Blerkie Beer Kleuterskool

I’m teaching my kids exclusion is an under-the-radar form of bullying.

We’ve all experienced it—
that sting of being left out,
of two friends whispering a secret in front of you
and refusing to tell you what it’s about.

It happens in our schools,
on sports teams,
in after-school activities and clubs.
And while it may seem subtle,
it can be deeply damaging.

When a group consistently leaves someone out—
when they make sure that person knows they’re not invited,
not wanted,
not part of the circle—
that’s not harmless.
That’s bullying.

This kind of behavior chips away at self-esteem.
It teaches kids they’re never enough.
And the silence around it allows it to keep spreading.

Not liking someone is human.
But you can still be kind.
You can still be civil.
You can still make space for empathy.

Because bullying isn’t just about pushing someone on the playground.

Exclusion is a silent pandemic.
And it’s time we start calling it what it is.

Living FULL by Danielle Sherman-Lazar

Life will ask our children to begin more than once.

To start late.
To change direction.
To try without certainty.
To fail, regroup, and try again differently.

But many of us grew up believing that mistakes were verdicts —
that getting it wrong meant something was wrong with us.
So every misstep felt heavy. Final. Hard to recover from.

Children don’t need to inherit that fear.

They need to understand that uncertainty is part of learning.
That failure is information, not identity.
That changing course is not weakness, but awareness.

Nothing meaningful is built without revision.
Not character.
Not confidence.
Not a life that truly fits who they are becoming.

When we teach them this, mistakes lose their power to define them.
They become moments to adjust, to grow, to continue.

Because success isn’t the absence of failure —
it’s the willingness to keep evolving. ❤️

Vir die onderwysers, met sagte oë en moeg hande.

Daar is mense wat ons kinders net vir ’n paar uur sien , en dan is daar onderwysers, wat hulle elke dag vashou in ’n wêreld waar ons nie kan ingaan nie.
Julle hoor hulle lag wanneer ons dit mis.
Julle sien hulle sukkel met somme wat ons nie kan verduidelik nie. Julle vee trane af wat hulle vir ons wegsteek. Julle leer hulle om hulle hande op te steek,
om asseblief en dankie te sê, om weer te probeer wanneer hulle wil tou opgooi.

Soms is julle langer saam met hulle as wat ons is. En dit vra van ’n mens iets heiligs, ’n hart wat nie net werk vir ’n salaris nie, maar klop vir elke kind wat voor julle sit.

Ons weet…
ons weet daar is kinders wat julle dae swaar maak. Ons weet van die geraas, die papierwerk, die moegheid, die dissipline wat soos ’n berg voor julle staan. Ons weet julle gaan huis toe met hoofpyn en stilte in julle bors. Maar asseblief…onthou, tussen daardie moeilike kinders sit my kind ook, partykeer ook 'n kind met emosies net soos jy en ek.

Die een wat vanaand vir my sê...
“Juffrou het vandag so met my gepraat…” Die een wat vra....
“Hoekom hou sy nie van my nie?” Die een wat skielik bang is vir ’n klas wat eers ’n veilige plek was. Want kinders dra julle woorde huis toe soos skooltasse op klein skouers. Hulle herhaal julle sinne in die kar. Hulle wys vir ons hoe julle kyk.
Hulle vertel vir ons hoe julle antwoord.
En party aande breek ’n ouer se hart stil
oor ’n vraag wat ons kind gevra het
en die manier waarop dit beantwoord is.
Maar die smile wanneer hulle vertel hoe mooi die juffrou of Mnr is, die mooi woorde wat aan hulle oorgedra is , dit ..... dit bou hulle op om by die skool in te huppel op 'n Maandag.

Om ’n onderwyser te wees is nie net ’n beroep nie, dit is ’n roeping. ’n Heilige grond waar klein siele leer wie hulle is.
Julle is die stem wat hulle in hul koppe gaan hoor vir die res van hul lewens....
die een wat sê “Jy kan” of “Jy is nie genoeg nie.” Moet asseblief nie toelaat
dat een moeilike kind die sagtheid steel
wat vir die res nodig is nie.

Want daar sit ’n kind in daardie klas wat vanaand bid dat môre ligter sal wees. Wat 'n kosblik in sit met ’n knop in die keel. Wat skoene stadiger aantrek omdat skool nie meer veilig voel nie. Onderwysers, julle hande vorm ons kinders se selfbeeld. Julle oë wys vir hulle of hulle raakgesien word. Julle geduld leer hulle of hulle die moeite werd is.

En vir die van julle wat dit nog doen met liefde.....dankie.
Dankie dat julle hulle name ken.
Dankie dat julle afbuk tot op hul vlak.
Dankie dat julle glo in hulle wanneer hulle self nie kan nie. Julle is die lig in gange wat soms koud voel. Maar vir elke hart wat moeg geword het, onthou hoekom julle begin het. Onthou die eerste kind wat julle laat glimlag het. Onthou dat daar elke oggend ’n klomp klein harte instap wat net veilig wil voel. Want vir ’n kind is ’n juffrou of ’n meneer nie net ’n onderwyser nie, dit is ’n wêreld. En hoe julle met hulle praat vandag word die stem waarmee hulle eendag met hulself gaan praat.

Wees genadig met hulle, net soos Liewe Jesus daagliks genadig is met jou en jou emosies.

-Mammas met 'n Missie

Fear might create obedience,
but it also creates distance.

A child who is scared into doing the right thing isn’t learning responsibility.
They’re learning to avoid punishment.
To hide mistakes.
To protect themselves instead of growing.

Obedience built on fear may look effective,
but it comes at the cost of trust, dignity, and connection.

Children are not here to be controlled into submission.
They are here to be guided, taught, and understood.

We don’t need to scare children into doing better.
We can care them into it.

With patience.
With explanation.
With boundaries that are firm, but not cruel.
With a presence that stays steady, even when they struggle.

Because real growth doesn’t come from fear.
It grows in the space where a child feels safe enough to learn,
and loved enough to keep trying. ❤️

Quote Credit: .parenting ❣️

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When a child is melting down, their nervous system is overwhelmed.

They’re struggling to cope with their big feelings in a body that’s still learning how to regulate.

Responding with empathy doesn’t reward “naughty” behavior.

Instead, it teaches children that they are safe, seen, and supported, even when things feel hard.

From that place of safety, learning can actually happen.

Connection is what helps children calm down.

By building that emotional awareness, you’re helping your child grow into a person who can handle strong emotions without fear or shame. ❤️

Children don’t learn in environments where they feel tense, judged, or unseen.

Before the information sinks in, something more basic has to be in place.
They need to feel safe.
They need to feel accepted.
They need to feel that the adult in front of them is on their side.

When a child likes their teacher, they lean in.
They listen more closely.
They take risks.
They try again after mistakes.

And when they believe their teacher likes them back,
something even more important happens.
Their guard drops.
Their nervous system softens.
Learning stops feeling like a test of their worth,
and starts feeling like a natural part of being in that space.

Because children don’t just absorb information.
They absorb the emotional atmosphere around it.

And one good teacher, who sees them,
believes in them, and makes them feel safe to try,
can change the entire way a child experiences learning.

My child has had their share of both.
And I’ve seen what it looks like when they struggle,
and what it looks like when they thrive.

If your child has one of those teachers,
they are something to be deeply grateful for. ❤️

Quote Credit: Gordon Neufeld ❣️

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A simple hand signal can be a powerful safety tool.

Many children struggle to find words in the moment, especially when they feel unsure, overwhelmed, or pressured. Teaching a clear “stop” signal gives them a voice even when words feel hard.

When a child shows their palm and says “Stop, I don’t like it,” they are setting a boundary. This is not rude or dramatic. It is a life skill.

The beauty of this strategy is that it can be seen from a distance. A teacher, parent, or safe adult can quickly notice the raised palm and recognise that the child is uncomfortable.

This helps adults step in sooner, support the child, and prevent situations from escalating. It also teaches children that their body and space matter.

Practise it at home through role play so it feels natural to use. Confidence grows with rehearsal, not pressure.

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What phrase do you teach your child to use when they feel uncomfortable? Sharing ideas helps other families too.

Enjoy them while they are little.
Yes, even on the hard days.

Even when you’re exhausted.
Even when your patience is thin.
Even when you’re counting the minutes until bedtime.

Because these loud, messy, ordinary days?
They’re the ones your heart will reach for later.

Right now, they need you for everything.
Your arms. Your voice. Your presence.
They run to you when they’re scared, tired, or hurt,
fully convinced your arms can fix anything.

You are their comfort.
Their home.
Their safest place in the world.

But they won’t always need you like this.

One day, they won’t reach for your hand crossing the street.
One day, they won’t climb into your lap.
One day, they won’t ask you to stay until they fall asleep.

And it won’t happen all at once.
It happens quietly,
in moments you don’t think to mark.

One night, you’ll put them down and not realize it was the last time they asked for a cuddle.
One morning, they’ll walk ahead instead of beside you.
One long hug will slowly become the last long one.

Their world will grow bigger.
And you’ll become one part of it, not the center.

They’ll still love you.
Just differently.

And that’s when your heart will ache in ways you never expected.

You’ll wish you could go back,
not to a perfect day,
but to an ordinary one.
Spilled milk. Toys on the floor.
Tiny arms wrapped tight around your neck.

So slow down.

Hold them a little longer.
Hug them a little tighter.
Even when you’re tired.
Even when the days feel heavy.

Love them loudly.
Hold them often.
Let the moments linger.

Because childhood isn’t a long journey.
It’s short.
And beautiful.

And before you’re ready, they’ll be grown,
carrying your love into a world that no longer needs you the same way.

Children aren’t inherently difficult.
They’re responsive.

They feel the pace of the room.
They absorb the tension.
They react to the nervous systems around them
long before they can make sense of their own.

And right now, many adults are tired.
Busy.
Overstimulated.
Pulled in too many directions at once.

That doesn’t make anyone bad.
It makes life demanding.

But for a child —
whose brain is still developing,
whose regulation depends on the adults around them —
this world can feel loud, rushed, and confusing.

What looks like “difficult behaviour”
is often a child struggling to cope
in an environment that’s moving faster
than they can process.

The work isn’t to toughen children up.
It’s to slow ourselves down.
To offer steadiness where there is chaos.
To become the calm they don’t yet have access to.

Because our children don’t need fixing.
They need understanding. ❤️

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The way we respond to our children in their messy moments becomes the way they learn to respond to themselves.

When they spill, stumble, forget, or fall apart, they’re not just learning about consequences — they’re learning about worthiness. About how to treat the parts of themselves that aren’t polished or perfect.

If we meet their mistakes with patience, they learn that mistakes are survivable.
If we offer kindness, they learn that flaws don’t cancel love.
If we stay steady, they learn that being human isn’t something to fear.

One day, when they’re grown and facing their own imperfections, your voice becomes their inner voice. Your reactions become the blueprint they draw from.

So speak with intention.
Hold them with care.

Because the grace you offer them now, is the grace with which they’ll one day hold themselves. ❤️

Quote Credit: ❣️

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In a world that feels loud, fast, and unpredictable, children don’t need perfection from us — they need peace in the place they return to.

A home that softens the noise.
A rhythm that steadies their nervous system.
A space where rest isn’t conditional, and belonging isn’t something they have to work for.

Peace at home isn’t about silence or spotless rooms. It’s about the energy they step into —
the tone of our voice,
the way we repair after conflict,
the safety of knowing they are loved even when life feels messy.

The world they grow up in is fast, demanding, overstimulating. It pushes them into maturity long before they’re ready. It asks them to keep up, to toughen up, to move on quickly…

But home should feel different.

It should be the pause in their day.
The deep breath they didn’t know they were holding.
The place where nothing is expected of them just to belong.

If home can be where their hearts reset, their bodies unwind, and their spirit feels held — they’ll carry that grounding with them wherever they go.

When we offer that kind of peace — not perfection, but steadiness — we’re giving them something the world never will: a blueprint for what safety feels like, and a memory their body will return to, for the rest of their life. ❤️

Quote Credit: .mind ❣️

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