Anchoring Tamariki - Containment or connection
Over the last year, Michelle and I have worked alongside many ECE settings whose focus has been on creating rich, open-ended environments that invite pēpi and toddlers to explore. We see environments as organic, living spaces that support connection. We always talk about the environment being made up of four elements – the physical space (the walls that contain us), the resources, the way we use time, and kaiako presence. Each of these elements plays a role in creating inclusive spaces for teaching and learning.
Te Whāriki emphasises infants’ and toddlers’ pedagogy as being relationship-based learning, unhurried routines, and culturally responsive practices.
Teaching and learning practices should continue to grow and evolve, taking in new ideas and ways of being. There is no doubt, though, that one thing does not change: infants’ and toddlers’ spaces are busy. So how do wise kaiako move through the busyness while ensuring decisions are made in the best interests of mokopuna?
The ideas here may not be new to you. What you read might cause you to look back and see how far you have come, or it may spark a new wondering. So what has prompted me to write now? Settings who we have met recently have also been brave and reflective about the way they create connection to the mokopuna.
The Story
Imagine the busyness of the morning in a pēpi space. Mokopuna, whānau, and kaiako are all transitioning into the day ahead. We have choices in these moments: convenience or connection.
Several years ago, we were challenged by the idea of removing a swing in our pēpi space. We began wondering about the responsiveness of kaiako, was the swing about containment or connection?
Every day Wiremu would come into the space with some apprehension. The ritual became Wiremu being placed in the inside swing by Mum, and then the kaiako would step in during the transition. This sounds responsive, but was it really? (Just a note: the swing was hanging from the ceiling, not something Wiremu could get in and out of by himself.)
Rocking is a powerful rhythm. It soothes, regulates, and comforts pēpi. While swings can offer this sensation, there is something even more powerful when that rocking happens in the arms of a kaiako, face to face, eye to eye. It’s not just movement that calms pēpi, it’s the presence of someone who says through their gaze: I see you. I’m with you in these moments of discomfort.
So, is there a place for a swing inside? That depends on your “why.” If the why is settling, then consider the unique gift you bring: a calm body, a gentle sway, a reassuring voice. What we found is that once the swing was removed and replaced with the reassuring arms of the kaiako, Wiremu settled, became more confident, and transitions were less stressful for everyone. We were intent on transitioning Wiremu and his mum through connection each day, in response to the emotions Wiremu entered with.
The containment of the swing robbed the kaiako and Wiremu of opportunities to connect and to respond to the unique start of each day. I wonder: are there other forms of containment that have the same impact for mokopuna? What else robs kaiako and mokopuna of the opportunity to connect?
What about playpens, do they have a place in the world of responsive connection? Yesterday when visiting a centre, the kaiako and I sat alongside one of the pēpi. Her freedom to move and to be connected to us brought delight for her and for each of us. Her smile acknowledged that she saw us, and our smile in return said: we are here for you. I wonder what the non-verbal communication would look and feel like through the bars of a playpen?
When we think about the word play, we imagine curiosity, fun, discovery, and child-led exploration. Now consider the word pen: we might think of a small enclosure, a place to contain. These two words together can feel at odds. In my mind, a playpen is devoid of kaiako presence, far too small for the sharing of space and making connection.
Many kaiako we work with have shared their own journeys of moving away from playpens. One setting in our cluster described how they used to rely on them, but now they’ve embraced a new expectation: there will always be a kaiako present on the floor with mokopuna, anchoring them through connection. The result? More freedom to roll, crawl, and reach, and more laughter and shared joy between mokopuna and kaiako.
I wonder: how small does a contained space need to be to be considered a playpen? Is it something that is 2 metres by 2 metres, or can it be bigger, a wall that contains mokopuna and blocks out the kaiako and other mokopuna? What does the physical environment say to the mokopuna in your space?
Does it acknowledge:
Movement as learning: Pēpi learn through every wiggle, crawl, and stretch. Space to move freely strengthens both their bodies and their confidence.
Belonging through presence: Instead of being separated, pēpi remain part of the natural flow of relationships, learning from the warmth and rhythm of those around them.
Slow Pedagogy – Time
Pennie Brownlee, a treasured voice in early childhood education, often reminded us that mokopuna do not need to be entertained or contained—they need us. The anchor they seek is found in our presence: in the way we slow down during care moments such as a nappy change, the way we listen to their cues, and the way we trust in their natural development instead of hurrying it along.
Slow pedagogy is about the element of time and the way we use it. It is a deliberate, unhurried approach to learning where the process becomes as important as the outcome. By slowing down and being present with mokopuna, we create space for them to experience the world fully, to process at their own pace, and to feel truly seen.
In Wiremu’s case, slow pedagogy would not be concerned with moving him quickly through the transition, but with being present with him, seeing his emotions, acknowledging them, and supporting him with our presence.
Presence is a gift; it means that we are not rushing ahead, thinking about a checklist of things we need to do.
We have this strange saying: “in my spare time” or “I have spare time.” This is not true. Time is not spare; it is a precious commodity that cannot be regained. When we give mokopuna the gift of our time, it sends a powerful message that they are important, beyond the ticking of boxes and the next activity of the day.
Instead of containment, slow pedagogy invites us into presence. It says: let’s move away from the conveyor belt model of the day and lean into the natural rhythm of mokopuna. In this rhythm, pēpi learn not only skills, but also what it feels like to be valued and seen
Anchoring Mokopuna
As we foster responsive and respectful relationships with mokopuna, we see that their developmental needs outweigh the convenience that equipment may offer. Instead of relying on tools that confine, we choose presence, touch, and eye contact, all of which nurture autonomy while offering the safety of a trusted adult.
Anchoring mokopuna through connection is not always the easiest path. It requires us to be present, to slow down, and to resist the pull of convenience. But it is in these connected moments that children come to know the world as safe, loving, and responsive. And it is here, in the warmth of our aroha and presence, that their earliest experiences of trust and belonging are truly anchored.
How might you create more opportunities to anchor tamariki through connection in your daily practice? What other forms of containment do you use e.g. exersaucers, highchairs, bouncinettes?
What might it feel like to abandon time, to remove the clocks, and move fluidly and responsively to the cues of each mokopuna?
Anchoring mokopuna is not about equipment. It is about presence, aroha, and time. These are the true anchors that hold our youngest mokopuna steady. Through connection mokopuna are anchored in love, secure enough to reach out from the relationships that ground them.
References
https://www.penniebrownlee.com
https://tewhariki.tahurangi.education.govt.nz/ng-p-pi-me-ng-nohinohi-infants-and-toddlers/5637248076.p