One of my favorite children’s chapter books is The Very, Very Far North by Dan Bar-el. There are many little nuggets from the story that have stayed with me over time. I resonated deeply with one character’s ritual of an “exploring walk.” One cold autumn morning, Duane the polar bear wakes up with a “curiosity itch,” which he immediately recognizes—the day is meant for exploration. After breakfast, he sets out from his cave and travels to a nearby field where he discovers his new friend Handsome, the musk ox. Together, they go walking toward the river to see what they can see. Essentially, Duane intentionally carves out time for himself to pay closer attention to his surroundings.
I find it amazing how we can be in an environment (even our homes) every day and still miss the small details that add nuance and character to it. Our attention is a valuable thing. In this day and age, I would even say it’s more like a hot commodity. Like Duane the polar bear, we need to be purposeful in our noticing pursuits. We must give our attention to the things that matter and hold as much value as our attention itself.
In my previous post on Measuring Growth Without Rushing It, I emphasized the importance of observing before assessing. However, I recognize that observation is a skill that requires practice. Never was this more apparent to me than when I was a classroom teacher.
I used to sit in a circle with my students in our classroom meeting area, and I asked them to notice details about something I showed them. We routinely did this after our “Project Time”—open-ended time during which children could explore their own interests. If a child expressed to me that they wanted feedback or help with a problem they encountered, with their permission, I would bring their work to the meeting. At my request, the group would quietly observe and then describe what they noticed about this person’s work.
When we first started doing this, their comments were couched in personal opinions and subtle evaluations: “That part looks unfinished,” “I love what you created here,” “This is a big improvement,” etc. I assured them that we would save questions and comments for later, but insisted that we start by just noticing and describing.
I did this for a few reasons. First, observing forces you to assume a posture of curiosity. Then, especially when it’s genuine, it leads to more authentic, deep, and relevant questions later on.
Second, I wanted them to be fully present to another person’s experience without the distraction of their own internal commentary.
Third, a noticing mindset helps you capture important details that you might easily forget if you stay in an analytical or questioning mindset.
Finally, when you’ve thoroughly described and noticed, you are in a better position to recognize patterns and themes that emerge from the work.
Over time, my students learned how to do this well. What amazed me repeatedly was the effect this process had on the individual whose work I presented. The most wonderful moments extended from it. Sometimes, a child would realize something they had not seen before. They could immediately set new goals for themselves and knew where to take their work next. At other times, they were encouraged by it, becoming more motivated to continue. Whenever they left the meeting perplexed or disappointed by what their work revealed about them as workers or learners, they were determined to bring their work to a standard they were pleased with.
Noticing, or taking time to pay attention, has benefits for everyone.
So how can we build a culture of noticing in our own homes? How can we commit to observing first, in an attempt to appreciate our children’s growth over time? I thought it might be helpful to name the elements that inherently contribute to a “noticing” type of atmosphere, one that Duane the polar bear would be proud of.
Curiosity
In a culture of noticing, curiosity is a way of being present with learning. It shows up every time a parent pauses before explaining, resists the urge to hurry things along, or chooses to wonder instead. A curious parent tries to listen for the thinking behind their children’s words, even when they hesitate or circle the same idea again and again. There’s no rush to smooth the moment. Instead, they linger with questions like, “What are you noticing here?” Or, “Tell me what you’re thinking so far.” Unfinished thoughts become less scary because curiosity creates intellectual space for unlocking and applying ideas.
Curiosity also changes how we respond to struggle. Rather than stepping in with solutions or reassurances, a parent leans closer. There is an attentiveness to the friction itself—“What do you think is making this part tricky?”—as if the difficulty might be saying something worth hearing. As learning continues, curiosity keeps the conversation open through a mentoring relationship. Instead of moving quickly toward evaluation or closure, a parent wonders aloud with the child. “Did anything surprise you while you were working?” “Did your thinking shift at any point?” Reflection becomes a natural extension of learning, gently tracing how a child’s understanding is taking shape and helping them integrate meaning.
Over time, curiosity widens its focus as questions beget more questions and parents become students of their children. They notice things like when a child comes alive, when they retreat, and what kind of support steadies them. Questions arise that are less about content and more about connection: “What makes you better able to focus?” “Can I help?” “What conditions make you feel brave enough to try?” We can know our children more deeply in an atmosphere of safety, where they know that learning is something done with them, not to them.
Intentionality
A culture of noticing doesn’t mean you have to stop everything to marvel at every detail. But it does mean creating intentional moments to pause and seizing an opportunity to see when possible. For example: Beginning the day with one observation from the world outside your window; ending the day with something you appreciate about each other; or creating a rhythm like a weekly evening walk where you share one thing you learned this week. One family I worked with kept a “Noticing Wall”—a small corkboard where each person could pin something that sparked curiosity that week. Sometimes it was a feather or a photo, sometimes a quote or a question. Once a week, they gathered around it and shared why that item caught their attention.
One thing I love about a home shaped by noticing is that it doesn’t rely solely on the parents’ perspective. Instead, it’s collaborative, where children are invited to join the practice. The rituals are simple, but they change the atmosphere. They are repetitive actions that hold a lot of meaning. They announce to everyone that we’re a family that pays attention, and the reflections we make together become a living record of growth in real time.
Engagement
Our children learn to notice by watching us. They see how we listen to them, how we respond to interruptions, and how we treat our own mistakes or distractions. They are firsthand witnesses to how engaged, or present, we are in the home. When we slow down long enough to notice beauty, name gratitude, or express wonder, we’re showing them what attention looks like in practice.
Sometimes that might mean putting your phone down mid-task to follow a child’s curiosity. Mindfully present and engaged often means being willing to set aside distractions. Sometimes, attention means narrating your own process of being attentive. After all, you’re not performing presence; you’re practicing it. And that practice permits your children to do the same. In a world that rewards constant productivity, modeling a slower, attentive way of being becomes a quiet act of resistance and an invitation into a more humane kind of living and learning.
Reflection
So often, noticing starts with how we’re looking, not what we’re looking at. When our days feel hurried or fragmented, our gaze narrows to efficiency—what needs to get done, what’s missing, what isn’t working. But when we shift to a slower rhythm, we allow ourselves to see differently and to be more reflective of our experiences. Reflection creates space between a moment and our response. It asks us to wait just long enough to consider what’s happening that might not be obvious at first, not for analysis but for the sake of attentiveness.
Within a culture of noticing, reflection becomes a steady companion to learning. It helps us trace meaning across days and seasons and, in doing so, teaches both parent and child that understanding often arrives gradually, through looking back as much as moving forward.
Looking from a New Perspective
A few years ago, I read Bored and Brilliant by Manoush Zomorodi. In a chapter called “Reclaiming Wonder,” she encourages readers to “observe something else” as one of the challenges in a series designed to help people forget their devices and let their minds wander, unlocking creativity. In this particular challenge, which involves an “energetic fascination with the world” around you, she tells the story of an art student, Nisha, who accepted the Bored and Brilliant challenge and one day noticed details about a postcard that had been hanging on her wall for years. Led by her own curiosity, she researched the artist who created it, his artistic techniques, and the story behind his work. She even attempted to produce her own art in a similar style. Reflecting on this participant’s experience, Zomorodi writes, “Nisha’s story encapsulates everything that Bored and Brilliant is supposed to be about: letting your mind wander wherever it wants to go; seeing old things in a new way; making new connections; taking micro risks; and surprising yourself.”1
I couldn’t stop thinking about the words “seeing things in a new way.” A culture of noticing involves the freedom to look at things from new perspectives. Like the student in Zomorodi’s story, we might not know where doing so may lead, but we reclaim wonder every time we position ourselves to consider a different viewpoint. How about something as simple as asking ourselves what the same child’s complaint would sound like if we were a listening friend? Or how the same child might work through a math problem when you’re watching from in the kitchen while cooking, vs. in their physical space.
Building a culture of noticing is about how we see. I don’t think Duane the polar bear went on his noticing walks, eager for them to end. The goal is never to get through learning. It’s to be in it, fully awake, together.
- Manoush Zomorodi, Bored and Brilliant: How Spacing Out Can Unlock Your Most Productive and Creative Self (New York, NY: St. Martin’s Press, 2017), 146. ↩︎
