Stop Explaining the Fish

Why stepping back is the parenting move no one talks about (but every child needs)

This past weekend, I sat on the beach with my husband, sans kids. We have teens now, and our tween is away at camp, hence the kidless beach sitch.

I was lying back in my beach chair, sun on my face and warm breeze in my hair, but noticing the absence of a wiggling toddler in my lap, giving me damp, sandy kisses. I miss those days something awful. My eyes scanned the beach, admiring all the hard-working parents who were vigilantly standing at the water's edge, keeping their kids safe in the waves. I smiled in solidarity at the mom picking Cheetos out of the sand, brushing them off, and feeding them to her crying toddler.

But something felt off. I kept noticing how many parents were working so hard to get it right. Too hard. They were jumping in to help, redirecting, offering options, all with love and good intentions. But over and over, I kept seeing how trying to optimize every experience was actually making things worse for everyone.

Here’s what I mean.

Now, let me back up before I explain. I have been there, done that, in the best and worst ways. I absolutely over-optimized and burned myself out in the toddler years, especially with my oldest. But I am also an early childhood educator who believes that less is more when it comes to adult input in a child’s play. Over the course of 18 years of parenting, I learned how to step back, just enough to let my kids step forward.

Back to the beach:

There was a group of kids, probably between four and eight years old, marching around the beach playground like a little gang of pirates. They were sandy, loud, playful, and totally in it. Summer magic.

Two moms stood nearby, chatting. Everyone looked settled.

Then a third mom walked up with a baby on her hip and called out, “Seth, honey. Don’t you want to play by the water? Want a snack? Some water?”

Seth didn’t answer. He was deep in pirate mode. He barely looked up. But the other kids heard "snack," and the whole energy shifted.

Next thing I saw, she was passing out small bags of Goldfish, chips, and carrot sticks to a band of sticky open palms. The toddler on her hip was writhing, trying to get a carrot stick. The mom kept trying to give the toddler a sippy cup instead, overexplaining about choking, while simultaneously convincing a six-year-old to trade snacks with the crying four-year-old who was tackling his brother for the last bag of Doritos.

There was a moment of silence as everyone contentedly chewed, when out came the sunblock tube. “Let’s get sunblocked,” she said to Seth, who was now rummaging in the open cooler for a Capri Sun.

The mom then asked her partner, who had just settled the toddler onto the blanket with a board book and a paci, to grab water bottles. Seth kept digging. “I want a Capri Sun!” he whined.

Both mom and dad looked tense, and those magical moments of pirate play were long gone. And listen. No one meant to disrupt anything. But in the effort to enhance it, everything got pulled off course.

Toddler crying. Preschooler whining. Mom and dad irritated with one another.

Sound familiar? It does to me. I could have easily been this mom.

A mom who means well, wants to keep everyone safe, fed, hydrated, and on track. But somehow, it always seems to backfire.

Later on, I saw a boy around five watching a man fly a fish-shaped kite. He was mesmerized.

The man noticed and smiled. They shared a quiet moment, just standing there in mutual curiosity.

Then the boy’s dad came over and said, “Sammy, can you name that fish? From the movie? A clownfish. Can you say clownfish?”

The boy looked away. His interest dimmed. That quiet connection was replaced with a quiz.

Well-meaning Dad invited Sammy to go closer to the kite. He even offered to buy him one. He wanted to show him how to fly it. It was really nice, but it was too much.

This is what I want to say. You don’t have to do more. You don’t have to optimize every single moment or guide every step.

You don’t have to explain the fish. You can just watch, because watching is not lazy, and it is not missing an opportunity.

It is choosing not to interrupt one.

Take a step back and observe your child. Observation is how you learn what actually lights them up. It is how you catch the flicker of interest before it gets buried under “helpful” noise. Letting your child take the lead and stumble is how they build confidence, creativity, and self-trust, not from your direction, but from their own discovery.

And most importantly, it is how you stop exhausting yourself trying to improve things that were already working just fine.

Next time you’re at the beach, the playground, or even your living room, try this:

Don’t redirect. Don’t jump in with the ideas. Just watch. Count to ten in your head if you need to. You might be surprised by how capable they are. And you might feel more peace than you expected.

Want to go deeper with this? I am working on a post about: How to Build Your Observation Muscles (Even If You’re a Chronic Helper). Comment below with your questions on developing this skill.

Or, if you’re ready for real support in building this into your everyday parenting, I have just opened my 1:1 private parent coaching spots. There are only a few available, learn more HERE.

If this post resonated with you, I’d love it if you gave it a like, left a comment, or shared it with a friend who might need a little reminder that mess and magic can go hand in hand. Thanks for being part of The Workspace for Children community.

Want To See More Blogs Like This One? Great! Check Out The Posts Below!

Guess What?! My Substack is in the top 100 Best-Seller List for Parenting!! Thank you so much for being a part of TWFC community where we acknowledge that parenting can be hard and getting kids back to play can be tricky, but we are willing to work at it because it matters. You don't have to overhaul your parenting. Small, intentional shifts in how we approach play and connection with our children can make a tremendous difference in their development and our relationship with them.

That's why I'm so passionate about sharing simple, practical ideas that honor both your child's needs and your reality as a busy parent. I'm incredibly grateful for each of you who has subscribed, shared, and implemented these play-based approaches in your homes. Thank you for being here. x Lizzie