Engage
This week I invite you to embrace playful connection with your child.
Dear fellow parent,
Thank you for meeting me here again. Whether today brought a sticky spoon, a quiet miracle, or a full-body sigh, I’m glad you’re reading. I hope you found a moment to rest your eyes or stretch your back—or at least drink half a cup of tea while it was still warm.
In our last Lean In newsletter, we explored the quiet power of informal support: the neighbour, the cousin, the friend who doesn’t flinch when the mess gets real.
Today, I would like to explore how we Engage in:
Play.
Not the kind with structured outcomes or developmental checklists.
Not the kind we feel secretly judged for not doing “right.”
Just… play. The sacred, silly, sometimes nonsensical language our children speak when words don’t come easily. The little invitations they offer us—often disguised as chaos or curiosity—to enter their world and be with them as they are.
Because engaging with presence doesn’t mean having a plan.
It might mean following the way their fingers trace patterns on the window.
It might mean answering a repetitive question again and again as if it were a new riddle each time.
It might mean letting a spoon become a spaceship, or sitting on the floor just to be at eye level with wonder.
These small, unmeasured moments are not “extra.” They are the architecture of connection.
So this week, I invite you to explore what it means to engage with purpose and presence—not by adding more to your to-do list, but by noticing the quiet places where play already lives.
A Gentle Practice
Pause and reflect:
What made your child light up this week, even just for a heartbeat?
Follow their lead:
Can you meet them there for a minute, even if you don’t “get” the game?
Offer less correction, more curiosity:
What happens if you suspend the need to teach and simply witness?
A Glimpse Ahead
Next time, we’ll continue with:
Adapt with resilience and creativity—how we shape-shift, improvise, and keep moving even when the ground is uneven.
Until then, take one breath for yourself.
And one for your child—who plays in a language only the heart fully understands.