Is My Child’s Consistent Behavior Struggle Just In My Head? What I Learned As A Parent And Teacher
The art room door swung open last month, and my 8-year-old Leo ducked out, shoulders hunched, his crumpled clay bird cupped in one hand. His third grade teacher pulled me aside before I could even say hi. “He’s been struggling to stay on task more than most,” she said, quiet enough that Leo couldn’t hear. “Forgets assignments, gets up to wander four, five times a reading block. I thought you’d want to know.”
On the drive home, I kept turning her words over in my head. I’m a 4th grade teacher, so I see this dynamic every day. I know all kids wiggle, all kids forget things. My mom had said just a week before, when I mentioned Leo leaving his favorite hoodie in the fridge next to the ketchup, “You’re around challenging kids all day. You’re looking for problems where there aren’t any. He’s just 8, boys are wiggly.” My best friend, whose kid is the same age, said “Mine does that every single day. You’re overthinking it.” That’s when the question popped up unbidden: is this just in my head? Am I making a big deal out of nothing because I spend all day at work with kids who struggle, so I’m primed to see it where it doesn’t exist?
I decided to stop second-guessing for a week and just write it down. Nothing fancy, just 10-second notes in my phone notes app at the end of each day, no interpretation, just what happened. Monday: Forgets lunchbox on counter even after he carried it to the car and set it down next to him. Got up six times during 20 minutes of homework. Left his soccer cleats by the front door instead of putting them in his bag. Tuesday: Teacher says he turned in a blank math worksheet, he insists he finished it and left it on his desk at home. We find it tucked between the pages of his dinosaur encyclopedia an hour later. Wednesday: Loses his tooth at school, puts it in his pocket, can’t find it when he gets home. Finds it three days later in the laundry basket wrapped in a tissue. Thursday: Leaves his water bottle at the playground, forgets his library book when it’s due, cries at dinner because he “can’t do anything right.”
By the end of the week, I had 27 small entries, all pointing to the same pattern: consistent gaps in working memory and focus that got him in trouble, and he was already starting to internalize that he was bad at being a kid. That’s when I knew it wasn’t just in my head. The patterns were too consistent, and the hurt on his face when he talked about school was real. I didn’t need a formal diagnosis or a big intervention to do small things to help.
We started with tiny, low-effort changes that anyone can try. First, we added a 1-minute check-in before bed, with a printed checklist taped to the fridge. It has simple pictures for each item: backpack, lunchbox, homework, sports gear, whatever he needs for the next day. He checks each one off himself, no reminders from me. That cut morning forgotten items by half in the first week. Second, we talked to his teacher about one small classroom adjustment: he can stand next to his desk for up to 10 minutes any time during class, no need to ask permission. He doesn’t have to wander, just stand and stretch if his body feels wiggly. She said after the first week, the number of times he got up to wander dropped from five per block to one. Third, for homework, we split it into 15-minute chunks, and after each chunk, he gets 2 minutes to jump on our old backyard trampoline. No screens, just moving. I set the timer, and don’t nag him during the 15 minutes. Fourth, when he says he’s stupid or bad at remembering, I don’t brush it off with “no you’re not.” I say “Your brain is still practicing remembering. What’s one place you could put your cleats tomorrow that you’d see them?”
A lot of the unspoken rule of parenting is that if your kid’s struggle isn’t big enough for a formal label or an IEP, it must be in your head. You’re just overreacting, you’re just projecting, it’s just normal kid behavior. But that ignores the fact that small, consistent struggles can still erode a kid’s confidence long before anyone bothers to name what’s going on. Your observation of your own kid isn’t a trick of your brain. If you’re noticing a pattern that’s upsetting your kid, it’s real enough to act on.
We still have bad days. Last Saturday, we were 20 minutes away from his soccer game when I realized he’d left his cleats on the kitchen table. We had to borrow a pair from another kid, and he sat on the bench the first 10 minutes pouting. But after the game, he pulled me aside and reminded me he’d remembered his water bottle and shin guards all by himself. He was glowing. We’re still waiting to talk to the pediatrician to figure out if there’s anything else we need to do, and I still get comments from people saying he’s just a little boy, I should relax. Sometimes I still lie awake at night asking if it’s just in my head. But then I see Leo grinning when he brings home a finished project, or hears him remind himself to put his shoes by the door, and I know it doesn’t really matter. The small changes we made didn’t hurt anything. They just made him feel better, one day at a time.
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