Is My Child’s Random Obsession A Waste Of Time? A Teacher Parent’s Honest Take
I stepped on a handful of purple rubber bands last Tuesday, mid-cleanup before my mother-in-law came for dinner, and my first thought was exactly what a hundred parents have asked me a hundred times: Is this just a waste of time?
I’m a 4th grade teacher, and mom to a 10-year-old, so I get this question from both sides. The loom kit and rubber bands were a birthday gift from his cousin, and for the past month he’s been making bracelets nonstop. We’d agreed on 20 minutes of multiplication practice every weeknight—he’s struggled with timed tests this fall, and his classroom teacher suggested extra practice at home. More than once, I’ve walked in on him spread out on his bed looping rubber bands instead of drilling flashcards. That Tuesday, the pile was so big I could barely open his closet door, and I scooped the whole mess into a trash bag, ready to get rid of it. Then he walked in from playing outside, cheeks pink, holding a half-woven blue bracelet, and saw the bag. He didn’t yell or cry, just stopped twisting the doorknob and said, “I was making that for Mia. She sits alone at lunch. She said she likes blue.”
I paused right there. I’d just had a parent conference two days before where a mom asked if her 8-year-old son’s rock collecting was a waste of recess time. She said he doesn’t run around playing soccer with the other kids, he just digs in the gravel by the playground and sorts his rocks by size. She was worried he’s missing out on social skills, falling behind on team game skills. The week before that, another mom emailed me asking if I’d make her 9-year-old daughter stop drawing horses in the margins of her math notebook during class—said it’s a waste of note-taking time, she should be focusing on the lesson.
I get the urge to label something a waste of time. We’re all surrounded by messages that every minute of our kids’ days should be productive, that every activity should build a skill, get them ahead, check a box for something later. But what I’ve noticed, both in my classroom and at home, is that most of the “wastes of time” we worry about are actually doing quiet work we can’t see right away.
A few years ago, I stopped making kids put away small, low-stakes hobbies in my classroom. As long as they’re not distracting the kid next to them, they can keep a rock to twist, or a few rubber bands to loop, while I read out loud or go over a lesson. Last year, I had a 3rd grade student who couldn’t sit still for more than 5 minutes during whole group reading. His mom tried everything, from extra recess to movement breaks to adjusting his bedtime. Then I noticed he collected soda bottle caps, and he’d sneak one into class every day. I told him he could keep it on his desk as long as it didn’t make noise. Within three months, his reading comprehension went up 15 percentile points on our benchmark tests. He wasn’t wasting time twisting that bottle cap—he was using that small, constant movement to keep his brain focused on the story, instead of spending all his energy fighting the urge to wiggle.
What I tell parents who ask me this question is to do three quick checks before you decide to ban or drastically limit the hobby. None of these take more than five minutes, and they’ve saved me from a lot of unnecessary fights at home. First, ask if it’s actually getting in the way of non-negotiables. Is your kid skipping homework, not sleeping, or hurting anyone to do this thing? If yes, you set a clear boundary. But if it’s just taking up their free time after they’ve done what they need to do, that’s their time to use how they want. Second, look for what they’re actually practicing. My son isn’t just looping rubber bands. He’s problem-solving when a bracelet breaks, he’s thinking about other people’s preferences when he picks colors, he’s learning to stick with a project even when it’s tricky. Those are skills that don’t show up on a test score, but they matter way more in the long run than a few extra minutes of flashcard practice. Third, if it’s bothering you because it’s messy or it’s cutting into other scheduled stuff, set a specific time and space for it instead of getting rid of it entirely. For us, that means 20 minutes of multiplication practice first, then 30 minutes of loom time after dinner. All rubber bands have to stay in a bin under his desk, and he has to pick up any that fall on the floor before bed. That takes care of the stepping issue I had that Tuesday, and it gives him something to look forward to while he finishes his work.
I pulled the rubber bands out of the trash bag that Tuesday, by the way. I helped him pick them up off the floor, and we put them in a new big bin I found in the pantry. He remembers the cleanup rule about half the time. I still step on a stray rubber band once a week, usually when I’m half asleep going in to check on him at night. Last week, I pulled a pink rubber band out of my white laundry after washing it, and I had to re-dye the shirt. I grumbled about it for 10 minutes.
Last Saturday, I reached into my work bag for a pen before a parent conference, and pulled out a lumpy, slightly stretched yellow rubber band bracelet. My son had slipped it in there a few days before, when I told him I was nervous about a big meeting at school. It’s not useful. It doesn’t help me write lesson plans or lead meetings. It’s just a thing he made, for me, because he thought I’d like it. I still don’t know if his obsession with rubber band bracelets will turn into anything big. He might lose interest next month and move on to something else that’s messy and weird and feels like a waste of time to me. But right now, it’s his. And that’s not a waste. Not even close.
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