Do not give up your thinking so easily…

Hey educator!

If you are currently studying for your Certificate III, Diploma, or Bachelor in Early Childhood Education and Care, Primary Education, or any other education field, there is something I want you to pay attention to.

In the age of AI, it can seem like we have a tool that is incredibly helpful.

However, it can also steal our ability to learn and think for ourselves.

We need to understand the research behind writing to learn.

Writing helps us learn when we use it not only to make notes, but also to ask questions and explain ideas to ourselves. For example, research on self-explanation, such as the work published in 1989, looked at the moments when learners stop understanding something. Self-explanation involves explaining what you have learned to yourself, and this process can help you identify where your understanding breaks down.

This is also where AI can be useful, and this is very important.

Before you even ask AI to explain something to you, such as Lev Vygotsky, you need to write down, jot down, or say out loud what you already know.

Start with your own thinking. Write what you know about scaffolding, ZPD, social learning , culture. Then use AI to help you identify gaps, ask better questions, challenge your thinking, or clarify something you donโ€™t understand. That way, AI becomes a learning tool rather than a replacement for learning.

Kate – Storykate

When a Child Says “I Don’t Like You”


A reflection for early childhood educators on trust, connection, and the moments that stay with you.

Some of the deepest lessons in early childhood come straight from the children, often the ones who are hardest to reach.

This is a story about one of them, and a single morning in Cranbourne that has stayed with me ever since. It taught me more about connection and the quiet weight educators carry than almost anything else in my career.

“I Don’t Like You. Go Away.”

His voice was sharp and his little face was set. He said , looking right at me.

I had been at the centre for about an hour, sitting in the background while I observed one of my pre-service educators with a small group of children. My job was to assess her teaching, the way she connected with the children and facilitated their play.

The little boy across from me, arms crossed. I had noticed him earlier on the edges of play, sitting a little apart from the others.
There was something uneasy about his presence. I sat on the floor near him, picked up a few plastic dinosaurs, and started to play, giving them voices and letting them stomp and chat. An open invitation, no pressure.

That was when he looked straight at me and said, “I don’t like you. Go away.”

I did not take it personally, of course. What I could see was a little boy for whom closeness felt risky, someone who may have learned that keeping people at a distance felt safer. Attachment theory gives me a lens for noticing this, a way of paying closer attention. It stops well short of letting me label a child I watched for an hour.

So I stayed where I was and kept playing, letting the dinosaurs roar. I said, gently, “I’m sorry you feel that way. I hope we can be friends. It’s safe to play with me.”

He stayed quiet at first. Then he watched. Little by little his posture shifted, his arms loosened, his eyes followed the dinosaurs, and after a while he reached out, took one, and joined in.

The Science of Building Trust

For the rest of my visit he stayed close, near me, watching, following. While I kept my focus on my student and her group, I could feel him settling beside me, minute by minute.

This is what the beginning of trust looks like. It builds slowly and quietly, in a child choosing to stay in the room, in a posture that softens, in a glance held a second longer, in a small hand reaching for a dinosaur. In early childhood, these small moments lay the ground for everything that follows: language, learning, connection, resilience. A child who feels safe can begin to learn, and we see it in the research on stress and the developing brain as clearly as we see it on the mat each day.

Then, as my visit came to an end, something unexpected happened. As I stood to leave, his small hands grabbed the fabric of my skirt and held on tight.


“Don’t go.”




His voice, so firm before, carried an edge of desperation now. The educator gently tried to coax him away and reassure him that I had to go. His little fingers only tightened, and for a moment I felt a lump rise in my throat.

What do you say to a child for whom a goodbye feels this big? I knelt to his level, met his eyes, and reached for the most comforting words I had. “We will see each other again. And the people who care for you are here for you.” I wanted him to feel held, right then.

He stood there as I walked to my car, his small figure framed by the doorway, watching and waiting. And as I drove out of Cranbourne, I started to cry.

What This Means for Early Childhood Educators

Some of the hardest parts of this work sit outside the teaching, the planning, and the frameworks. Sometimes the hardest part is holding children’s emotions and stories. It has been this way for me. That emotional labour, the weight of holding children whose stories we may never fully know, gets far too little airtime in our profession. Here is what that morning reinforced for me.

Rejection is communication. It is a type of behaviour. When a child says “go away,” they may be telling you that closeness feels risky right now. Meet it with steadiness and stay.

What children need is connection. Proximity, consistency and calm are what a child like this reaches for, and staying in the room, gently and without demands, is often the whole of it.

Small moments matter. A child picking up a dinosaur or giving you a look. In the slow building of trust, these are the milestones.

Educator wellbeing counts too. Walking away from a child who is clinging to you is genuinely hard. Naming that, and letting ourselves feel the grief of those goodbyes, is part of practice we can sustain.

A Final Thought

That little boy needed something simple that day. He needed someone who would stay, even as he asked them to go. So often it is the children who push the hardest who are reaching for connection the most. And it is the ordinary Tuesday morning, the dinosaurs, the floor, the patient waiting, that turns out to matter most.

The tired ones, and why boundaries are professional

I want to talk about the people who leave.

Over the years, I have watched a lot of good educators walk away from this work: colleagues I once stood beside on the floor, students I taught thirteen years ago, and people I studied with back in 2010. Most of them still loved working with children: watch them grow, support their learning. They left because they were exhausted. No one had informed them that exhaustion was a workplace issue and not a personal failing.

I know that tiredness from the inside. There was a stretch where I fell asleep anywhere I sat down, missed appointments, and caught every illness going around. I developed asthma and chronic allergies during those years. I walked into a glass door once, and I tripped over toys more often than I would like to admit, because I was moving through my days half awake. At night I took the documentation home and lay awake planning the next week in my head. I was completely drained, and I was calling it commitment.

Here is what I understand now that I did not understand then. There are two traps waiting for us, and both look like virtue.

The first is the one Anne Stonehouse pointed to, the belief that we are “nice ladies who love children”. It sounds like a compliment. It also strips the profession of its knowledge, its training and its claim to fair conditions, because love is treated as its own reward.

The other trap is the superhero, the educator who absorbs everything, sets no limits, and treats their own depletion as proof of how much they care.

Self-care is what protects you from both traps and keeps you in the work for the long run. By self-care, I mean something practical and often uncomfortable. This includes being assertive at work and knowing your rights and your award. It also involves speaking up about ratios, breaks, workload, and pay, both in your own centre and across the wider profession. Protecting your health is part of your professional practice. A drained educator cannot do this work well. Often, they cannot stay in it.

So here is what I would ask you to think about. Where in your work have you been told, in words or in silence, that caring means having no limits? What changes if you treat your own wellbeing as part of your professionalism? Consider it a necessity rather than a reward once everyone else is looked after.

Storykate ๐Ÿช‡๐Ÿ’Œ

Teaching tips: Bilingual Children in your care

Over the years, I have come across a fair share of bilingual or even bilingual children in my care. I teach in Australia and this country is proud to have a diverse population. Here are few things that I observed and learned while working with multicultural families.

โ€œLearn a new language and you gain a new soul.โ€ (Czech proverb)

Bilingualism means speaking more than one language. To be precise, two languages. Children become bilingual for different reasons. Sometimes it happens by circumstance (for example, when parents move to another country). Sometimes it is practical (study, career, opportunities). Sometimes it is emotional (to communicate with family), and sometimes simply out of love for a language.

No matter why you choose to raise a bilingual child or support them in your educational setting, speaking more than one language will benefit them.


Two languages are better than one

Research continues to show the advantages of bilingualism. It is much more than just knowing two languages.

First, bilingual children are more open to other people and cultures. They tend to have a broader worldview compared to monolingual children.

Second, bilingual children develop strong metalinguistic awareness. They notice grammar patterns more easily and understand how language works. For many objects, they know two words. Switching between languages helps them see connections between sounds and letters, which often supports strong writing skills.

Third, bilingual children can switch their attention more easily. This helps them focus better and manage multiple tasks.

Fourth, bilingual children often show stronger divergent thinking. They can think of many different ways to use objects and solve problems creatively. As adults, bilingual people tend to have mental flexibility, and their brains are more resilient with age. History also shows that many well-known creative thinkers were bilingual.


โ€œCoca-Cola, please!โ€

I wanted my son to grow up bilingual from birth. We watched Muzzy in Gondoland, played educational games, and read books in English. I sang songs in English, Italian, and French, always naming the language so he could learn to recognise them.

However, his response to my English attempts at age four wasโ€ฆ memorable.

I remember him stamping his feet and asking me to stop speaking English. But everything changed on a Qantas flight. At five years old, he realised the flight attendants did not understand Russianโ€”and he really wanted juice and Coca-Cola.

He tried saying โ€œI want colaโ€ in Russian. The flight attendant smiled politely but did not understand. By the end of the long flight, he had learned to say clearly:
โ€œCoca-Cola, please!โ€

His second โ€œsurvival phraseโ€ was โ€œWhere is the toilet?โ€, which he learned at school.

By age ten, he was speaking English fluentlyโ€”better than I could imagine after many years of learning it myself.


How children learn a second language

My sonโ€™s journey follows a pattern described by Patton Tabors. Children typically go through four stages when learning a second language:

  1. Using their home language and noticing it does not work
  2. Silent period โ€“ listening, observing, absorbing language
  3. Formulaic phrases โ€“ โ€œMe tooโ€, โ€œWhatโ€™s your name?โ€, โ€œI wantโ€ฆโ€
  4. Productive stage โ€“ speaking freely and confidently

Every child moves through these stages at their own pace.


When to start

In early childhood, the brain forms connections quickly, so learning a second language is more effective.

There are different types of bilingualism:

  • Infant bilingualism โ€“ exposed to two languages from birth
  • Childhood bilingualism โ€“ ages 5 to 12
  • Adolescent bilingualism โ€“ ages 12 to 17

Learning two languages at once can be both easier and more challenging. Children absorb language naturally, but they still need support and meaningful interaction.

The ideal time is before 5โ€“7 years, when children already have a foundation in language, and their memory, attention, and fine motor skills are developing. At this age, children are more likely to speak both languages fluently and without an accent.


How much is enough?

Every family is different, so it is hard to define exact hours. Some research suggests around 25 hours per week of meaningful language exposure.

Language includes:

  • listening
  • speaking
  • reading
  • writing

All of these need attention.

Language is not something you โ€œfinishโ€. It is ongoingโ€”more like climbing or maintaining something over time. As parents and educators, our role is to:

  • choose a strategy
  • stay consistent
  • create a rich language environment

Strategies for raising bilingual children

Barbara Zurer Pearson describes three main approaches:

1. One parent โ€“ one language

Each parent consistently speaks their own language with the child.

2. Time and place

Different languages are used in different situations (for example, at school vs at home).

3. Home language

The family speaks one language at home, while the community uses another.

This is common in countries like Australia. For example, a family may speak Russian or French at home, while the child uses English at childcare or school.

The key is to maintain the home language, because the environment will naturally support English.


10 steps towards bilingualism

  1. Be consistent with your chosen approach
  2. Be patient and persistent
  3. Make learning enjoyable (books, films, games)
  4. Use a variety of resources (songs, stories, technology)
  5. Create opportunities for real communication
  6. Do not focus on mistakesโ€”focus on fluency and confidence
  7. Consider bilingual programs or language groups
  8. Connect language to culture
  9. Talk often and meaningfully with your child
  10. Give children time and space to respond and participate

What is your experience teaching or raising bilingual children? ‘Let’s discuss!