Where To Buy 'Hands Are Not For Hitting' Board Book?

'Hands Are Not for Hitting' is a brilliant tool for teaching kids about kindness and self-control. It uses simple, relatable scenarios to show how hands can do wonderful things—like drawing, hugging, or helping—instead of hurting others. The book’s repetitive, rhythmic phrasing makes it easy for young minds to grasp, almost like a gentle mantra. Bright illustrations reinforce the message, showing diverse children using their hands positively, from sharing toys to comforting a friend. The genius lies in its non-preachy approach. Instead of scolding, it celebrates the good hands can do, making kids eager to emulate those actions. It also introduces the idea of emotions, acknowledging that feeling angry is okay but hitting isn’t the solution. By linking actions to consequences—like a sad friend or a broken toy—it builds empathy naturally. Parents can use the book as a springboard for discussions, turning storytime into a lesson about respect and emotional intelligence.

'Hands Are Not for Hitting' is a gem for toddlers and preschoolers, roughly ages 2 to 5. At this stage, kids are just learning how to navigate their emotions and social interactions. The book’s simple, repetitive language and vibrant illustrations make it easy for little ones to grasp the idea that hands should be used for kindness—like hugging or sharing—not hitting. It’s a foundational lesson in emotional regulation, delivered in a way that feels more like a fun story than a lecture. Parents and educators love it because it sparks conversations about empathy and boundaries without feeling heavy-handed. What sets it apart is its practicality. The book doesn’t just say "don’t hit"; it offers alternatives, like clapping or drawing, which resonate with kids who are still developing impulse control. It’s also short enough to hold their attention spans, making it perfect for bedtime or circle time. While older kids might find it too basic, for the diaper-and-pacifier crowd, it’s spot-on.

'Hands Are Not for Hitting' isn't just a book—it's a toolkit for parents and educators. The interactive activities are its backbone, designed to engage kids while teaching empathy. Simple role-playing exercises help children practice gentle touch, while discussion prompts encourage them to verbalize feelings instead of acting out. My niece adored the "high-five vs. hug" game, where she learned to channel energy positively. The book even includes drawing sections where kids illustrate kind gestures, reinforcing lessons through creativity. These aren’t add-ons; they’re woven into the narrative, making social-emotional learning feel like play. What stands out is how activities adapt to different ages. Toddlers might mimic animal movements to understand gentleness, while older kids tackle scenario cards ("What if someone grabs your toy?"). The physical book often includes tear-out pages for group sessions—perfect for classrooms. It transforms abstract concepts like respect into tangible actions, proving that interactive elements can make profound ideas stick.

Absolutely, 'Hands Are Not for Hitting' is a gem for toddlers struggling with aggression. The book’s brilliance lies in its simplicity—vibrant illustrations and straightforward language teach kids that hands can hug, share, or create, not harm. It doesn’t preach but shows alternatives through relatable scenarios, like a child frustrated with a toy or grabbing a snack. The rhythmic text sticks in their minds, making the lesson feel natural, not forced. What sets it apart is its focus on empathy; it doesn’t just say “don’t hit” but explains how hitting hurts others, fostering emotional awareness early. I’ve seen kids cling to its pages, repeating the mantras like “Hands are for helping!”—proof it resonates. Pair it with gentle redirection in real-life moments, and it’s a powerful tool for shaping kinder behavior. Some critics argue it’s too basic for severe aggression, but that misses the point. Toddlers learn through repetition and visual cues, and this book delivers both. It’s a springboard for parents to discuss feelings, making it more than a story—it’s a conversation starter. The inclusion of diverse characters also subtly teaches inclusivity, another layer of its charm. For a toddler’s short attention span, its length is perfect, ending before boredom kicks in. It’s not a magic fix, but combined with patience, it’s one of the best resources out there.

'Hands Are Not for Hitting' is a brilliant tool for parents navigating the stormy seas of toddler tantrums. The book’s simple, repetitive messaging—paired with vibrant illustrations—teaches kids that hands are for helping, hugging, and playing, not hitting. It doesn’t just scold; it offers alternatives, which is key for toddlers who lack emotional regulation skills. The real magic lies in its consistency. Reading it daily reinforces positive behavior, making tantrums less about defiance and more about missed communication. What sets it apart is its gentle approach. Instead of shouting 'stop,' it shows what to do instead, like clapping or squeezing a toy. It’s not a cure-all—no book is—but it plants seeds of empathy early. Combine it with patience and real-world practice (like guiding their hands during a meltdown), and you’ll see fewer outbursts over time. It’s like giving toddlers a roadmap for their big feelings.

I've been diving into 'On Our Best Behavior' recently, and the author, Elise Loehnen, really stands out with her approach to self-help and personal growth. Her background as a co-host of the 'Goop' podcast and former chief content officer at Goop gives her a unique perspective on modern wellness culture. Loehnen's writing in this book feels like a conversation with a wise friend who's done the work herself—she blends research, personal anecdotes, and practical advice seamlessly. The way she challenges societal expectations around being 'good' is particularly refreshing. She doesn't just regurgitate tired self-help tropes but instead offers fresh insights into how these pressures shape women's lives. What I appreciate most is how she balances depth with accessibility—her chapters on perfectionism and people-pleasing hit hard but never feel preachy. Loehnen's voice carries authority without being intimidating, making complex psychological concepts feel relatable. Her earlier work on 'The Goop Podcast' clearly influenced this book's tone—it's smart but never academic, provocative but never sensationalist. Digging deeper into her career, it's clear Loehnen has been building toward this book for years. Before 'On Our Best Behavior,' she co-authored several books with Gwyneth Paltrow, which shows in her polished, engaging prose style. Unlike many wellness authors who focus solely on individual transformation, Loehnen consistently ties personal growth to broader cultural systems. This systems-thinking approach makes her work stand out in the crowded self-help space. Her ability to connect personal behaviors to societal structures gives 'On Our Best Behavior' an intellectual heft that's rare for the genre. The book's success proves there's an appetite for wellness content that doesn't oversimplify complex issues—a testament to Loehnen's skill as both a writer and cultural commentator.

I recently finished 'On Our Best Behavior' and that ending hit me like a tidal wave—equal parts heartbreaking and cathartic. The story wraps up with the protagonist, after months of battling societal expectations and her own insecurities, finally tearing off the mask of perfection she’s worn for years. The climax isn’t some grand confrontation with a villain, but a quiet, brutal moment where she admits to her partner that she’s exhausted from pretending. The raw honesty in that scene—how her voice cracks when she says, 'I don’t want to be good anymore'—left me clutching my pillow at 2 AM. From there, the resolution is messy but real. She doesn’t magically fix her life overnight. Instead, we see her slowly dismantling the toxic routines she’d built: canceling that soul-crushing gym membership, letting her kid eat cereal for dinner without guilt, and—most powerfully—apologizing to the friend she’d alienated by judging her 'lazy' parenting. The last chapter shows her sitting on her porch at dawn, unbrushed hair and all, watching squirrels raid the bird feeder she never refills anymore. It’s not a 'happily ever after,' but that’s the point. The book ends with her finally understanding that 'best behavior' was never about being kind or happy—it was about control. And letting go of that? Best damn decision she ever made. What makes the ending linger is how it mirrors real struggles. There’s no dramatic job change or sudden weight loss to symbolize growth—just small, daily rebellions against the invisible rules that choked her. The author leaves breadcrumbs for readers too: that unfinished laundry pile? It’s framed like a victory flag. The way she laughs at her own mistakes now, instead of panicking? That’s the real climax. I finished the book feeling like I’d been handed permission to drop the act in my own life. And honestly? That’s more powerful than any fairytale ending.

I’ve been knee-deep in romance novels for years, and 'On Our Best Behavior' caught my attention because it’s got that rare mix of wit and emotional depth. From what I’ve gathered, it’s a standalone novel—no sequels, no prequels, just a complete story wrapped in one gorgeous package. The author has this knack for crafting self-contained worlds where every character arc feels satisfyingly resolved by the final page. That said, I’d kill for a spin-off about the protagonist’s chaotic best friend; her backstory practically begs for its own book. What makes 'On Our Best Behavior' stand out is how it avoids the usual series traps. There’s no cliffhanger baiting you for a sequel, no loose threads left dangling. Instead, it dives headfirst into themes like self-discovery and vulnerability, with a romance that burns slow and bright. The lack of a series might disappoint some, but honestly? It’s refreshing to see a story that trusts itself to be enough. The author’s other works share a similar vibe—think of them as spiritual siblings rather than direct continuations. If you’re craving more after finishing, I’d recommend their earlier novel 'The Art of Falling Apart,' which has the same sharp dialogue and messy, lovable characters. Now, here’s a fun tidbit: the title’s actually a cheeky nod to the protagonist’s struggle with perfectionism. She spends the entire book unlearning the idea that love requires performance, and the standalone nature reinforces that. No follow-up means no pressure to ‘keep up appearances’ in a sequel. It’s a bold choice, but it works. The book’s ending wraps up so neatly that adding more might feel forced. Plus, the author’s style thrives in these one-shot stories—they pack a punch without overstaying their welcome. If you’re into rom-coms with heart and zero commitment, this is your match.