The local playground has become my second living room, Indeed, given the frequency of our visits, it may well be better termed our first – I currently have clearer ideas for improving refurbishments for the playground than I do for our own home. All of which is to say, I realise now, as an adult, I must learn a new set of playground rules. Parents, who desire a relaxed time on their playground trips, take heed.

Other children will play with, and most likely remove to another part of the playground, your children’s toys. This is not something to be commented on or complained about. Your children will steal enough toys in return: quid pro quo. Just don’t bring anything very precious with you, in either financial or sentimental value – it could well be going home in the bottom of someone else’s pushchair.

Eating copious amounts sand has no obvious detrimental health impact on your child. Though tempting to vigorously discourage this – the thought of having all that dry sand in your mouth is positively horrifying – generally your efforts will lead only to hilarious guffaws from your child and do nothing to prevent them eating more sand two minutes later. Save your energy. My hope is that they will simply realise themselves that it really does not taste very nice.

Sand is not the only thing going in their mouths. Your children will steal large chunks of food from other children, most likely the cake and biscuits you don’t usually let them eat. They may also sit beside eating adults, piteously begging for whatever tasty morsel on which they are nibbling (a packet of crisps perhaps), giving the impression that you never feed them, neglectful mother that you are, whilst also putting you in the awkward position of having to say in a mildly disapproving voice that you don’t really like them to eat crisps yet. Said adult’s child is obviously tucking in happily nearby.

When not eating or stealing or being stolen from, your children will undertake great feats of daring, putting them into some sort of unimaginable danger : e.g. climbing up a very high slide backwards in their stocking feet; wrapping the metal chains of the swing around their necks; sitting beneath the bouncing pony and putting their hand in the great big metal spring, crawling inside the wooden boat through a gap barely big enough for a small child let alone an adult and sitting well beyond arms reach in the darkest, dankest corner where all the cast off cigarette butts must lie. If you have more than one child these sort of occurrences will inevitably happen simultaneously, both children at the furthest opposite edges of the playground. Not wanting to tempt fate, but these moments usually pass without real catastrophe, though they do train your reactions to royal marine speed, and make use of previously unknown Goliath strength and David cunning. Inspector Gadget looks untalented in comparison. Flexibility and a cool mind help.

When not rescuing your children from some frightful threat, you may find yourself seeking social contact with other parents, somehow and remarkably lounging at the side of the sandpit. This is not as straightforward as it sounds – some parents are looking to make friends, others are not. Beware the unsociable parent (this comes hard to me, for I am prone to chitter chatter) usually found with a book in hand (pretending to read because no one can really read calmly at the playground), or looking determinedly past the activities of other children, perhaps frowning when your child comes begging for one of their crisps. Don’t worry though, because there are usually lots of other much happier people who do want to lend you their cupcake and ice cream sand pit kit. You can make some very nice friends this way.

I have been toying for a while with a more profound idea about the mysteries of motherhood. Perhaps spending too much time at the playground lessens your ability for serious thought – brain cells being scuffed on the sand like the seat of your pretty summer trousers. When the weather turns and I spend less time wishing I had three sets of eyes, to watch both children and the adventures of our favourite red spotty ball, I will formulate some grander ideas. But then I will probably be busy thinking about wellington boots, jumping in puddles, throwing up handfuls of leaves and wondering when it is time to buy a sledge. Hey ho.

We lay such emphasis on a child learning to talk but spend little time thinking about the uncanny ability of babies and children to communicate before they have words. Last summer my granny described our babies’ early smiles as “their first attempt at communication with the world.” Though all that early crying is a communication of sorts, I suppose it is less like active communication and rather more like a noisy reaction to inner feelings of hunger or discomfort. The smile by contrast, engaging with people and inviting them in, seeks a response. 96-years-old, mother of four, grand and great grandmother to many more, my granny had a point – the smile is the first step in mastering the art and power of wordless communication.

These days, looking deeply into my children’s eyes, at their facial expressions, how they are holding their head or their hands, I can tell almost instantly how they are feeling – whether they would welcome being tossed up into the air, spun around the room, given a bite of tomato, sat down and read to, or being rocked gently like a little baby. If I don’t look intently enough, not paying their non-verbal communication the attention that it is due, I get it wrong. So they cry when put on the floor, brush aside the morsel of bread they’ve been handed, spit out the beaker spout in disgust. At times, this neglect is a matter of necessity – we have twins after all and I can’t always be looking intently into two pairs of eyes, nor constantly carry two bouncing 1 year olds in my arms. And we all get tired sometimes, and don’t really feel like fully engaging, verbally or non-verbally. But mostly, I get it right.

I am often struck when listening to parents or carers talking to small children (or old people for that matter) that their choice of words and tone of voice seems to disregard the child’s current emotional state. It is almost as if they have a blanket voice, intonation and set of phrases employed to talk to all children in almost all circumstances. Try this on an vocal adult, and likely he or she would be indignant; but when it comes to some little person who cannot yet form indignant words, it is easier to get away with this one-size-fits-all approach.

What a shame it is to miss these beautiful nuances of emotion conveyed through wide eyes, raised eyebrows, curling corners of lips, and wriggling fingers, expressing feelings words would only obfuscate. And, how much easier the child is to please when you realise their significance. But this is not just about understanding children: I don’t think we lose this power of wordless communication as adults; we just forget to pay it much attention. Perhaps a few hours observing one-year-olds could replace endless seminars on MBA programmes and markedly improve business results.

My little girl tipped her chin to her chest and peered up at me coquettishly through her long eyelashes. “Oh go on, Mummy” the look said. I melted inside and promptly scooped her up into my arms and threw her above my head over and over again until she roared with laughter. No words were exchanged, but what a lot we understood about each other.