My 2024 Elementary Classes: What I’m Doing Differently This Year To Support Anxious And Wiggly Kids
The first Monday of September, I spilled iced coffee all over my lesson plans 10 minutes before the first bell rang. I was mopping it up with a crumpled paper towel when Mia showed up, clutching her mom’s hand so hard her knuckles were white, her dinosaur backpack pulled so far over her face I could only see the tips of her scuffed white sneakers. Last year, I would’ve jumped straight into my cheery “welcome to our class” script, offered her a sparkly unicorn sticker, and gently pried her away from her mom to get the day started on schedule. This year, I didn’t.
I leaned down against the classroom doorframe, wiped coffee off my jeans, and said, “That backpack looks really cozy. Can I sit here with you while you decide if you want to come in? Your mom can wait too, if that helps.” We stood there for five minutes, just quiet, while a few other kids waved to their parents and filtered in past us. Then Mia peeked one eye out from under the backpack flap and said her dinosaur’s name was Rex. She walked in on her own two feet after that.
I’ve taught third grade for seven years, and this year my classes look nothing like they did even 12 months ago. I have a 28-student general ed class in the morning, and a small 8-student reading intervention group in the afternoon. Last year, half my kids spent more time out of my room, visiting the counselor or sitting in the office for behavior issues, than they did at their desks. I spent most nights replaying my days, wondering what I was doing wrong—was I too lenient? Were my lessons boring enough that kids checked out? Over the summer, I spent a week shadowing our school’s occupational therapist just to see how she worked with the kids I struggled to reach, and one line she said stuck with me: most kids don’t break rules because they want to. They break them because the room you built doesn’t fit their body or their brain.
That line shaped every choice I made for my classes this year. I didn’t spend hundreds of dollars on new bulletin board decor or fancy workbooks. I just made small, free changes to how our days work.
The biggest change is no permanent assigned seats. I have three types of work spots: traditional desk chairs, thick floor cushions that lean against the back wall, and three standing desks I made out of stacked wooden crates I picked up from the teacher lounge’s free pile. Kids pick where they want to sit every single morning when they walk in. The first week, I thought I’d made a huge mistake: Javi picked a new spot every single day, Lila refused to sit anywhere but the floor, and two kids tried to sit by the window to talk the whole first day. But by week two, most kids settled into a default spot that works for them, and they only switch when they need to. Last Tuesday, Javi told me he needed to stand that day because he’d stayed up late watching his little sister’s soccer game, and his legs felt too wiggly to sit. That’s a skill I never would’ve helped him build if I’d forced him to sit in the same spot every day. For parents at home, this translates easily: let your kid do homework standing at the kitchen counter, or curled up on the couch, instead of insisting they sit at a proper desk. It doesn’t matter where they work, it matters that they can focus.
I also added a 10-minute unstructured brain reset break halfway through morning work, right before math. We don’t do organized games or PE activities. I just open the door to the small concrete courtyard outside my room, and kids can do whatever they want: draw with chalk, walk laps, sit and talk, pick dandelions, whatever. No screens, just one rule: stay where I can see you. Last year, I would’ve thought cutting 10 minutes out of instructional time would set us behind. But this month, we finished our first full reading unit a full week earlier than we did last year, because we don’t spend 15 minutes every hour reining in distracted wiggly kids. Last week, I caught the two boys who got in a fight over a blue crayon the day before sitting on the curb trading Pokemon cards, no adult step-in needed.
For my afternoon small intervention group, the biggest change was letting kids pick any book they wanted for daily independent reading, no level requirements. Last year, I made every kid stick to books that matched their assessed reading level, and half of them wouldn’t read for more than three minutes before getting distracted. This year, Ty only reads Lego Jurassic Park comic books, which are technically two levels below where his assessment says he should be. But he reads for 20 straight minutes every day, sounding out words he doesn’t know because he wants to find out what happens next. Seven out of my eight small group kids hit their 20-minute reading goal every day this month, which is more than all of them did the entire first semester last year. The practical takeaway for parents here is simple: if your kid is struggling with reading, let them read whatever holds their attention—comics, instruction manuals for their favorite video game, even the back of a cereal box. Building the habit of enjoying reading matters more than reading the “right” book.
I also adjusted drop-off routines for the first month of school, letting any kid who needs it take five minutes to settle by the door before coming in, instead of pushing for quick goodbyes. A lot of parenting and teaching advice says lingering makes separation anxiety worse, but I’ve had three kids this year who just needed that extra time to adjust, instead of being pulled away upset and spending the next hour too upset to learn.
There are still hard days. Last Friday, we had a substitute, and the whole routine fell apart, three kids ended up in the office. Mia still has mornings where she holds her mom’s hand for 10 minutes before she’s ready to come in. I don’t know if these changes will show up as higher test scores at the end of the year, and I don’t know if everything will still work in May when everyone’s sick of school and ready for summer. But right now, at the end of most days, I leave school less tired than I did last year, and more kids leave smiling than not. That’s enough for this year.
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