I rarely sit when I teach. And by rarely, I mean almost never. (Exception: 9 months pregnant with swollen feet and cankles.) There are several reasons for staying on my feet:
1. I incorporate some kind of locomotor movement into almost every activity.
2. We change places and positions a lot.
3. Proximity is the easiest way to prevent bad behavior.
4. I once missed my chair, falling hard on my butt.
It was nearing the end of my first year - May, I think. It's common knowledge that by the time May rolls around, we teachers are spent. And spent, I was. I needed summer break and a margarita, but in the few remaining weeks of school I settled for simply sitting down occasionally. I was teaching a Kindergarten class at the very end of the day in my hot classroom full of sleepy little 5 year-olds when I heard the comfy rolling chair calling my name. I rolled it to the front of the classroom and took a seat as I continued with my lesson. Because of reasons 1 and 2 listed above, I was in and out of the chair every few minutes. Being as it was, a chair with wheels and all, it moved just a little every time I stood up or sat down. Until the time that it moveda lot.
Even though it has been five years, I still feel that moment in slow motion - my butt grazing the edge of the chair, pushing it dramatically backward and far out of my reach. My rhythm sticks falling to the floor as I made an unsuccessful attempt to catch myself with my hands. My butt hitting the concrete hard enough that the wind was knocked out of me. And then, the laughter - I could not control myself. I kept picturing the fall and snorted (yes, I literally laughed myself into a snorting fit) as I imagined how ridiculous the whole thing must have looked. I figured my Kindergarteners would have the same reaction, but I looked up to find a row of serious faces and a sweet little boy running to my side. He put one arm on my shoulder and looked me right in the eyes as he asked if I was okay. I sputtered through laughter, "Thank you Matthew. Yes, I'm fine." Upon hearing that I was unharmed, the whole class lost it. We laughed so hard and for so long that several of us were crying. Every time I managed to compose myself and attempt to move the lesson forward, the moment would replay itself in my head, starting the chain of laughter all over again. Obviously, we accomplished nothing for the remainder of class.
So, these days, on the rare occasion that I choose to sit, I park my rear on the floor. Criss cross applesauce, for safety.
1. I incorporate some kind of locomotor movement into almost every activity.
2. We change places and positions a lot.
3. Proximity is the easiest way to prevent bad behavior.
4. I once missed my chair, falling hard on my butt.
It was nearing the end of my first year - May, I think. It's common knowledge that by the time May rolls around, we teachers are spent. And spent, I was. I needed summer break and a margarita, but in the few remaining weeks of school I settled for simply sitting down occasionally. I was teaching a Kindergarten class at the very end of the day in my hot classroom full of sleepy little 5 year-olds when I heard the comfy rolling chair calling my name. I rolled it to the front of the classroom and took a seat as I continued with my lesson. Because of reasons 1 and 2 listed above, I was in and out of the chair every few minutes. Being as it was, a chair with wheels and all, it moved just a little every time I stood up or sat down. Until the time that it moveda lot.
Even though it has been five years, I still feel that moment in slow motion - my butt grazing the edge of the chair, pushing it dramatically backward and far out of my reach. My rhythm sticks falling to the floor as I made an unsuccessful attempt to catch myself with my hands. My butt hitting the concrete hard enough that the wind was knocked out of me. And then, the laughter - I could not control myself. I kept picturing the fall and snorted (yes, I literally laughed myself into a snorting fit) as I imagined how ridiculous the whole thing must have looked. I figured my Kindergarteners would have the same reaction, but I looked up to find a row of serious faces and a sweet little boy running to my side. He put one arm on my shoulder and looked me right in the eyes as he asked if I was okay. I sputtered through laughter, "Thank you Matthew. Yes, I'm fine." Upon hearing that I was unharmed, the whole class lost it. We laughed so hard and for so long that several of us were crying. Every time I managed to compose myself and attempt to move the lesson forward, the moment would replay itself in my head, starting the chain of laughter all over again. Obviously, we accomplished nothing for the remainder of class.
So, these days, on the rare occasion that I choose to sit, I park my rear on the floor. Criss cross applesauce, for safety.