One Sunday, Louise, my five-year-old daughter, lay down on the rug and announced that she was bored. I’d already mentally opened the activity drawer: modelling clay, painting, a walk, baking.
“I don't know what to do.”
I was looking for an answer before I even knew what she wanted from me. When my child is bored, I sometimes feel that a small customer-service department has to spring into action.
That day, I closed the drawer. Not the toy drawer: the one full of suggestions.
When a child is bored, not everything needs filling
I said I’d heard her. I was finishing folding laundry, right beside her. Louise sighed, rolled onto her other side, then sighed again with considerable dedication.
This wasn’t a successful activity. It didn’t need correcting immediately either.
If I always suggest something, I can end up taking responsibility for starting every game. Louise then chooses among my ideas, including explaining why none of them will do. Sunday becomes a catalogue whose pages she rejects.
For me, leaving an empty space meant staying there without producing the next entertainment. She could complain a little, look around or do nothing for a while.
Leave time without leaving the child to handle everything alone
I didn’t want to turn boredom into a compulsory independence exercise. If Louise was exhausted, sad or mainly seeking my company, I could listen and move closer. Waiting doesn’t mean ignoring what a child asks for.
So I asked a simple question: would she like me to sit beside her for a moment? She said no. She wanted something to do, but not my ideas.
I carried on with the laundry. A box left near the sofa eventually caught her attention. She put a cushion inside, then asked for a wooden spoon to row with.
It could also have led to no boat at all. I hadn’t won a bet about creativity. I’d simply avoided filling the gap before she could look for something in it.
When a child really needs help getting started, a little company can help them settle into play. That Sunday, Louise mostly needed my suggestions to leave her some room.
As I put the laundry away, I found an oar on my pile of towels. The box was still in the middle of the living room. The empty space had lasted a few minutes, and that was already enough.
