Is My Kid’s Repetitive Play a Waste of Time? What I Learned As A Mom And Former Teacher
The chipped ceramic coffee mug was still warm in my hand when my neighbor nodded at the mess of blue and gray Lego bits spread across my living room rug. “Isn’t that a waste of time?” she asked, quiet enough that my 7-year-old Leo didn’t hear over his sorting. “He’s been building that same tiny spaceship for three days straight. Couldn’t he try something new, or at least read a book?”
I nodded and laughed along, because I’d had the exact same thought a week earlier. When Leo pulled that $10 impulse-buy set out of the Target cart, I figured he’d snap it together in 45 minutes, leave it on the shelf, and move on to the next thing. Instead, he finished it, held it up for 30 seconds to show me, pulled every piece apart, and started over. By day two, I’d already typed “7 year old always does the same thing over and over” into Google on my lunch break.
Before I quit full-time teaching to stay home with my kids, I spent six years in third grade classrooms, and I’ve heard “is this a waste of time” more times than I can count. I’ve heard it about the kid who spends all recess digging the same hole in the playground, the kid who only draws unicorns, the kid who re-watches the same 20 minutes of Finding Nemo every single night. Two years before I left the classroom, I had a student named Mia who drew nothing but tabby cats for every art project that entire semester. The art teacher pulled me aside after a month, said it was a waste of her art time, that Mia wasn’t pushing herself to try new mediums or new subjects. I almost said something to her, almost suggested she try drawing a forest or her house next time. Then one afternoon, after class, Mia stayed back to finish her cat, and this one had a thick white cast on its back leg. “My cat got hit by a car last month,” she said, like she was talking about the weather. “He’s okay now, but I keep practicing what it looks like when he walks.” I still think about that. If I’d made her switch to drawing something else, she never would have gotten that out, never would have felt safe enough to tell me how scared she’d been.
That’s what I thought of as I stood in my living room, looking at Leo hunched over his Legos. A week earlier, his regular teacher went out on maternity leave, and the new substitute has a completely different schedule, different rules for line order, different way of reading aloud at the end of the day. Leo’s been coming home quiet, picking at his dinner, not wanting to talk about school. I’d been asking him every night if he was okay, and he’d just shrug and say “fine.” I never connected the repetitive building to that until I sat down next to him that afternoon after my neighbor left, and I asked him a specific question—“What’s the most important part of your spaceship?” He didn’t hesitate. He tapped the small empty seat right behind the pilot. “That’s for Ms. Henderson. When she comes back, she can ride with me.”
We tend to count time as wasted if we can’t see a tangible new skill coming out of it. If they’re not learning to read a new chapter book, or mastering a new soccer move, or acing a math worksheet, it feels like time thrown away. But what I’ve learned is that repetitive play isn’t about learning something new—it’s about mastering something small, and building safety when everything else feels out of control. For Leo, it was also practice with the fine motor skills he still struggles with. Two weeks ago, he still got frustrated when the tiny axles wouldn’t slide into the wheel holes, and he’d ask me to do it for him. Last night, he slid all eight in without frowning, without asking for help. He didn’t even think about it, because he’d done it 12 times before.
I don’t blame parents or teachers for worrying. I worry too, some days. But there are a few small things I do now that I never did when I first started teaching, that don’t take any extra time or planning. First, if you’re wondering if it’s a waste, wait two weeks. Don’t say anything, don’t push them to change, unless it’s getting in the way of them sleeping, going to school, or interacting with other people. Most of the time, they’ll move on when they’re ready. Second, if you want to understand what’s going on, ask one specific question instead of pushing them to change. Instead of “Why do you keep doing the same thing?” try “What’s your favorite part of this?” It gives them space to tell you what they’re getting out of it, without making them feel like what they’re doing is wrong. Third, if you really want to encourage something new, add it don’t replace it. Leave a new set of crayons next to their cat drawings, instead of telling them to draw something else. Put a new box of rock-collecting tools next to their digging spot at the park, don’t pull them away to play soccer. Chances are, they’ll check it out when they’re done with what they’re working on right now.
Last night, after 10 straight days of building that same spaceship, Leo dumped all the pieces out of his box and started sorting them by size. When I asked what he was doing, he said he was building a garbage truck, like the one that comes down our street every Tuesday. I didn’t cheer or make a big deal out of it, like I’d won some parenting win. He just did it, when he was ready.
This morning, I saw my neighbor’s question in our local parent Facebook group: “My 8 year old spends two hours every afternoon collecting rocks in the backyard. Is this a waste of time?” I typed back what I’ve learned, didn’t give a big speech. I still have days where I side-eye the time Leo spends twisting the same Lego pieces, when I think about all the reading workbooks sitting on the shelf, all the new activities I could sign him up for. But then I remember Mia’s cat, and the empty seat for Ms. Henderson in Leo’s spaceship. A lot of the time, the work kids do that doesn’t show up on our checklists is the most important work they can do. It just doesn’t look like productivity to us.
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