no humiliation, ever)

1. Pretend your candy bag just bit you. React appropriately.

2. Mime eating the grossest candy on earth.

3. Do a dramatic slow-motion fall.

4. Narrate someone else’s costume like a sports commentator for 10 seconds.

5. Act like your shoes suddenly have minds of their own.

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TRUTH Cards

Real questions kids enjoy answering.

1. What candy do you always leave for last?

2. Would you rather have unlimited candy or stay up all night?

3. If you were a ghost, what prank would you pull first?

4. Which monster would make the worst roommate?

5. What is another costume you thought about wearing but didn’t?

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It’s from Ted Lasso, that relentlessly kind, sometimes corny, always disarmingly wise show about a small-time American football coach leading a British soccer team. In one of the early episodes, Ted gives this advice to a player who’s beating himself up over a mistake:

“You know what the happiest animal on Earth is? It’s a goldfish. You know why? It’s got a 10-second memory. Be a goldfish.”

And honestly, I thought that was genius.

Ten seconds. Forget fast. Move on.

At the time, I was still a relatively new teacher — learning the rhythm of the classroom, the pacing, the planning, the emotional stamina it all takes. On top of that, my Etsy shop had suddenly taken off — orders flooding in, messages pinging, late nights spent packing prints between grading papers.

I’m not complaining; it was everything I’d hoped for. But it was a lot.

And when you’re stretched thin like that, every small mistake feels heavier than it should.

Every day, something went sideways: a forgotten lunch, a meltdown, an angry email, a missed order.

And every day, I’d carry those moments longer than I should, replaying what I could’ve said differently, wishing I’d been calmer, kinder, wiser, more organized.

So “Be a goldfish” hit me like gospel.

Because holding onto every mistake — yours or theirs — is exhausting.

It’s the fastest way to lose perspective and peace.

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The Wisdom in Forgetting Fast

There’s real science behind that Ted Lasso moment. Psychologists talk about emotional residue — the stress that lingers when we don’t process or release a moment fully. We think we’ve moved on, but our nervous system hasn’t.

“Being a goldfish,” metaphorically, means letting go of the micro-mistakes:

• The lesson that flopped.

• The sharp tone you wish you’d softened.

• The awkward email.

• The argument replaying in your head hours later.

Kids don’t need adults who are perfect. They need adults who can reset quickly.

When we model that — deep breath, repair, move on — we show them that mistakes aren’t moral failures. They’re part of being human.

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But Here’s the Catch: Not Everything Should Be Forgotten

As much as I love Ted Lasso, the longer I’ve worked with kids (and adults), the more I’ve realized something:

Some things shouldn’t be forgotten.

“Be a goldfish” is wise for ego — not for ethics.

Forget fast when it’s about embarrassment. Forget fast when it’s about control. Forget fast when it’s about overthinking something that can’t be undone.

But don’t forget when it’s about impact.

When your words hurt someone — even unintentionally. When a pattern keeps repeating — a student shutting down, a child melting down, a relationship feeling one-sided.

Forgetfulness doesn’t heal those things. Awareness does.

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When to Be a Goldfish (and When Not To)

Be a goldfish…

• when you said the wrong thing in a meeting and can’t stop replaying it.

• when your child rolled their eyes and you took it personally.

• when a student’s tough day got under your skin more than you meant it to.

But don’t be a goldfish…

• when you keep losing your patience at the same time every day — that’s a pattern.

• when a student or coworker crosses a boundary — that’s feedback.

• when an apology is owed — that’s repair.

Remembering Is Not the Opposite of Peace

Protecting your peace isn’t about selective amnesia.

It’s about discernment — knowing what to release and what to reflect on.

Being a goldfish helps you stay light. But remembering with intention helps you stay wise.

Both matter. Because peace without reflection becomes denial, and reflection without peace becomes rumination.

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The Takeaway

So yes, be a goldfish. When you overthink. When you spiral. When you need to move on.

But also be a teacher, a parent, a human who remembers. Who notices patterns, names impact, and chooses differently next time.

That’s not weakness — that’s evolution.

And maybe, that’s what Ted Lasso was really teaching us: that joy and accountability can live in the same place.

It’s this question of voice — of using it, and what happens when you do.

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with speaking out. On one hand, I’ve built my work around communication — how to talk to kids, how to say hard things with clarity and care, how to model empathy even when your buttons are pushed.

I believe words can soften the sharp edges of the world. I believe language and conversation matter.

But there’s a difference between speaking about something and speaking into something.

And lately, the world has felt so loud. So urgent. So many things to respond to — atrocities, misinformation, injustice, grief. So many opinions layered with anger and certainty. It can start to feel like every word you say is an invitation for someone to misunderstand you.

I’ve wanted to say more. About the violence we scroll past. About human rights. About how we talk to children about war, and pain, and difference. About why it feels like we're collectively becoming numb.

But I keep bumping into fear. Not just fear of backlash (though that’s real), but fear of getting it wrong. Fear of saying too much — or not enough. Fear of being perceived as performative, or naive, or conveniently late. Fear of being told: You should have said something sooner. Or differently. Or not at all.

And yet silence doesn’t feel right either. It feels like being in the room but keeping your eyes down.

I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to convince ourselves that someone else will say the thing. That someone more informed, or more eloquent, or more unaffected by criticism will take the risk. And often, someone does.

But the more I wait for someone else to speak for me, the further I drift from myself.

I don’t want to speak out just to be seen doing it. I don’t want to make everything content. I don’t want to post for applause. But I also don’t want my discomfort to masquerade as discernment. I don’t want my caution to become complicity.

There are so many things I still don’t know how to say. But I know that staying silent for too long starts to feel like forgetting — forgetting what I believe, forgetting who I am.

And part of what makes this all harder is how polarized everything feels. It’s like we’ve forgotten how to disagree without dehumanizing each other. So many of us have lost the ability to engage in real, respectful dialogue. And I feel like such a hypocrite even saying that because I’ve been quiet, too.

But I wrote this because I’m scared.

I believe in speaking up. I believe silence can be harmful. And I also know that it can feel safer.

I know how cruel people can be when you say something they don’t like. Especially online. Especially when you have a platform. My nervous system wasn’t built to handle an onslaught of vitriol. And I know I’m not alone in that.

I think a lot of people are sitting with the same mix of awareness and sadness and fear and guilt. Disappointed in ourselves for not doing more, and also disappointed in each other for how we’ve stopped listening.

And what scares me even more than the backlash…is the modeling.

I have a child. I teach children. And I know they are watching.

They’re absorbing how we navigate disagreement, how we speak (or don’t) when something matters. They’re watching the way we react when someone gets something wrong. They’re watching the way we shut each other down.

I want them to feel safe speaking up. I want them to learn how to do it with courage and care. But how will they learn that if so many adults have forgotten? What are we showing them when our conversations are fueled by outrage, but emptied of compassion?

I want to model something different.

That’s what I’m trying to do here. I’m not writing this because I’ve figured it all out, but because I haven’t.

I’m still sitting in the discomfort. Still sorting through the noise. Still trying to untangle fear from integrity, urgency from performance.

I don’t have a clear strategy. I don’t have perfect words. I just have this growing awareness that fear has been choosing for me, and I don’t want that anymore.

I don’t know exactly what moving forward looks like.

I just know I want to try.

Cheesy as it was, I liked the message. It sounded good. Positive. Safe.

But one afternoon during a discussion, I saw that message get tested.

A student blurted out a thought in the middle of a lesson. It wasn’t off-topic, but it was at the expense of another student. His comment landed sideways and the room went quiet. He and the other student both slouched in their chairs, embarrassed.

When I checked in after, the student who made the comment said, “I wasn’t trying to be mean, I was just trying to be myself.”

And in that moment, I realized that maybe “be yourself” isn’t enough.

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The Trouble With “Be Yourself”

We mean it as encouragement. When we tell kids to “be yourself,” what we’re really trying to say is: “Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not.”

But to a child who’s still growing into their identity, those words can be more confusing than comforting. Which “self” are they supposed to be? The goofy one that makes their friends laugh? The quieter, more careful self that shows up in class? The curious self that asks endless questions at home?

Identity for kids is fluid. It’s still forming. They’re still experimenting with different behaviors and “selves.” Therefore “be yourself” can feel like pressure to have a clear answer about who they are already when in reality, that’s still unfolding.

That’s what I saw in my classroom that day: a child who was just being himself, but without realizing that context and impact matter, too.

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When It Backfires

Another problem is that “be yourself” can start to sound like a free pass.

• A child interrupts repeatedly in class. “That’s just me.”

• A child makes a blunt, honest comment that stings. “I’m just being real.”

• A child resists a new activity because it feels unfamiliar. “I don’t do that sort of thing.”

In all of these cases, “being myself” becomes a defense against growth. It shuts the door on learning how to stretch, adapt, or recognize when behavior causes harm.

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What They Need Instead

Kids don’t just need encouragement to “be themselves.” They need direction — values and behaviors they can actually practice.

Things like:

• Be kind, always

• Be curious when something is new

• Be brave when things feel scary

• Be respectful in every setting

• Be honest, even when it’s difficult

• Be gentle with yourself when you make mistakes

These give kids something concrete to hold onto. Instead of hiding behind “that’s just me,” they learn: this is how I want to show up in the world.

And as adults, we can help by modeling these values ourselves — showing them what kindness looks like in action, what respect sounds like in conversation, and what bravery feels like when we try something new.

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Becoming, Not Just Being

Here’s the truth: kids aren’t finished products. They’re in the process of becoming.

When we tell them to “just be yourself,” we’re skipping a step. We’re ignoring the fact that “self” is still under construction. What they need isn’t a slogan, it’s scaffolding. They need opportunities to try on different versions of themselves, to see what fits, and to be gently guided toward the qualities that help them grow.

That moment with my student reminded me that being yourself and becoming your best self are not the same thing. He didn’t need me to tell him to be himself — he was already doing that. What he needed was help recognizing how his authentic personality could shine in a way that also uplifted others.

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The Takeaway

I still think back to that cheesy poster sometimes. I understand the spirit of it — kids should feel like they don’t have to pretend or perform. But I also know that “just be yourself” isn’t the whole story.

Kids need adults who help them notice the impact of their words, give them language for values, and remind them that growth doesn’t cancel out authenticity.

Because the truth is, they’re not simply being. They’re becoming. And it’s our job to help them practice becoming their best selves.

The truth is: unlimited screens don’t serve kids well. They can interfere with sleep, attention, mood, and relationships. But in today’s world, it’s not realistic (or helpful) to avoid screens altogether.

So I look for a middle path. If kids are going to use screens, let’s make that time purposeful, creative, and supportive of their development.

I’ve tried a lot of apps and platforms (and ignored a lot of gimmicks). These are my five favorites right now — the ones I actually feel good recommending to parents and teachers.

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1. Night Zookeeper

Who it’s for: Kids ages 6–12 who like stories, creativity, and games.

Why I love it: Night Zookeeper blends story-driven adventures with actual writing practice. Kids create characters, complete writing challenges, and play literacy games without realizing they’re working on grammar, vocabulary, and comprehension. Over time, they’re building a portfolio of their own writing, all of which is reviewed by real tutors. The best part? It feels like play, not schoolwork.

Why it works: It gives reluctant writers a reason to write and confident writers space to flex their creativity. Teachers also get built-in progress tracking.

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2. Pok Pok Playroom

Who it’s for: Toddlers through early elementary kids (ages 2–7).

Why I love it: Pok Pok is one of the most thoughtfully designed playroom apps I’ve seen. Award-winning and Montessori-inspired, there are no ads and no addictive tricks — just beautifully illustrated, open-ended activities. Think of it as a digital toy box: kids can explore cause-and-effect, storytelling, and problem-solving through imaginative play.

Why it works: It’s screen time that mirrors real play, giving kids autonomy while encouraging curiosity and creativity.

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3. Sago Mini

Who it’s for: Toddlers and preschoolers (ages 2–5).

Why I love it: Sago Mini is silly, lighthearted, and developmentally perfect for young kids. Each app lets kids explore themes — like pets, space, or neighborhoods—through adorable characters. It’s intuitive, safe, and playful, giving kids agency without overwhelming them.

Why it works: Kids get to “try on” different roles and explore the world in a safe, imaginative way. It’s also one of the few apps that keeps younger kids engaged without overstimulating them.

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4. Khan Academy Kids

Who it’s for: Ages 3–8.

Why I love it: It’s free, research-backed, and designed by educators. There are stories, songs, and games for literacy, math, and even social-emotional learning. The interface is cheerful without being overwhelming.

Why it matters: If you’re going to spend screen time on “learning,” this one actually holds up. It’s trusted by teachers and aligns with standards and developmental goals.

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5. Toca Boca

Who it’s for: Ages 4–10.

Why I love it: Toca Boca games are all about open-ended, imaginative play — like running a hair salon, cooking in a kitchen, or exploring a city. No scores, no time pressure — just exploration.

Why it matters: It’s one of the rare app suites that prioritizes creativity over competition or consumption.

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Bonus: A Book I’m Loving Right Now

I was lucky enough to get an advance copy of Ash Brandin’s (@TheGamerEducator) new book Power On: Managing Screen Time to Benefit the Whole Family (out August 26, 2025), and I can’t recommend it enough.

If you’re interested in practical solutions to managing your family’s screen time, this book is for you.

What I appreciate about this book is that it doesn’t treat screens as the enemy. Instead, it reframes the conversation around tech, showing us that balance and boundaries are not only possible — they’re essential for the wellbeing of the whole family.

Brandin shares practical, easy-to-implement frameworks like:

• ABCs of Screentime Management – Access, Behavior, Content

• The S.T.A.R. Method – Settings, Time, Ads/App Store, Restrictions

• N.I.C.E. Boundaries – Needs, Input, Consistent, Enforceable

These aren’t rigid rules — they’re realistic tools that actually work in busy households.

Why I recommend it: Too much parenting advice about screens is fear-based or unrealistic. Power On is calm, empowering, and deeply practical. It helps parents set boundaries that stick, without guilt, shame, or power struggles.

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The Bottom Line

Screens aren’t going anywhere. But not all screen time is created equal.

The key is to be intentional — setting boundaries, modeling healthy use, and choosing resources that fuel creativity, curiosity, and connection.

These resources can help you do that.

It’s this kind of statement that gets tossed around on playgrounds, in parent groups, even on the news. It sounds like common sense. Simple. Scary. Final.

But real parenting isn’t simple. And neither is screen time.

A few years ago, I was on a flight with a toddler kicking the back of my seat, his mother visibly exhausted, and an older man nearby muttering something about “kids and their iPads.” But I couldn’t help noticing…the moment that screen came on, that little boy calmed, his mother exhaled, and for the first time in hours, peace settled over the row.

Was it ideal? No. Was it understandable? Absolutely.

That moment stayed with me. Because the conversation around screens has become so full of shame, panic, and extremes that we’ve lost sight of the most important thing: context.

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Fear Has Hijacked the Conversation

The narrative that “screens are bad” has outpaced the actual research. As parents and educators, we deserve better than fear-based clickbait. We deserve information, support, and nuance.

Here’s what the research actually tells us:

• All screen time is not created equal.
  There’s a massive difference between zoning out to prank videos for 4 hours and FaceTiming grandma, coding in Scratch, or designing in Minecraft. What kids do on screens — and with whom — matters more than how many hours they're on them.
  Sources: Sonia Livingstone & Alicia Blum-Ross (2020); Anya Kamenetz (2018)

• For some families, screens are survival.
  When you’re working two jobs, raising neurodivergent kids, or going it alone, screen time might not be a “choice.” Telling parents they're failing just adds insult to exhaustion.
  Source: Rideout & Katz, Joan Ganz Cooney Center (2016)

• Children can learn through digital media.
  Interactive, scaffolded, or co-viewed screen time can support language, empathy, problem-solving, and creativity. Dismissing it all as harmful erases real opportunities for growth.
  Sources: Levine & Guernsey (2015); Hayes & Meyers (2011)

• Tech panic is nothing new.
  From comic books to radio to rock music, every generation has panicked about the “new thing.” History has a way of showing us that the panic often ages worse than the tech.
  Source: Amy Orben (2020)

• Blaming screens can mask bigger issues.
  Sometimes screens are a mirror. A band-aid. Or just the easiest way to cope when deeper challenges — school pressure, family stress, social disconnection — go unaddressed.
  Source: Candice Odgers (2018)

Shame Doesn’t Solve Anything

The truth? Parents already feel stretched thin. Telling them they’re “doing it wrong” won’t help them do it better.

What helps is:

• Practical tools.

• Contextual guidance.

• Realistic alternatives.

• A little curiosity.

• A lot more compassion.

And maybe a new way to ask the question: not “how much screen time?” but “what kind of screen time, in what context, and for what purpose?”

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A Realistic Screen Time Guide (With App Recs That Don’t Suck)

Here’s a breakdown by age that keeps things research-informed and judgment-free — plus a few app recs kids actually enjoy and parents don’t hate.

Ages 0–2
As much as possible, avoid passive screen time. Video calls are okay. If screens are used, co-view and keep it short and simple.
Try: FaceTime with family, Sago Mini First Words, short bursts of Baby Mozart

Ages 2–4
Up to 1 hour/day of high-quality content, ideally with an adult present. Think interactive, slow-paced, and gentle.
Try: Sago Mini World, Pok Pok Playroom, Daniel Tiger, Khan Academy Kids

Ages 5–8
1–2 hours/day is fine, especially if it’s creative or educational. Co-view when possible. Ask questions about what they’re doing.
Try: Pok Pok, Toca Life World, Osmo, Funexpected Math, PBS Kids, BrainPOP Jr., Endless Alphabet

Ages 9–12
Kids this age can begin to manage more time with guidance. Encourage creativity, learning, and critical thinking. Talk about online safety and digital citizenship.
Try: Minecraft Education, Scratch, Book Creator, Xelaris (1:1 coding classes)

Teens (13+)
Quality and balance matter more than rigid time limits. Involve them in setting screen expectations. Discuss how media impacts identity, mood, and values.
Try: Duolingo, Calm, Canva, YouTube with time limits, social media when paired with media literacy convos

Pro tip: Keep tech in shared spaces, and use it as a launchpad for connection, not just a pacifier.

Real-Life Disclaimer:
These aren’t hard rules…they’re soft guideposts. Some days your toddler will watch 3 hours of Bluey because you have a migraine, or because they’re neurodivergent and it’s part of their regulation toolbox, or because you just need a break so you can fold the laundry.

That doesn’t make you a bad parent. It makes you human. You know your kid best.

Screens aren’t inherently good or bad. It’s what we do with them, and how we talk about them, that really matters.

Final Thoughts

Remember that mom on the plane? The one who handed her toddler an iPad while someone nearby judged her for it?

What that stranger didn’t see was everything that likely came before: the sleepless night, the sprint through security, the goldfish crackers smashed in the seatback pocket, the thousand tiny decisions she had to make just to get on that flight in the first place.

What I saw wasn’t failure. It was survival. It was care. It was parenting in the real world.

The screen didn’t melt her kid’s brain. It gave them both a moment of peace.

So if you’ve ever handed your child a screen and felt a pang of guilt — you’re not alone.

But maybe the question isn’t “Am I doing this wrong?”
Maybe it’s “What does my child need right now?”
or “How can we use this tool well?”

Because that’s what screens are — not a villain, not a cure-all, just a tool.

And tools don’t need shame. They need skill, context, and a little compassion.

For even more support navigating screens and behavior, listen to “Let's Talk...SCREEN TIME,” an episode of Kid Talk: The Podcast from 2024 featuring Ash Brandin, EdS (they/them), who has been a public school educator for over a decade. In that time they found innovative ways of using student interests — including video games — to increase engagement and make learning more fun and effective.

Since February 2021, their Instagram page — @TheGamerEducator — has helped tens of thousands of families make screen time beneficial for the whole family. Ash believes screens should be part of our lives, not the center of our lives, and helps caregivers navigate the world of tech using consistent, loving boundaries.

Tap HERE or the photo below to start listening on whatever app you get your podcasts.

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My students went quiet for a moment. Some stared, some looked away, and some shifted uncomfortably as he passed. Once he was out of earshot, the questions started.

“Why is he carrying everything like that?”

“Why doesn’t he just stay with his parents or a friend?”

“Is he on drugs?”

And the one that really got to me — “could that ever happen to us?”

These are the kinds of questions that don’t come with easy answers — but they do come with a choice. We can either shut down the conversation or step into it.

I’m not an expert on homelessness, but I did spend time working in a transitional housing facility in Venice Beach, California while on a hiatus from teaching. And that experience changed me. Every day, I sat with people facing some of the hardest chapters of their lives — not just without homes, but often without support, safety, or a sense of belonging. I listened to their stories. I heard their grief. And I witnessed their strength.

That experience has helped me hold space for my students’ questions. But I also know most grown-ups don’t feel prepared to talk about homelessness with kids. It’s uncomfortable. It’s heartbreaking. And we don’t want to say the wrong thing.

So sometimes we say nothing.

But here’s the truth: silence doesn’t protect kids — it confuses them. When we don’t talk about the people they see on the street, they fill in the blanks with whatever stories they hear elsewhere:

“They’re lazy.”

“They’re scary.”

“They did something wrong.”

“They deserve it.”

And once those stories take root, they’re hard to unlearn.

That’s why I believe in offering a better one — a story that builds empathy instead of fear.

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Why Teacup Matters

My friend Joseph Kulman wrote a children’s book called Teacup: A Pig Without a Pen, and it’s quickly become my favorite way to open up this conversation.

On the surface, it’s the tale of a pampered pig who suddenly finds himself without a home. He wanders into a forest, frightened and unsure, and ends up meeting a group of warthogs who — instead of attacking him — show him kindness. They teach him how to survive, how to adapt, and how to build a sense of belonging in a world that feels nothing like the one he came from.

But there’s a deeper meaning, too. The name Teacup is a nod to a real issue — the trend of people adopting “teacup pigs” as cute pets, only to abandon them when they grow too big or inconvenient. It’s a powerful metaphor for how our society sometimes discards what no longer fits neatly into our expectations.

Teacup helps kids understand something adults often struggle to articulate: that homelessness isn’t about bad people or bad choices. It’s about tough breaks, lack of support, and systems that fail people when they need help most. It’s about grief. And resilience. And hope.

And it does all of this in a way that’s gentle, thoughtful, and kid-friendly.

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What Kids Ask — And How You Can Answer

Once a child has connected with a story like Teacup, they’re often ready to ask deeper questions and listen more openly to the answers. That’s when the real conversation begins.

Here are some of the questions I’ve heard in real life — from kids in my class, on the playground, and during field trips — along with some simple, honest ways to respond:

• “Why is he carrying all that stuff?”

  • Try saying: “That might be everything he owns. When someone doesn’t have a home, they have to carry their important things with them.”

• “Why doesn’t she have shoes?”

  • Try saying: “She might not have enough money to buy shoes right now.”

• “Why are his clothes so dirty?”

  • Try saying: “People without homes don’t always have a place to shower or wash their clothes.”

• “Why doesn’t she stay with her parents or a friend?”

  • Try saying: “Not everyone has family or friends who can help. And sometimes, those relationships aren’t safe or supportive.”

• “Why doesn’t she just go to a shelter?”

  • Try saying: “Some people do, but shelters can be full or have rules that don’t work for everyone — like not allowing pets or having to leave during the day.”

• “Why is he talking to himself?”

  • Try saying: “He might have a mental illness, which means his brain needs care and support — just like our bodies do when we’re hurt or sick.”

• “Is she on drugs?”

  • Try saying: “I don’t know, but some people use drugs when they’re going through something really hard. It doesn’t make them bad — it means they need help and care.”

• “Why don’t they just get a job?”

  • Try saying: “It’s really hard to get a job when you don’t have a place to live, clean clothes, or a way to get to work. Many people are trying their best.”

• “Could that ever happen to us?”

  • Try saying: “That’s something a lot of kids wonder. Our job as grown-ups is to keep you safe. If anything hard ever did happen, we’d ask for help — and we’d get through it together.”

• “Why don’t we give them money?”

  • Try saying: “Some people give money, and others help in different ways — like donating food or supporting shelters. There’s no one right way to help, but it’s always kind to care.”

You don’t need to explain every nuance. Especially with younger kids, it’s okay to keep things simple. Stick to what they can understand. Focus on care, not complexity.

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Take Action — Together

When children see you respond to homelessness with compassion instead of judgment, they absorb that. Quickly. Empathy is contagious — especially when it's modeled by someone they trust.

Of course, learning about homelessness can also bring up big feelings. Kids might feel sadness, confusion, or even fear. That’s normal. One of the best ways to help them process those feelings is to turn compassion into action.

Let them know: there are people and organizations working every day to help. Show them how communities come together to support one another. And involve them in small, age-appropriate acts of kindness that make a real impact.

Here are a few simple, meaningful ways to take action together:

• Create care packages for local shelters. Include socks, toothbrushes, snacks, water bottles, wipes, or encouraging notes.

• Volunteer at a food pantry or soup kitchen as a family (if age-appropriate). Even sorting donations or helping prep meals teaches children the power of service.

• Start a change jar at home. Collect spare coins over time, then let your child help choose a nonprofit to donate it to — ideally one supporting unhoused individuals in your area.

• Pack an extra snack. Some families keep granola bars or bottled water in their car to give out when they see someone in need.

• Read more stories like Teacup. Build a bookshelf filled with books that foster empathy, diversity, and inclusion.

The goal isn’t to “fix” the problem for your child — or even for them to fully understand it. The goal is to keep their hearts open. To show them they can do something. And that kindness, even in small doses, matters.

Because when kids are guided to see people as human — not scary, not shameful, not “other” — they grow into adults who act with compassion instead of fear.

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