The Bubble Of Security

It’s spring, and in Iowa, that means it is a lot easier to take two-year-olds for walks. No boots, no snow drifts, no gloves, no bitterly cold temperatures, no slippery sidewalks, no roaming packs of hungry wolves looking for a quick snack. No, instead, we have chittering squirrels, blooming flowers, busy birds, mud puddles, energetic bugs, and other interesting curiosities. A few days ago Siddha, Annie, and I set out to explore the world a bit. They picked up their toys, put on their own shoes, wrestled their jackets on and we were ready to go--it only took 15 minutes.

We managed to walk a whole block before we had to stop for some exploration. The world is a big place when you are two-years-old and getting to know it is a full time job. You have to touch, and manipulate, and smell, and look, and listen, and taste. You have to interface with your surroundings using the whole of your mind and body. In this case, we had to experience the neighbor’s dogs, an Irish setter, a husky, and a mutt. They are very well behaved and friendly dogs—just as curious about the girls as the girls were about them. There was some friendly barking. Not “I’m going to eat you” barking, but “Want to play?” barking. The girls could not differentiate the difference in these barks and instinctively cowered behind me. Their eyes shot from the dogs to me, trying to figure out an appropriate response, trying to understand how to proceed. I assured the girls that everything was okay and that the dogs were just excited to see them and wanted to play. We slowly approached the fence as the barking stopped. Tails wagged. Fingers were licked through the fence. Ears were scratched. Everyone smiled.

Ten minutes later we were on our way. The girls ran that almost-coordinated run that is a hallmark of children their age. There were a couple falls, but no scrapes or blood. A couple of tears and surprised screams escaped, but I quickly assured the fallers that the falls were not life threatening and that everything would be fine. We continued on our adventure.

We heard a scary noise from three blocks ways and felt the sidewalk shaking from over a block away. Up ahead, a strange looking machine was battering a section of street into bite size bits while another machine scooped those pieces into the back of a big truck. The girls slowed from running to galloping to trotting to walking as we approached. They stopped walking about a quarter-block way; each of them grabbed one of my hands and held tightly. Again, they looked to me for assurance and guidance. I asked, “Are you scared of those machines?” Their heads nodded in unison as their eyes bugged, taking in all the action. We watched…and watched…and watched. Then the machines stopped and men climbed from them. We walked forward and the workers smiled at the girls. We chatted with the workers, and then those brave little girls touched each of those big scary machines. They were close enough now to smell hydraulic fluid, grease, and diesel fuel. Their fingers explored the metal and rubber of the big equipment. Then they were done and ready to move on to whatever came next.

What came next was two friendly flower shop cats, the busy clothing conveyor at the drycleaners, the deep purple ceiling of the coffee house, a curious squirrel sitting on a fence post eating a walnut, a loud garbage truck with a friendly driver, and a two tiny halves of a sky blue egg shell on the middle of the sidewalk. Some of these things produced apprehension, others a bit of fear, but with constant reinforcement and assurance from me, the girls engaged all of them with curiosity and interest. They stroked the cats, watched the conveyor zip a rainbow of clothing past the counter and off into the recesses of the building, pointed at the uniquely colored ceiling, chittered at the squirrel and offered him dandelions, waived back and smiled at the garbage truck driver, and gently fingered the egg shell. Our walk took forever; walking with two-year-olds is like walking with loud, clumsy, curious snails. 

We learned a lot about the world during our outing, in part because I have been building relationships with both girls since they were infants. They know me and trust me. They feel safe with me and know I will protect them if they need protecting. I have built a bubble of security around them that allows them to explore the world when we venture out to see what it holds in store for us. All they needed to feel safe approaching the big dogs and the big machines was a look of assurance from me. In the moment, those looks took a second, but they only worked because of the hours and hours we have spent together building our emotional relationships. Children and adults have a difficult time opening up to new ideas and experiences when they do not feel safe. If you look closely at your own life right now, I bet there is something you want to do that you are afraid to try because you feel insecure.

As you move forward, spend some time thinking about the bubbles of security in your life, the ones you build around the children in your care and the one that surrounds you. Think about how to strengthen your bubbles, how to expand them, and how to insure they stay flexible; each of your bubbles needs to be configured for the person it surrounds. This is hard, because the bubble Annie and Siddha need today is not the same one they needed a year ago or will need next year.