Tiny Humans, Big Behaviors: When classroom design makes all the difference

Because our littlest learners aren't just learning their ABCs. They're learning how to do school.

From Behavior Specialist to TK Mom: A Full-Circle Moment

For years, I've walked into classrooms with a clipboard, an observation tool, and a mission: understand what's happening in the environment and identify opportunities to better support student behavior.

As a Board Certified Behavior Analyst (BCBA) and special education leader, I've conducted countless Functional Behavior Assessments (FBAs), supported teachers with classroom management, and helped schools build proactive systems of behavior support.

But this year, I'm experiencing education from an entirely different perspective.

I'm officially a TK mom.

My son is navigating his first year of school, learning routines, building friendships, managing transitions, and figuring out all the little things that come with being a student.

And while this experience has given me a whole new appreciation for early childhood education, there's something particularly special about his classroom.

I knew I wanted him in this classroom long before he ever stepped foot in it.

Here's why.

The Day I Couldn't Find a Single Recommendation

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to work alongside an extraordinary TK teacher, Ms. Sherman, while conducting two Functional Behavior Assessments in her classroom.

As part of the assessment process, I was using an environmental analysis tool developed by PENT (Positive Environments, Network of Trainers). The purpose was to collaboratively examine the classroom environment, identify potential barriers to student success, and make recommendations for strengthening Tier 1 practices.

If you've ever conducted an environmental analysis, you know there's almost always something to recommend.

Maybe it's increasing opportunities to respond, adjusting the classroom layout, adding visual supports, strengthening transitions, or embedding more movement throughout the day.

But as I worked through the tool with Jessica and her team, something unusual happened.

I couldn't find a single recommendation.

Not. One.

And I don't mean the classroom was simply cute, organized, or Pinterest-worthy.

I mean that every element of the environment was intentionally designed to support the developmental, sensory, behavioral, and instructional needs of four- and five-year-olds.

The lighting was soft and calming.

Floor dots and carpets created clear physical boundaries, supporting personal space and reducing conflict during transitions.

Learning centers were clearly labeled with visual cues indicating when they were open or closed.

There were not one, but two designated calm-down spaces where students could access regulation supports.

Movement was embedded throughout the day.

Students were allowed to stand, sit, wiggle, or take breaks without those needs being treated as misbehavior.

And perhaps my favorite detail?

Color-coded transition bracelets.

Such a simple, brilliant strategy.

Students had tangible, visual reminders of their assigned groups, making transitions more predictable and reducing the need for repeated verbal prompting.

Every detail had a purpose.

But what made this classroom exceptional went far beyond the physical environment.

It Wasn't Just the Environment. It Was the Teaching.

Over three days of observations, I witnessed some of the most intentional instructional practices I've seen in my career.

Ms. Shermans's lessons were filled with gestures, songs, rhythm, choral responding, and visual supports.

During one word work lesson, nearly every concept was paired with a gesture or rhythm, and students were given continuous opportunities to actively respond.

There was very little passive learning.

Students weren't simply sitting and listening. They were participating.

And as someone who spends a significant amount of time analyzing engagement and behavior, I couldn't help but notice the connection.

When we design instruction that keeps students actively engaged, we reduce many of the conditions that can contribute to challenging behavior.

Her classroom routines were equally impressive.

She continuously reviewed the daily schedule, identified what students had already completed, previewed upcoming activities, and had students repeat expectations back to her.

Expectations weren't assumed.

They were explicitly taught, practiced, reviewed, and reinforced.

And when students struggled?

She responded calmly, privately, and respectfully.

Rather than relying on "no" or "stop," she redirected students toward what they could do.

She provided choices, set clear limits, and maintained student dignity.

She had mastered something that can be incredibly challenging in early childhood classrooms: meeting individual student needs without disrupting the learning experience for everyone else.

Wild About Expectations: When Classroom Rules Come to Life 🦒🐢🦙

One of my absolute favorite things about her classroom is how she teaches behavioral expectations.

Let's be clear. Four-year-olds aren't necessarily going to remember a list of classroom rules posted on the wall, especially when they're excited, overwhelmed, or navigating a challenging transition.

But you know what they can remember?

Animals.

The students are affectionately known as the Little Llamas, and their classroom expectations come to life through animal characters, movement, and playful language.

In her classroom:

• 🦒 We're tall like giraffes! We raise our hands when we want to share.

• 🐢 We're slow like turtles! We use walking feet to move safely around the classroom.

• 🦙 No drama llama! We practice staying calm and navigating big feelings.

• 🐒 We're kind monkeys! We use kind words and keep our hands to ourselves.

• 🦛 We're gentle hippos! We use gentle hands when exploring and using learning materials.

• 🐟 We're little fish! We practice using quiet voices when appropriate.

It's playful. It's memorable. And most importantly, it's developmentally appropriate.

Rather than repeatedly telling students what not to do, she has created a shared language that communicates what successful behavior looks like.

And she's made those expectations something students can see, hear, say, imitate, and practice.

Think about the difference between telling a four-year-old, "Stop running!" and gently reminding them, "Show me your turtle feet!"

One focuses on stopping an unwanted behavior. The other cues a skill that has already been explicitly taught.

As a BCBA, I see so many evidence-based behavioral principles embedded in this simple approach: explicit instruction, modeling, pre-correction, visual supports, repeated practice, and positive reinforcement.

As a mom, I love that my son is learning classroom expectations through imagination, movement, and joy.

And here's what makes this even more meaningful.

Ms. Sherman isn't simply making rules cute. She's making them accessible.

She's taking abstract concepts such as self-control, personal space, respectful communication, and responsibility and translating them into concrete, observable behaviors that young children can understand.

The animal language becomes part of the classroom culture. Students hear it during

instruction, practice it during routines, and receive feedback when they demonstrate those expectations.

Of course, a catchy phrase alone doesn't teach a skill. What makes this approach effective is the intentional instruction, modeling, practice, and reinforcement that accompany it.

This is what strong Tier 1 behavior support can look like in early childhood education.

Not a complicated behavior management system.

Not an endless collection of rules.

Just a teacher who understands that our youngest learners need expectations to be explicitly taught in ways that match how they learn best.

And sometimes, that means teaching a room full of Little Llamas to walk like turtles, raise their hands like giraffes, and use gentle hippo hands.

Because when expectations are engaging, concrete, and consistently taught, we're not just managing classroom behavior.

We're teaching children the skills they need to be successful.

When the Student Becomes the Teacher

And perhaps the coolest part of this entire experience?

Watching my own son come home and teach me his classroom expectations.

He doesn't just tell me the rules. He excitedly names the different animals, explains what each one represents, and demonstrates the movements and actions Jessica has taught them.

He's not simply repeating something he heard at school. He's showing me what he's learned, making connections, and practicing skills that extend beyond the classroom.

As a BCBA, I recognize the power of explicit instruction, modeling, movement, and repeated practice in helping young children acquire and remember new skills.

But as a mom?

There's nothing cooler than watching your four-year-old proudly become the teacher.

And that's when you know the learning is sticking.

The expectations aren't just posters on a classroom wall. They've become meaningful skills

that my son can remember, demonstrate, and share outside of school.

That's the magic of developmentally appropriate instruction. When we teach in ways that make sense to little learners, the learning follows them home.

Two Students, Different Functions, One Thoughtfully Designed Classroom

Remember, I wasn't there simply to admire the classroom.

I was conducting two FBAs.

One student demonstrated behavior maintained by automatic reinforcement related to movement and sensory input.

The other demonstrated behavior primarily maintained by escape from demands.

Two different behavioral functions requiring different supports.

Yet she was already implementing many of the proactive strategies we would typically recommend.

For the student seeking movement, she provided developmentally appropriate opportunities for physical activity, flexible positioning, and appropriate ways to access movement.

For the student engaging in escape-maintained behavior, she used individualized schedules, first-then visuals, choices, and explicit teaching of replacement language.

She wasn't waiting for challenging behavior to occur before intervening.

She was teaching students how to communicate their needs, navigate expectations, and access support appropriately.

And she was collecting data to help inform her decisions.

This is what function-based intervention should look like.

Not simply reducing behavior, but understanding why it occurs and teaching meaningful, appropriate alternatives.

Strong Tier 1 practices don't eliminate the need for individualized interventions. They create a foundation that makes those interventions more effective.

The Email That Turned Into a Mission

After spending three days observing in Ms. Sherman's classroom, I felt compelled to write her an email.

Not a quick thank-you.

A full commendation detailing everything I had observed, from her classroom layout and instructional practices to her behavior supports and collaboration with her classroom team.

I wrote:

"I truly wish every teacher in the district could visit your classroom to see what's possible when we design with intention and empathy."

And then, toward the end, I added something that felt like a passing comment at the time:

"My own child will be entering TK next year, and I can honestly say I'd be thrilled for him to be in your classroom."

At the time, it was partly a joke.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I wasn't joking at all.

After years of supporting teachers, observing classrooms, and advocating for developmentally appropriate, evidence-based practices, I had found the exact kind of environment I wanted for my own child.

So I made it my mission.

And now?

My son is in her classroom.

I get to see him thrive in the very environment I once walked into as a behavior specialist.

It's one thing to recognize exceptional teaching professionally.

It's another to experience the impact of that teaching as a parent.

And that full-circle moment has reinforced everything I believe about early childhood education.

Tiny Humans Are Learning How to Do School

Here's what I think we sometimes forget about TK.

These are three- four- and five-year-olds.

For many, this is their first experience in a structured school setting.

We're asking them to separate from caregivers, follow group instructions, share materials, wait their turn, navigate friendships, transition away from preferred activities, and regulate their emotions.

And somehow, we're also expecting them to learn letters, numbers, and foundational academic skills.

That's a lot for a tiny human.

Yet when a student struggles to sit during circle time, clean up a favorite activity, or wait in line, we sometimes jump straight to behavior management.

What if we shifted the question?

Instead of asking, "How do we get this student to comply?"

What if we asked, "Have we explicitly taught this expectation, and have we designed the environment to make success possible?"

Because routines, procedures, communication, waiting, transitioning, and self-regulation are all skills.

And skills require instruction.

Five Things Every TK Classroom Can Learn From This Experience

1. Design for movement, not stillness.

Young children need movement. Build opportunities for movement into instruction, transitions, and classroom routines rather than expecting students to remain seated for extended periods.

2. Make expectations visible.

Visual schedules, floor markers, labeled centers, first-then supports, and physical transition cues reduce the need for constant verbal reminders and help students become more independent.

3. Teach regulation before dysregulation.

Calm-down spaces are most effective when students are explicitly taught how to use them. Practice regulation strategies during calm moments and provide adult co-regulation when needed.

4. Teach what to do instead.

Whether a student is seeking movement, escaping a difficult task, or accessing attention, identify the function of behavior and teach an appropriate replacement skill that serves the same purpose.

5. Make routines and expectations part of the curriculum.

Classroom expectations aren't simply rules to follow. They're skills to teach. Use visuals, playful language, movement, modeling, and repeated practice to make abstract expectations concrete and meaningful for young learners.

Jessica's animal-themed expectations are a perfect example of how behavioral instruction can become an engaging part of classroom culture.

What Becoming a TK Parent Has Taught Me

I've spent my career advocating for proactive, preventative, function-based behavior support.

But becoming a TK parent has made those principles personal.

I now get to experience the excitement of hearing about new friendships, watching my son become more independent, and seeing how much confidence can grow when a child feels safe and supported at school.

I also have a deeper appreciation for the trust families place in educators.

We're not just trusting teachers to deliver instruction.

We're trusting them to help our children navigate one of their first experiences outside the comfort of home.

And I couldn't be more grateful that my son's first school experience is with a teacher who understands that.

Years ago, I walked into a classroom looking for opportunities to strengthen the environment for two students.

Instead, I walked away having witnessed a model of what exceptional Tier 1 classroom practices can look like.

Today, I get to watch my own child benefit from that same intentionality.

And that might be my favorite outcome of any classroom observation I've ever conducted.

For my fellow educators: If you walked into your classroom tomorrow with an environmental analysis tool, what would you notice? What small environmental changes could make a big difference for your littlest learners?