How to Make Sure Each Child Gets Enough One-On-One Time When You Have Multiple Kids
Last Tuesday, I was mid-fold of a load of socks that still had three unmatched pairs when Lila, my 7-year-old, tugged my sleeve to show me the clay owl she’d molded in art class. Two seconds later, Jax, my 4-year-old, launched himself at my hip, wailing that his apple slice wasn’t cut into the right shape and that Lila was stealing my attention. I sighed, shooed Jax to the table to cut a new slice, and told Lila I’d look at the owl in five minutes. When I got to her five minutes later, she’d already tucked it into the back of her art bin and wouldn’t talk about it. That’s when I knew I was dropping the ball on the one thing all the parenting posts say matters most: one-on-one time.
I used to do what all the posts suggested: I blocked off one Saturday a month for a one-on-one date with each kid. Lila got to pick brunch and a trip to the bookstore, Jax got ice cream and a walk around the lake. The problem was, something always came up. One month Jax had a fever, so I had to cancel Lila’s date, and she cried for an hour after I told her. Another month, I forgot Jax’s nap was switched to after lunch, and he spent the entire ice cream trip screaming in his stroller. I was spending more time stressing about planning the dates than actually enjoying time with my kids, and half the time they got canceled anyway.
Then I mentioned the problem to my neighbor, who has three teens and has been doing this longer than I have. She told me she stopped planning big dates 15 years ago, and instead wove small bits of one-on-one time into the things she already had to do every day. I was skeptical at first, but I tried it, and it’s worked better than any fancy date ever has.
The first thing I changed was assigning one small, daily one-on-one job to each kid that only they get to do with me. Jax is in charge of coming with me to take the trash and recycling to the curb every night after dinner. That takes all of three minutes, but it’s just the two of us. We usually stop to pet the neighbor’s tabby cat that hangs out on their fence, and he gets to ramble about whatever he wants. Last week he told me he thinks his preschool class hamster is lonely because no one sits with him after snack time. I never would have heard that tiny, random thought if we were at home with Lila vying for my attention, or if we were on some big crowded trip out. Lila’s job is helping me put the clean dishes away after I’m done washing them. That takes about five minutes, and we do it while Jax is watching his 10 minute cartoon before bed. She talks about whatever drama is going on with her friends at school, or shows me the new stickers she got for her planner. No one interrupts, no one climbs on my lap mid-sentence.
Next, I started swapping the extra 2 minutes of one-on-one time at bedtime. After I read both kids their story and tuck them in, I stay an extra 2 minutes with one of them, and switch who gets the extra time every night. It’s nothing fancy: if it’s Lila’s turn, she might complain about how her math homework is too hard, or show me a new drawing she hid under her pillow. If it’s Jax’s turn, we usually just tickle each other and whisper silly words until he’s laughing too hard to talk. No phones, no distractions, just 2 minutes that belongs only to them. I used to think 2 minutes was nothing, but it’s enough for them to feel like they have my full attention for just a little while every other day.
When I have to take one kid to an appointment or a practice, I try to leave the other one with a neighbor or friend instead of bringing them along, even if the appointment is only 20 minutes. I swap babysitting with the lady down the street, so it doesn’t cost anything, and it means the kid I’m with gets my full attention. Last month Lila had a dentist checkup, and I left Jax next door playing with their golden retriever. On the drive home, she told me she was scared she’d need braces soon, and that she didn’t want to have them because the kids in her class with braces get teased. She never would have said that in front of Jax, who makes fun of anything he calls “big kid stuff”.
I still have bad days. Yesterday, both kids had colds, I was running around getting juice and wiping noses and cleaning up spilled cough syrup, and neither got any of their daily one-on-one time. I still see Lila hovering by the couch when I’m playing cars with Jax sometimes, and I feel that twist of guilt. It’s not perfect. Some weeks we get more time than others, and I still haven’t figured out how to make it work when we’re all stuck at home on rainy days with nowhere to go.
I also stopped beating myself up for not hitting some arbitrary “one hour per kid per week” goal. The idea that you need long blocks of time to connect with each kid just doesn’t fit with how most families live, especially when both parents work or you’re a single parent. What I’ve found is that kids don’t care how long the time is, they just care that it’s theirs, no interruptions. A 3 minute walk to the curb is better than a 2 hour trip where I’m checking my work phone the whole time anyway.
But last week, after that ugly Tuesday with the clay owl, Lila and I had our five minutes putting dishes away, and I told her I was sorry I’d missed her owl. She pulled it out of the back of her art bin, and we stuck it on the fridge with our other favorite drawings. Tonight, Jax and I will walk out to the curb with the trash, and he’ll probably tell me about the new dinosaur sticker he got at preschool. The small bits add up faster than I thought they would, and they’re a lot easier to fit into real life than big, fancy monthly dates. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it exactly right, but for right now, this works.
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