A few minutes ago, my daughter screamed “GET BACK!” at me and slammed the door. 

That was a first.

And right now she’s lying on the couch with a pillow over her face.

She’s not thirteen. She’s one-and-three-quarters.

But I have committed the unforgivable crime.

I have changed our morning routine.

She likes the things we do in the new routine, possibly better than what we did in the old one. But that only matters in the morning, when we’re actually doing it. The rest of the day… Well, both of us are struggling a bit right now.

It’s common for toddlers to be attached to their routines, and being a person who actively enjoys routines myself, I find this generally convenient. I also find it fascinating, because the thing about toddlers is that they will usually choose the simplest method available to them to get their fundamentally human needs met.

So why do toddlers instinctively grab onto routines? What fundamental human need does it serve?

Google says routines give them a sense of stability and security. And that’s reasonable, especially when you consider the fact that the activities of their days are mostly dependent on the choices of someone else. Even if you don’t pick the routines, being able to predict what you’ll do next would probably make one feel a little less tossed about according to someone else’s whims and wishes.

I think there’s also another layer to it though. 

If I would be kidnapped and replaced by a clone, my daughter would probably be the first one to be troubled by it. This is not to say that she knows me the best or even likes me the best, but we spend the most time together and our days are filled with routines within routines. It’s one thing to know that we brush our teeth together; it’s another to know that it’s an absolutely essential part of the routine that we tap the handles of our toothbrushes together while we do it. And everything we do is like this. Routines within routines. Our whole week is like one of those elaborate secret handshakes.

I think it’s a bonding thing. It’s not just that she feels safe because it’s predictable. It’s like we have inside jokes with each other. She also feels safe because it means we have a relationship, that I love her and pay attention to her and remember things about her, that we are both still close enough to being the same person that we were yesterday that we can still act out the same rituals. And it’s carving out a space for both of us to fill, a space that would cause us to be missed if we’re not there. Anytime I brush my teeth without her, I think about her.

So I thought, maybe I can learn from that.

Maybe the next time I’m feeling overwhelmed by the chaotic and uncontrollable nature of the world, maybe I should go build myself some daily routines and stick to them like I’m going to throw a tantrum if I don’t.

And maybe the next time I’m feeling lonely, maybe I should find a way to include someone in my routines. Even if it’s something as simple as greeting everyone in the office by name when I come in, or waving at our neighbor when I’m sitting on the porch after my morning walk/run and he’s going to work.