The toughest negotiator I know is five years old. She can bring an entire morning to a standstill with four little words, delivered with absolute conviction.
“I don't want to.”
No explanation. No counteroffer. Just a decision, made with the confidence of someone who fully expects the rest of the world to adjust.
I've been caring for her and her little brother, who's now 3, for the past three years. We've traveled together, shared countless adventures and spent so much time in each other's company that I can usually tell what she's thinking before she says a word.
Usually.
But knowing a child that well doesn't necessarily make you any better at changing her mind.
One weekday morning this summer, she'd decided she wasn't going to camp. Her parents agreed she could skip it. Fair enough.
There was just one problem. I'd planned a day of activities for her little brother and me, and staying home wasn't part of the program.
When it was time to leave the house, she announced that she wasn't coming with us, either.
“I'm staying.”
I explained that she couldn't stay home alone.
“I'm staying.”
Anyone who has spent enough time with preschoolers knows that repeating an explanation rarely makes it more persuasive. I could have presented a compelling argument, complete with reasons, consequences and a detailed schedule. She would have listened politely, or perhaps not at all, before repeating those same two words.
So I tried something else.
“OK, you have two choices. I can take you to camp, or you can come spend the day with your brother and me.”
Silence.
For the first time that morning, she had something to think about.
Camp? Or a day with us?
She chose us.
Shoes on. Out the door. Negotiations over.
I'd changed nothing about the plan. What I'd changed was who got to make the next decision.
There's something fascinating about the word “no.” We often interpret it as defiance, especially coming from a child. But saying no can also make someone feel safe, independent and in control.
Think about how much of a young child's life is decided for them. We choose when they wake up, where they go, what they eat, when they leave and when the fun is over. Even the most loving routines leave relatively little room for independence.
And then we act surprised when they discover the power of “no.”
The very next morning, I had another opportunity to put my negotiating skills to work.
It was Saturday, and the three of us were deep in an imaginative game, having so much fun that I wasn't particularly eager to stop either.
But we had plans to go to the pool, and we needed to leave soon to get back in time for the 3-year-old's nap.
And his nap is sacred.
I gave the usual warnings.
“Ten more minutes.”
Then five.
Naturally, the counteroffers began.
“Five more minutes!”
“Six more minutes!”
The family's housekeeper, who has known the children for years, was nearby. We exchanged a look, and I knew she'd play along.
“OK,” I told the 5-year-old. “You have two choices. You can stay here and help clean the house ...”
I paused, glancing toward the cleaning supplies.
“... or you can put your shoes on and come to the pool with your brother and me.”
The cleaner nodded, playing her part perfectly.
The 5-year-old looked at her.
Then at me.
“I DON'T want to stay and clean!”
Suddenly, leaving for the pool sounded like an excellent idea.
Shoes on. Out the door.
The cleaner and I burst out laughing.
Two mornings, two standoffs, and not a single argument won by raising my voice.
That's something I've come to appreciate about working with young children. Not every disagreement requires another explanation, a firmer voice or a battle of wills.
Sometimes it requires a little creativity. Sometimes a sense of humor. And sometimes remembering that the person standing in front of you, however small, would also like a say in what happens next.
The trick is knowing which parts of the day are negotiable. I can't allow a child to stay home alone, and I can't make a toddler's nap disappear. But I can offer a say in how we get from one activity to the next.
Blue pajamas or striped ones? Walk to the car or race me? Put away the blocks or the stuffed animals first?
Small decisions, perhaps insignificant to us, can feel enormous to someone who spends most of the day following other people's plans.
But giving children a little control doesn't mean giving up our authority. We can acknowledge what they want without changing what needs to happen.
Perhaps that's what good negotiation looks like, whether you're dealing with adults or preschoolers: finding a way forward where nobody has to feel defeated.
That Saturday, the kids made it to the pool, the nap was saved, and nobody had to clean a single shelf.
I'd call that a successful negotiation.