The two year olds that I spend time with each week are in the beginning stages of cooperation. Parallel play is the term social scientists give to their tendency to engage, not with each other, but an elbow away from each other. A girl will be building tracks, with a boy beside her vrooming cars. It is cute, but it is a precursor to interaction. 

Last spring there was a girl who turned three early and it showed. She had enough friendliness for both kids, and gave narrative to their game without bothering to wait for the less verbal boy to chime in. It reminded me of Anne Shirley and Matthew Cuthbert. She even has red hair. 

"I am the mom. You are the kid. Here is the lunch, and you get to have pizza. I get the cake."

For his part, it was actually more interesting than playing alone and he was often willing to be carried along on her imagination. 

John and I share an office. He sits at his desk facing east, and I sit at mine facing north. Sometimes I interrupt him with a question, or to ask for help with the printer, but it closely resembles parallel play. Let's call it parallel work. 

The other day a woman came in to talk, and while I offered to leave she clarified that she wanted to speak with both of us. We closed the door and she opened her heart. When she felt heard, she stood up, and we hugged. After she was gone, John went back to his chair to resume his project, and I went back to writing cards. 

I wondered. Was it a sign of our developmental stage that we often point our attention separately?

Just then John looked up from his keyboard. He smiled. As if it mattered that I was in the room. 

Maybe two year olds are on to something.