When Your 4-Year-Old Becomes the Best Parent in the Room
If you've been around here long enough, you know my girls have been in Montessori since they were practically still teething. Gemma started at 3.5 and Jules at 2, and when I say we found a true Montessori, I mean it. None of the Pinterest-perfect "wooden rainbow stacked just so" setups. No, this place has real-life materials, endless opportunities for exploration, and teachers who don't just know the Montessori method—they live and breathe it.
These teachers don't only show kids how to pour water without spilling or zip their jackets—they model emotional intelligence on a daily basis. It's basically like they've turned "how to be a decent human" into part of the curriculum. And for that, I am forever grateful.
At home, we've followed the same philosophy since the girls were born. I've devoured the books, practiced the deep-breath-pause before reacting (sometimes I nail it, sometimes I… don't), and tried to create a space where my kids know their feelings are welcome. And then, every so often, something happens that reminds me why we put in the effort. Tonight was one of those nights.
Here's the scene: dinner table, zucchini patties on the plate, and AJ eyeing them with deep suspicion. Baba (dad) lays down the law—"popsicle after patties." Classic rookie move, because within seconds AJ flings herself off her chair and into the kitchen like she's auditioning for a tragic opera. Full tears. Full floor. Full drama.
Baba, bless him, instantly crumbled into a puddle of guilt. He covered his face, groaned, and looked like a man who just discovered the IKEA dresser he built has 12 extra screws. And then—out of nowhere—Gemma, my four-year-old, stands up like a tiny superhero.
She hugs her Baba and says: "It's okay, don't feel bad. Take it easy. You stay, I've got this."
Excuse me, WHAT? Did my preschooler just tag-team parent with me?
Gemma then marches to the kitchen, sits next to her sister on the floor, and in the calmest, most empathetic voice says: "What happened, sissy? How can I help you feel better?"
Meanwhile, I am frozen at the dinner table, trying not to ugly-cry into my zucchini patty. I gave them all space, and eventually, I went over and sat down next to AJ. I didn't launch into a speech or scold or distract her. I just asked: "Would you like me to hold you?" She nodded, still hiccuping tears, and Gemma—like a seasoned therapist—stood up, dusted off her hands, nodded and went back to finish her dinner.
Eventually, AJ calmed down, went back to the table, ate her patty, and got her beloved popsicle. But honestly, the food wasn't the win of the night. The real victory was watching my girls care for each other in such a deeply kind, thoughtful way.
Because here's the truth: we all want to raise smart, capable kids. But at the very top of my list? I want my girls to be kind. To each other. To themselves. To strangers. To the world. And I also want them to know that feelings—big, messy, overwhelming feelings—are allowed. Crying is allowed. Screaming sometimes happens. But what we do with those emotions? That's what matters most.
And tonight, I got a masterclass in emotional intelligence from a 4-year-old.
So here's to Montessori. Here's to teachers who model kindness. Here's to parents who try to keep it consistent at home (even when we stumble). And here's to kids, who sometimes remind us—in the middle of zucchini stand-offs—that they're capable of more wisdom than we give them credit for.
Because the best lessons don't always come from books or classrooms. Sometimes, they come from a preschooler sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor, holding her sister's hand.
💛 Here's to raising kind kids—and letting them raise us, too.
Love, Gemma and Jules’s mom