You might see me stacking blocks, pretending a banana is a phone, or filling my pockets with bark chips. It might look like I’m just having fun. But every move I make, every question I ask, and every mess I create is me trying to figure something out.
I’m learning about balance when I pile toys higher than my head. I’m building relationships when I give half my sandwich to someone sitting nearby. I’m testing ideas, rules, and emotions, all before I know how to explain them.
Play is not separate from learning. For someone my size, play is learning. At Remarkable Kids, the grown-ups know that even the smallest actions carry big meaning. Here are twelve moments that might look like nothing special—but show how much I’m growing every single day.
1. When I Pour Sand into the Cup Again and Again
I scoop, I pour, I repeat. You might wonder why I don’t move on to something else. But while you’re watching the sand fall, I’m working on things that matter to me.
Each time I fill the cup, I learn how much it holds. I notice how the sand moves differently from water, and how it spills if I rush. I compare how it sounds when it’s dry or damp. Before
I ever see a real measuring cup, I’ve already learned how materials behave, how actions have outcomes, and how to focus when something holds my interest.
It might seem repetitive, but to me, it’s discovery.
2. When I Fall Off the Balance Beam and Try Again
You may want to stop me from falling. But I need to test what my body can do. Each wobble teaches me something. When I get back up, I learn even more.
I’m building muscle strength, coordination, and awareness of my own limits. I figure out how to shift weight, how to hold my arms, and how to move with care. When I try again after falling, I’m not just improving physically. I’m also developing resilience and learning that trying again is part of how we improve.
For me, that beam is more than a game. It’s a challenge I’m learning to meet.
3. When I Dress My Teddy and Then Feed It Crayons
I’m not confused. I know Teddy doesn’t eat. But I’ve watched how you care for others. I’ve seen people fed, tucked in, and spoken to gently. Now I’m practising that myself.
When I dress and feed my teddy, I explore empathy, routine, and the concept of responsibility. It might look silly when I press a crayon to its mouth, but I’m not aiming for logic. I’m playing out what I’ve seen and building my own version of care. I notice what others do and try to make sense of it through my own hands.
In my world, every toy is a way to understand people.
4. When I Sort the Blue Blocks from the Green Ones
It starts with colour. But then I notice the size. Then shape. Eventually, I move from sorting to building patterns. I try different ways of organising until something clicks.
This is me learning categorisation and early logic. I’m comparing, observing, and deciding where each block belongs. That’s a foundation for understanding numbers, language, and even social groups later on. Sorting isn’t about tidying. It’s about processing differences and building order from the materials around me.
When you see a row of blue blocks, I see a system I created.
5. When I Say “Mine!” Then Hand It Over Anyway
I want the toy. I say it loudly. But then, I watch your face. I pause. I give it up—even if it’s hard.
This is me learning self-regulation and social cues. I’m starting to understand that feelings can be shared and that people respond to what I do. Sharing doesn’t come naturally. It takes practice, hesitation, and a lot of learning. Each time I choose to let go, I learn what connection feels like and how to balance what I want with what others need.
Even a grumpy “mine” has a lot of learning packed into it.
6. When I Use a Spoon as a Drumstick and a Plate as a Hat
I don’t always use things the “right” way. But that’s not a mistake. That’s imagination at work.
When I repurpose objects, I’m learning that items can have more than one use. I solve problems by adapting tools and exploring creativity by pushing boundaries. This helps me become a flexible thinker—someone who doesn’t give up when something doesn’t go as expected. That spoon might not stir today. It might be how I express rhythm, sound, or silliness.
To me, the world is full of possibilities, even in the kitchen drawer.
7. When I Ask “Why?” Five Times in a Row
I’m not trying to wear you out. I just need to know more. Each answer you give leads to another question. And each time, I test your response against what I already know.
This is how I build logic. I connect ideas, explore meaning, and test theories in real time. My curiosity doesn’t stop because I heard one answer. I need to build understanding from the ground up. Questions are how I practise memory, language, and abstract thinking.
The fifth “why” might be the one that helps me understand how everything fits together.
8. When I Pretend I’m the Teacher and My Friend Is the Baby
You might hear me repeating your words or copying how you give instructions. I’m not being bossy—I’m rehearsing.
Through role play, I explore authority, relationships, and cooperation. I take what I’ve seen and try it out with others. This helps me understand social structure and how people function together in a group. I built leadership skills, empathy, and communication all through make-believe.
My classroom might have no chairs. But I’m still learning how to take care of others and guide a group.
9. When I Stack the Chairs Even Though You Said Not To
Yes, I heard you. And yes, I still did it. But not because I wanted to cause trouble.
I’m figuring out rules, risk, and the consequences of testing limits. When I do something I shouldn’t, I learn what happens next. I observe your reaction and compare it to what I expected. This helps me navigate boundaries, develop judgment, and understand that choices have outcomes.
I’m not ignoring you. I’m learning what rules mean—and why they matter.
10. When I Splash Way Too Much in the Water Trough
Water is more than fun. It’s science, sound, and cause and effect in motion. Each splash teaches me about movement, pressure, and flow. When the water shifts in response to me, I understand that I can create change.
The textures, temperatures, and resistance all inform how I use my body and senses. I’m not being wild. I’m experimenting with how the world reacts to me. Through water play, I build awareness, focus, and coordination.
I might be soaked. But I’m soaking up information too.
11. When I Sing Out Loud and Clap Out of Sync
I might not remember every word. My rhythm might be off. But I’m expressing something real.
Music helps me build pattern recognition, memory, and physical timing. Clapping out of sync helps me practise coordination. Singing without matching the notes helps me feel bold enough to use my voice. These are early forms of language and confidence wrapped in sound and motion.
You hear noise. I feel joy. And I learn what it means to join in.
12. When I Sit and Just Watch for a While
I’m not bored. I’m not left out. I’m observing.
Quiet moments are how I take in detail. I watch how others interact, how materials are used, and how routines unfold. I build understanding from the sidelines and return to play with new insights. Stillness is also learning, even if nothing moves on the outside.
You might think I’m doing nothing. But I’m doing everything my way.
This Is More Than Play. It’s How I Grow.
You might think it’s just blocks, noise, and mess. But this is where it all begins. Every small moment, every pretend game, every spilt scoop or shared toy—it all adds up. I’m growing through everything I touch, try, and test.
At Remarkable Kids, the grown-ups don’t rush me. They see what’s underneath the surface. They make sure my block tower isn’t just fun. It’s a way for me to build confidence, control, and connection. They notice when I splash, sing, or sit quietly. And they know each moment matters.
This is my learning. These are my lessons. And yes, it all starts with play.