Yes, And: Toddler Play and the Rules of Improv

For the past few weeks, I’ve been answering exclusively to the name Anna. My oldest daughter is Elsa, my youngest is Olaf, and I am no longer allowed to use anyone’s government name. If I slip up, I am gently but firmly corrected by a very small person with very big feelings about narrative consistency.

Radical acceptance seems to be the only option. When you live with a toddler, you learn quickly that play has rules. This particular phase has led me to an unexpected realization: playing with a toddler is basically doing improv.

Living and working with young children in Chicago means being surrounded by the legacy of improvisation. This is the city that gave us modern improv through The Second City, where performers learn to build scenes collaboratively using a few simple principles. It dawned on me this week that playing with a toddler requires the very same skills. There is no rehearsal. There is no script. There is only your scene partner and a loose premise to go off of.

Here are three improv rules that have helped me find more joy in play time with my toddler.

Rule #1: Yes, And

In improv, “Yes, And” means you accept what your scene partner has offered and add to it. You don’t shut the idea down. You build on it.

Toddler: “This banana is a phone.” 

Grownup: “Yes… and it’s ringing.”

When adults respond with “No, that’s not a phone,” play collapses. When we respond with “Yes, and…,” play expands. More importantly, so does the relationship. “Yes, And” tells a child: I see you. I hear you. I’m willing to join you.

It’s a small phrase with big implications. It turns play into collaboration instead of correction.

Rule #2: Make Your Scene Partner Look Good

One of the lesser-known rules of improv is that your job isn’t to be funny—it’s to make your scene partner look good. You treat them like the most important person on stage. You set them up for success.

Toddlers are always the most important person in the scene. They bring the premise, the plot twists, and the emotional stakes. Our role is not to outsmart them or redirect them immediately, but to support what they’re building.

When a toddler declares the couch is a boat, they’re not asking for realism. They’re asking for partnership. When we step into their idea instead of correcting it, we communicate: Your imagination matters. You matter. We are doing this together.

This doesn’t mean there are no boundaries. It means connection comes first. Direction can come later.

Rule #3: Commit to the Bit

Improv only works if everyone commits. Half-believing ruins the scene. Full commitment makes it believable.

Toddlers understand this instinctively. If you are Anna, you are Anna. If the floor is lava, it is lava. If the banana is a phone, then the banana is a phone, and we do not question it.

Committing to the bit also means:

• Not negating their reality (“That’s not really a dinosaur.”) 

• Staying present in the moment instead of rushing to the next task 

• Letting their version of the world be true for a little while

  
  

This kind of presence is powerful. It tells children that their inner world is worth entering. That their ideas are safe with you. That play is something you do together, not something you supervise from the sidelines.

Playing with a toddler is not about being clever or endlessly creative on demand. It’s about being responsive. It’s about saying yes more than no, protecting the scene partner, and fully showing up for the story you’ve been handed—whether that story involves princesses, snowmen, or a couch that has suddenly become a boat.

And these rules don’t stop working once children outgrow pretend play. They just show up differently.

In classrooms with older students, “Yes, And” might sound like: “That’s an interesting idea—tell me more,” instead of, “That’s not what we’re doing right now.”

“Make Your Scene Partner Look Good” becomes setting students up for success in discussions, protecting their dignity when they’re wrong, and treating their contributions as worthy of attention.

And “Commit to the Bit” looks like staying present with the learner in front of you, not negating their lived experience, and letting their version of the problem matter before rushing to fix it.

Whether you’re with toddlers or older kiddos, the underlying work is the same: building trust, inviting participation, and co-creating a shared experience. The props change. The stakes get more complicated. But the improv rules still apply.

It turns out toddlers are excellent improv teachers. They insist on collaboration. They demand commitment. And they remind us that sometimes the most important rule isn’t about being right at all.

It’s about being in it, together.