Most of what strengthens (or weakens) our connection with our kids happens in the margins—between school pickup and dinner, during the bath-time hustle, on that last lap down the hallway before bed.
I’ve learned this the sweaty, toy-strewn, oatmeal-on-my-shirt way with our two: Elise (4) and Julien (14 months). My wife, Camille, and I trade school runs, diapers, and those 2 a.m. wakeups like a pair of short-order cooks—joyfully wiped by lights-out and still all-in the next morning.
If your goal is a strong bond with your kids, here are eight everyday habits to retire. None of these require a personality transplant.
Just a few small adjustments, practiced steadily, that make home feel safer, warmer, and more us.
1. Checking your phone instead of your child
Quick gut-check: when your kid says “Watch me!” do your eyes actually watch—or do they drift down to a glowing rectangle? I’m not anti-phone. I use mine to snap the goofy grin when Elise masters a new scooter trick.
But there’s a difference between capturing a moment and missing it.
Two things help me:
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I set tiny “tech fences.” Phone stays on the counter during the first 10 minutes after daycare pickup and the last 10 minutes before bedtime.
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I narrate out loud: “I’m setting a two-minute timer for pasta, then I’m all yours.” Kids relax when they know what we’re doing and when we’ll be back.
Those little minutes of undivided attention are compound interest for connection.
2. Rescuing too fast
When Elise gets frustrated with a puzzle, my hands itch to slide in the right piece.
Rescuing feels loving. It can also steal a win that would’ve bonded us more than any fix.
Now I bite my tongue and try: “Want a hint or a cheerleader?” If she wants the hint, I offer one step, not ten. If she wants the cheerleader, I zip it and beam.
Julien’s version is different—he’s a spirited contact-napper. If I always swoop in at the first squawk, he never builds that tiny muscle of settling with a steady sway and a low hum. So I count to ten, breathe, then decide.
Connection grows when our kids sense we believe they can, and we’re right there if they can’t—yet.
3. Minimizing feelings
“You’re fine.” “No big deal.” “Don’t be sad.” These are reflexes, not repairs. When I’m rushing and Elise melts down because I cut her toast wrong (been there), it’s tempting to logic the feelings away. But logic is a ladder; you can’t climb it until someone steadies it.
I’ve been practicing three quick beats:
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Name it — “Looks like you’re really disappointed about the toast.”
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Normalize it — “Disappointment is a big feeling. I get it.”
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Next step — “Do you want me to re-cut it, or keep this one and pick a new fruit?”
That 15 seconds of validation lands like a hug. Then the problem-solving actually works.
4. Leading with fear
I grew up around plenty of “Because I said so.” It works in the moment. It also drains the trust we need when the stakes get higher.
As parenting researcher Justin Coulson puts it, the goal is kids doing the right thing “not because they fear us, but because they love us and they trust us.” That line punched me in the chest the first time I read it, and it still resets me when I’m tempted to bark orders.
What to do instead? Keep boundaries clear, consequences connected, and tone calm:
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State the limit + reason. “Blocks stay on the floor so no one trips.”
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Offer a choice inside the boundary. “Want to help me scoop them up, or be the bucket-holder?”
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Follow through without heat. Connection isn’t the absence of consequences; it’s the presence of respect while we hold them.
5. Over-scheduling the day and under-scheduling play
If we want closeness, our calendar has to make room for it. When every minute is gymnastics–grocery–grandma–bath–bed, there’s no oxygen for the silly, slow, nothing-in-particular time where kids open up.
Our fix is “pockets of play.” On my one work-from-home day, I plan two ten-minute pockets that are non-negotiable: a floor block party after lunch for Julien and a five-song living-room dance party before dinner for Elise.
That’s it.
No elaborate crafts. No setup. If I can do more, great. If not, we still got micro-moments that say: I like being with you.
And yes, the laundry can wait ten minutes.
6. Micromanaging choices
If I script everything—what to wear, how to stack the cups, which book to pick—my kids learn two things: Dad doesn’t think I’m capable, and the way to stay safe is to please Dad. That’s not connection; that’s compliance.
I try to give paired choices with real room:
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“Red pajamas or the dino ones?”
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“Wash hair first or rinse first?”
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“Two books tonight—pick one and I’ll pick one.”
The trick is making sure both options are truly OK with me. The payoff is a kid who feels powerful with me, not against me. And when things go sideways (because they will), I remind myself of child psychologist Ross Greene’s core idea: “Kids do well if they can.” Skills before willpower; collaboration before control.
7. Praising outcomes over effort
I used to gush, “You’re so smart!” whenever Elise zipped through a puzzle. Then she started avoiding harder ones. Oof. Now I aim my praise where the bond actually grows: on process, kindness, and courage.
A few scripts I keep in my pocket:
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“I noticed you kept trying different pieces—that’s persistence.”
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“You offered your brother a block when he fussed—that was thoughtful.”
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“That was a tricky scooter turn and you chose to try again—brave move.”
When kids know we value how they show up, not just how much they win, they bring us more of themselves.
8. Skipping repair after you mess up
The other night I snapped at bath time. Long day, low patience, classic combo. Ten minutes later, I sat on the rug and said, “I’m sorry I used a loud voice. That wasn’t okay. I felt rushed and I didn’t slow down.
I’m going to practice taking a breath before I talk. Can I try again?” Elise climbed in my lap like a cat. Repair doesn’t erase the mistake; it shows our kids how to handle one.
A simple three-step repair you can use tonight:
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Name the harm — keep it short and specific.
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Own your part — no “but you…” tacked on.
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Name the next try — the concrete thing you’ll do next time.
Repair is the bridge back to each other. Walk it often.
What to do instead (tiny, repeatable swaps)
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Trade warnings for rituals. Instead of “Five minutes until we go!” try: “When this song ends, shoes on. Want to pick the song?” Rituals lower friction; connection slips right in.
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Replace lectures with play. With Julien, rough-and-tumble in the safe-zone before dinner lets him burn the fizz so he can actually sit for two bites. With Elise, two minutes of peekaboo or pretend tea before we ask for clean-up turns a power struggle into a game.
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Share the mental load out loud. Camille and I do five-minute division-of-labor check-ins on Sunday nights: scan the week, assign who does daycare drop-offs, bath duty, and lunch prep. Our kids feel the difference when we’re aligned—they relax, so we can, too.
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Make connection a system, not a mood. We keep a little list on the fridge of “connection quick hits”:
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Eye-level hug before leaving any room.
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Name-and-notice (“Elise, I see your careful coloring.”)
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60-second “Special You” before bed—one thing we loved about being with them that day.
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A note on your well-being
None of this sticks if we’re running on fumes. The truth is, connection requires energy. And we don’t have to manufacture that energy alone.
As Brené Brown has said, “We don’t have to do all of it alone. We were never meant to.” I keep that taped inside the pantry where I grab snacks before school drop-off, because sometimes I need the reminder right then.
Self-care doesn’t have to mean spa days or ten-step routines. For me it looks like batch-cooking on Sundays, packing backpacks the night before, and syncing calendars with Camille so we’re a team on paper and in practice.
It’s texting a friend, “Rough day, can I vent?” and doing a ten-minute walk after bedtime instead of doomscrolling. When we take care of our floor, we have more to give on theirs.
Pulling it together
Here’s what I hope you take from all this: closeness isn’t a grand gesture. It’s steady, ordinary respect—eyes up, tone warm, limits clear, repairs frequent.
It’s trusting our kids to try before we fix. It’s leaving white space on the calendar and filling it with floor time. It’s choosing collaboration instead of control because, as Ross Greene reminds us, kids do well if they can.
And it’s leading a home where love, not fear, is the atmosphere—as Justin Coulson puts it, where kids do the right thing because they trust us.
If you want a place to start today, pick one of these swaps:
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Put your phone on the counter for the first ten minutes after pickup.
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Offer a paired choice at bedtime.
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Validate one big feeling before solving it.
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Do a 60-second repair for the thing you wish you’d handled better.
That’s it. Small, steady steps. Before long, you’ll look up and notice your home feels softer. Your kids seek you out more. The “Watch me!” moments multiply.
And at day’s end—joyfully wiped—you’ll know the bond you’re building is sturdy enough for all of you to lean on.
Quick reference (for your fridge)
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See first, say second. Eyes up before words.
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Validate, then guide. Feelings first; solutions next.
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Choices over commands. Two OK options within the limit.
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Rituals beat reminders. Songs, countdowns, and small traditions.
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Repair often. “I’m sorry, and here’s my next try.”
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Care for the caregiver. Even ten minutes counts.
You don’t have to overhaul everything. You just have to practice the everyday things that make you easier to love and safer to come to.
That’s what our kids will remember. That’s the bond that lasts.
