The Quiet Act of Noticing

Most mornings in our house begin slowly.

My oldest usually makes it downstairs first and enjoys a few quiet minutes of full authority over the television and the remote before anyone else can weigh in.

Not long after, my middle follows.

One of his responsibilities now is turning on the coffee when he heads downstairs.

The house is still waking up at that point.

The dogs stretch.

Someone wanders into the kitchen half awake.

And the smell of coffee begins working its way through the house.

Children don’t realize it yet, but they’re already learning one of the most important skills a home can teach.

The quiet act of noticing.

Noticing flowers growing along a sidewalk.

Noticing when a brother suddenly goes quiet.

Noticing when the dog has been pacing by the door long before anyone else realizes he needs to go out.

Or noticing that the trash is full — a detail that somehow escapes everyone’s attention until it can no longer be politely ignored.

Children don’t start out noticing much beyond their own world.

They notice hunger.

Excitement.

The toy someone else is holding.

They do not, for example, notice the dog pacing by the door, the laundry multiplying in the hallway, or the fact that someone has already asked them three times to put their shoes away.

But slowly their awareness begins to widen.

They begin to see other people.

Noticing that someone else is nervous even when they themselves are excited.

Noticing when a sibling suddenly grows quiet.

Noticing when something small needs doing before someone has to ask.

These things seem small.

But they are the beginning of social awareness.

You can’t care about what you don’t notice.

When I think about where I learned this skill, I realize it was the women in my life who taught me first.

My grandmother helping my mother around the house — because with seven children there was always something that needed doing.

My mother somehow remembering each of our small preferences — favorite chocolate bars, how we liked our eggs in the morning.

My sisters noticing when I wore a new shirt or did my hair differently.

Little acknowledgments that quietly said:

I see you.

Later I began to notice the same skill in my husband.

Sometimes he notices a shift in my mood before I’ve even decided what my mood is.

It usually begins with a joke — the kind that makes the boys laugh just enough to break whatever storm cloud was gathering in the room.

And then, almost casually, he steps in and changes the energy of the moment.

Redirecting the boys.

Lightening the atmosphere.

Restoring the rhythm of the house.

Noticing isn’t only a kind of care carried by women.

Men have an enormous role in it too.

Children are always watching.

They watch how adults read a room.

How they respond to someone’s frustration.

How they quietly step in when something needs tending.

And slowly, almost without realizing it, they begin to do the same.

In our house there is also a lot of coffee talk.

One sip before questions begin.

Asking for a warm-up halfway through the morning.

Stopping for coffee before an errand.

The boys notice this.

They also occasionally ask for a sip.

My husband takes his black, which usually leads to immediate regret.

Mine is creamy with just a touch of sweetness, which makes them curious enough to try again.

And when my mother-in-law visits, she takes her coffee about eighty percent cream and twenty percent coffee — which the boys have correctly identified as essentially dessert.

Children notice rituals long before they understand them.

The hope is that one day they will move through the world noticing the people around them.

Noticing when someone feels nervous.

Noticing when someone needs help.

Noticing the small things that make a person feel seen.

And maybe someday, many years from now, one of them will hand his wife a cup of coffee.

Made exactly the way she likes it.

Not because she asked.

Just because he noticed.

Which, when you think about it, is how most good relationships begin.