The Kids Are Taking Notes

By the time this Coffee Chat finds its way to you, we will be about a month into the back-to-school routine; school starts in early August where I am. Now, thankfully, my own children are grown. I have already done my time with permission slips, missing shoes, science fair boards, lunch money, and the mysterious way children can suddenly remember they need poster board at 8:47 p.m. But the grands? Well, the grands have pulled me right back into the trenches. The eldest tween grand is back in school, and since I help make sure she gets there and back on time, I am once again close enough to the school routine to smell the fresh pencils and witness the morning drop-off line in all its glory.

Before school even started, we had the great First Week of School Fashion Show. I called them outfits because I am from the generation where clothes were outfits. She corrected me, because apparently they are “fits” now. Not outfits. Fits. Please update your vocabulary before somebody reports you to the tween authorities. We went through options, combinations, shoes, hair possibilities, and the kind of serious decision-making usually reserved for mortgage closings and courtroom evidence. And I had to smile, because I remember caring about that too. That first-week-of-school outfit is not just clothes when you are that age. It is a whole announcement. It says, “This is who I am trying to be this year, and I need the hallway to understand the assignment.”

That part is sweet to me. Watching a child figure out how she wants to show up in the world is a tender thing. It is also a little funny, because the drama over a shirt can make you wonder if we are choosing fabric or negotiating international peace. But underneath the fashion show, the hair decisions, and the morning countdowns, there is something bigger happening. These children are learning how to move through the world. They are learning how to prepare, how to show up, how to handle pressure, how to treat people, and how to act when things do not go exactly their way.

And baby, the drop-off line will show you all of that in real time.

I do not know what happens to some adults once they enter a school parking lot, but it is fascinating. People who probably drank coffee, kissed their children goodbye, and own at least one inspirational mug suddenly start acting like the drop-off line is a competitive sport. Cutting people off. Creeping forward when it is clearly not their turn. Blocking lanes. Pretending they do not see the person who has been waiting patiently. Waving like “thank you” after doing something they know good and well was not right. Ma’am. Sir. This is elementary school, not an action movie.

Now, let me be clear. I am not saying I was floating through the drop-off line like Mother Wisdom with a travel mug. I may or may not have cussed before I caught myself, because a Tesla challenging my SUV was not the best move. But that right there was the point. I had to catch myself and remember the tween in the car was watching me too. I cannot talk to her about patience, respect, and not always needing to be first, then turn around and act like the school driveway is my personal kingdom with a bell schedule.

That is what stayed with me this week. Not just the school routine, but the reminder that children are always taking notes. They may not have a pencil in their hand. They may be looking out the window, scrolling on a device, tying a shoe, or pretending not to listen. But they are watching. They notice how we talk to people. They notice how we act when we are rushed. They notice whether we apologize when we are wrong. They notice whether we respect other people’s time and space, or whether we only care about getting ourselves to the front.

And I told my granddaughter something along those lines. When you see a child acting like they always have to be first, sometimes you can peep how the adults around them move. Not always, because children are their own little people with their own little personalities and occasional foolishness. Let us not blame every hallway incident on somebody’s mama. But a lot of the time, children are repeating what they have seen. If a parent cuts people off in the drop-off line, rushes ahead when it is not their turn, and treats every delay like a personal insult, that child is learning something. They may not be learning the lesson the adult meant to teach, but they are learning.

That made me think about how often we tell children one thing and model another. We tell them to be patient, kind, respectful, and fair, but they also watch how we behave when life slows us down. They notice whether we live what we teach. And listen, I am not saying this from a high horse. My horse is low, slightly tired, and probably needs gas.

The thing about routine is that it reveals us, usually when that routine gets thrown out of whack. Not the big public moments where we know people are watching and we have time to smooth ourselves out. I mean the everyday moments. The moments where our behavior starts teaching louder than our words.

I am not saying we have to be perfect. Thank God, because the school drop-off line would have taken several of us out already. It means we have to be aware. We have to be willing to pause and ask, “What am I showing right now?” Am I showing that being first matters more than being fair? Am I showing that my frustration gives me permission to be rude? Am I showing that pressure turns me into somebody I would not want the children to copy? Or am I showing them how to breathe, reset, own it, and do better?

That last part matters to me because children do not just need perfect examples. They need honest ones. They need to see adults catch themselves. They need to hear, “I should not have said that like that.” They need to see us apologize. They need to see us admit when we let frustration get ahead of wisdom. Sometimes the lesson is not that Grandma never gets irritated. Please. Let us not build a fairy tale. Sometimes the lesson is that Grandma can get irritated, catch herself, and choose not to let irritation drive the whole car.

I think that is where this back-to-school season is speaking to me. The children are going back to class, but some of us adults are being reminded of our lessons too. Patience. Self-control. Awareness. Humility. Leadership in small places. The kind of leadership that does not need a microphone, a title, or a meeting agenda. Just a morning routine, a child in the passenger seat, and a moment where you decide what kind of example you are going to be.

So yes, we picked the first-week fits. We got back into the rhythm. We made it through the morning drop-offs. We witnessed some parental behavior that needed prayer, lane markings, and maybe a gentle community reminder. But more than that, I was reminded that the children in our lives are not just listening to what we tell them. They are watching how we live it.

The practical takeaway I am carrying into this week is simple: pay attention to one routine moment where your behavior is teaching louder than your words. It might be the school drop-off line. It might be the grocery store. It might be how you answer when you are tired. It might be how you handle being delayed, corrected, interrupted, or inconvenienced. You do not have to be perfect. But you do have to remember that somebody is learning from the way you move through the world.

My question for you this week is this: what are the children in your life learning from how you handle ordinary pressure?

Until next Sunday...

From my coffee cup to yours… enjoy the rest of your coffee, carry a little grace into the week, and I'll meet you back here next Sunday.

– Renee 🤍
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