How to help your kid become a schoolaholic: Real parenting tips for building genuine school joy
Last September, I stood by the front bike rack at my 7-year-old’s elementary school watching Lila yank her backpack off her handlebars before I even finished locking mine. She waved over her shoulder, yelled “I’m saving Mia a spot at morning circle!” and took off up the steps before I could remind her to put her lunch box in her cubby. Neighbors and other parents see her bolt in like that and call her a natural schoolaholic. But I know it wasn’t born that way. It’s the result of a bunch of tiny, boring choices we made after my older son Sam’s brutal kindergarten year, when he’d cling to my shirt at the door and beg to come home every single morning.
Back then, we tried every trick in the book: sticker charts for every day he went without crying, a special ice cream treat every Friday if he made it through the week, endless conferences with his teacher to adjust his routine. None of it stuck. He still thought of school as something he had to get through to get the good stuff waiting at home. When we found out we were having Lila, I started thinking about what it actually means to be someone who wants to go to school every day. It’s not about being a straight-A kid or loving homework. It’s just about showing up excited more often than not, and that can be built, not just born.
The first change we made was small: we stopped talking about school like it was a job before Lila even started. I noticed so many parents prepping their kids for kindergarten by saying “Now it’s time to work hard” or “You have to do what the teacher says, no playing around.” We didn’t do that. Instead, we talked about the tiny, specific fun parts. I told her about the ladybug nest I found in the outdoor play bin when I went to that same school as a kid. I mentioned her teacher kept a jar of glitter glue for anyone who wanted to make extra cards on rainy days. We drove past the playground after dinner sometimes and pointed out the big oak tree where all the second graders hang out at recess. We didn’t lead with rules or work. We led with the stuff that matters to a 5-year-old.
Another small shift came after I realized Sam was faking headaches about once every two weeks to get out of school. Staying home meant cartoons and snacks on the couch with me, which was way nicer than doing math worksheets. So when Lila says she doesn’t feel well enough to go, I don’t automatically let her stay home and set her up with a fun day. I tell her: “If you’re too sick for recess, you’re too sick for cartoons. You can rest on the couch while I fold laundry, no extra snacks, no games. If you feel well enough to play with your stuffed animals, you’re well enough to go to school.” Nine times out of ten, she grabs her boots and heads out. She knows staying home isn’t a more fun reward for skipping.
I also changed the way I ask about school when she gets home. I used to ask Sam “What did you learn today?” and he’d just shrug and say “Nothing.” Now I ask Lila “What made you laugh today?” or “Who did you sit next to at lunch?” or “Did you get to use the big watercolors in art this week?” The questions are specific, so she can’t just shrug them off, and they lead with the fun parts of her day, not the work. Last week she spent 20 minutes telling me about how she and Mia dug a hole by the soccer field to bury a rock they’re calling their treasure, and they’re going to add a acorn and a shiny bottle cap to it every week. I just listened, didn’t jump in to talk about the math homework she had or remind her to be careful digging. The joy of the treasure hole is her reward for going to school. I don’t need to add my own.
We also fixed our morning routine, which was a huge mess with Sam. I used to let him watch 15 minutes of cartoons while I made coffee, and then turning it off would spark a fight that put him in a bad mood before we even left the house. Now, we lay out clothes and pack backpacks the night before, so we never have to run around looking for a missing sneaker at 8 a.m. No screens before school. Lila can color, feed the cat, or help me stir the oatmeal. Mornings are slow, no yelling, and that sets a much better tone for the whole day.
It’s not perfect. Last month, Lila had to give a presentation about her favorite animal in front of the whole class, and she cried in the car before we got to school because she was nervous. I didn’t tell her it would be fine and she’d love it. I just said “Nervous feels weird, I get it. When you’re done, recess is still coming, and you and Mia can work on your treasure hole after. That’s still waiting for you.” She went in, and when she came home she said it wasn’t as bad as she thought, and she got a lollipop from the teacher.
Sam is 12 now, and even he’s come around. We started using these same small shifts with him when he was in third grade, and now he stays after school for robotics club three days a week, and complains only a little about homework. Last week he told me he was glad we didn’t pull him out to homeschool like we talked about when he was 7.
Last week, Lila came home upset because the principal found their treasure hole and filled it in, since it was too close to the sidewalk. She moped through dinner, and then 10 minutes before bed she dug out an old plastic shovel from the garage and packed it in her backpack. She was up 10 minutes early the next morning, already putting her shoes on before I poured coffee. That’s what being a schoolaholic really is, I think. It’s not loving every single minute. It’s having something you care about enough to show up and try again the next day. I don’t know if she’ll feel this way when she hits high school and has three hours of homework every night. Probably some days she’ll hate it. But so far, these small, boring choices have worked way better than any fancy reward system I ever tried.
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