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Tomorrow is the first parent-teacher conference of Charlotte’s Kindergarten year. As per usual, the closer we get to the time, the more my anxiety ramps up. This is not an IEP review, just a regular conference, although I think maybe the inclusion teacher will be there too.
It reminds me of my pregnancies when, as the time drew closer and closer to that monthly appointment, I was convinced we’d go in and the doctor wouldn’t be able to find the heartbeat. Such a relief every time I heard that whoosh whoosh.
While I know that everyone is generally pleased with how Charlotte is doing, the comments always center on her acclimating to the environment, following instructions, handling change in the routine, etc. Every day the communication notebook says she had a great day.
What I don’t know is whether she’s learning anything. Or, more accurately, if what she’s learning is sinking in.
It will be interesting to see what her work looks like, and how it compares to the work she did in preschool. If you remember, in preschool the teacher said that Charlotte was unable to complete any work. We hypothesized it was because of the chaos of the room.
I am still concerned that the environment is too busy for Charlotte. When I volunteered this week, I had a chance to observe her in action. During a time the teacher was giving group instruction, she was busy watching another kid who was acting silly. Her eyes were not the least bit focused on her teacher.
I’ve also noticed that Charlotte always knows what centers all the other kids did each day. She will tell me what she did, but also what centers other kids did. And if I ask about a specific kid, she knows. I know she has a great eye for detail and a strong memory, but I’m wondering if she’s paying more attention to the kids in her class than the work.
And then I wonder, is that even anything to worry about? Maybe lots of kids are really tuned into what the other kids are doing. How am I supposed to know what is normal and what isn’t?
So I wait. We’ll see what the teacher tells us at the conference tomorrow. We’ll watch to see if there’s progress made over time. Meanwhile I’ll explore other learning environments to see if there’s one that might be a better fit for my special girl.
Sarah
Tomorrow begins Sarah’s 3rd week of (2 year old) preschool. Her adaptation has been up and down, but mostly up. Of course the first day she cried, both at drop off and pick up. The 2nd day, drop off only.
Apparently she stops crying seconds (seconds!) after I leave, but she does like to put on a good show. The first day, when I picked her up and she was crying, I asked, “But did you have fun?”
Amidst her tears, she got a big smile on her face and nodded. Then quickly remembered she was supposed be upset, and the frown came back and she shook her head. She threw in a little “Wah” too … for effect.
The 3rd day, no tears!! Woo hoo. Fourth day tears at drop off again. I blame another kid who standing right by the door crying his eyes out. Note to teachers: move the criers away from the door!
Tomorrow is Picture Day. Negotiations about what she’s going to wear are currently stalled. She’s locked in on “naked” and I’m not budging on “anything but naked.”
I don’t know what she’s learning at school, as she’s not very forthcoming other than she ate her snack and played outside. I do know she gets to do a lot of crafts, which is, honestly, one of the main reasons I wanted her to go to preschool, even at only 2 years old. An arts & crafts Mama I am not, my poor children suffer.
All in all, Sarah and preschool has been a good, good thing.
Charlotte
Kindergarten has presented a lot of new material for scripting. Although she is at the same school where she did preschool, the speakers were turned off in the preschool rooms, so those kids didn’t hear the intercom announcements.
Kindergartners, however, hear all the announcements.
Lately I’ve been summoned this way:
“Mommy, please report to the gym.”
Yesterday I was told to go to the potty center, while Sarah was sent to the breakfast center, and she took herself to the play center.
Centers were just introduced last week and apparently Charlotte has it down pat, at least to hear her talk. She knows who went to each center each day, and apparently she makes predictions about who’s going where the next day.
Mostly that prediction involves who isn’t going to the computer center (everyone else) and who is (her). Apparently computer center is very, very popular (shocker).
Charlotte is continuing to show us really, really (and I mean really) great spontaneous language every day. Today she wanted to wear a bright orange dress. I hesitated because I wasn’t sure if it would be warm enough.
She said, “But look at all the colorful flowers in my dress. It’s my favorite.”
Every day we sit back and think: “Whoa. I can’t believe she just said that.”
Other times, though, it’s the old Charlotte. Like when she dismisses me from the playroom because it’s time for the car riders to go.
It may be scripting, but it’s darn hilarious.
All in all, Charlotte and Kindergarten has been a good thing.
It seems like everything in my life lately is a trade off of one sort or another. It feels impossible to have everything that I want. So I prioritize and make lists of what is most important right now, while keeping the long term view in mind, and act accordingly.
There are the big trade offs (like staying home vs working and earning an income and therefore contributing to retirement and long-term savings), and the little trade offs (lots of driving this year so that Sarah can attend preschool and I get some quality time alone with Charlotte).
Have I told you about my quality time with Charlotte? Sarah is in morning preschool 2 days a week, opposite of Charlotte’s afternoon Kindergarten. Those 2 days I feel like I spend half my day in the car, but I get 2 mornings a week of just me and Charlotte. We are both loving it. She moves her booster seat up from the 3rd row in the back so she can sit nearer to me. She has me turn the CD player off so we can talk. I knew that it would mean a lot more time on the road, but the trade off for the quality time with Charlotte (which we haven’t had since Sarah’s arrival) makes the driving worth it (sorry, environment).
There are the complicated trade offs (special diet which means more work for me and less convenience opportunities, but results in a girl who is lots of ways different than before the special diet).
My favorite kind of trade off is the pleasant one like where Sarah now takes an afternoon nap while Charlotte is at school. I used to like her non-napping ways because she always went to bed earlier. She’s up later now, but I get 1 to 1 1/2 hours to myself each afternoon … heaven.
Then there is the trade off that is outside the sphere of my control. Charlotte is doing awesome at school. Awesome. She is far exceeding my expectations in every way. I had a brief meeting with her team at school and the net take-away from them is that Charlotte does not stand out as different from her classmates. Every day her communication notebook says that she had another great day.
Awesome!
So what’s the trade off, you ask?
Home, not so good. Defiance is rearing its ugly head. I hear from my friends of same-aged kids that this is what they are experiencing too. Arguing. Lots of it.
“W-w-w-w-w-wait!!”
“No no no no no no no no NO!” (Apparently the louder this is said, the more effective she thinks it will be.)
“Mommy, stop talking! Close your mouth! I am talking now!” (Add a little sass in with the defiance.)
“Mommy, if you tell me no I am going to get angry and big upset.” (Thanks for the warning, kid, but the answer is still no.)
You know how we parents posit that our kids have tantrums because they don’t have the words to express themselves. It’s true!
Now that she’s clicking with using words to express her frustration and/or anger, the tantrums are slowing down. It actually works when I say, “Charlotte you don’t have to kick and scream and throw yourself on the floor if you don’t want to do something, you can just tell me. Use your words.”
(Believe me, we still have our fair share of tantrums, especially when she doesn’t like the answer I give her, but we’re working on it.)
But! She’s doing awesome at school. Last year she just WAS at school. Not great, not bad. Just there. Never fully engaged with the class or teachers. At home, things were a thousand times better. Why can’t they see what we see? we’d lament.
That has flipped and she is present and engaged and learning at school. Yay! The trade off has been a kid who is far more challenging to handle at home. But that’s okay. Far better we work those things out here than with a behavioral intervention plan at school.
Trade offs. Some good, some great. Some difficult. Fortunately, they are proving to be worth it.
As promised in Part 1, much, much shorter. A good sign!
Her special ed teacher, Big Charlotte, (henceforth known as BigC) called me after school and reported that she had a Very Good Day. She participated with the group. She listened. She did cry a few times, but calmed down relatively quickly each time.
BigC was telling Charlotte to take some deep breaths and Charlotte told her, “I already took deep breaths and I still feel sad! Waaaaah!”
She got right on the bus at end of the day, without complaint, and was all smiles when the bus pulled up.
I didn’t pump her too much for info when she got home, which was a good thing because she was not the least bit forthcoming anyway.
Eventually she did tell me that her favorite part about Kindergarten was riding in the van to school. Oh joy.
I’m just glad to hear that she had a very good first day. Let’s hope that’s the start of a trend.
The morning started out as usual. Charlotte wanted to wear her Belle dress, but she graciously agreed to a set time to change into school clothes, and change she did.
We made it through lunch, the fixing of hair, and the brushing of teeth – though not without complaint.
I had decided that before we head to the bus, we would read books as a way of preparing for the transition. Better that than me dragging her away from her toys and demanding she come now! so we can catch the bus.
Charlotte had said several times this morning that she didn’t want to ride the bus. Last year she only rode the bus home from preschool, not TO preschool. No amount of stories or bribery could get that girl on the bus to school.
Each time I declared that she was indeed going to have to ride the bus to school, she declared that she would not. “I want to ride in the van to school, Mommy, you can drive me.”
Eventually the tears came and she cried that she didn’t want to go to Kindergarten at all. This I knew was not true. It’s just the bus. She agreed to at least WALK to the bus stop, look at the bus, but if she truly didn’t want to ride the bus, I would drive her.
Maybe this is a mistake. I don’t know. My gentle brand of parenting is not comfortable forcing my child to do something she is adamantly, and quite articulately, against. No matter if the reasons are sensory-based fear or plain stubbornness – the feelings are there. They’re real.
So we walked to the bus.
Gleefully heading to the bus stop.
And waited for the bus.
Sarah had her backpack, too, just in case she was needed in Kindergarten.
And waited…
Close up studying of stop sign. Hey learnin' already!
And explored…
"Let's put grass in your backpack, Charlotte." (real quote)
And were bored…
The sun is so bright, so bright. My eyes, my eyes. (Not a real quote.)
And even rested a bit.
At least she was on the curb and not the middle of the street.
Finally the bus arrived – a full 30 minutes late!
There it is!
But where is Charlotte?
Oh, THERE she is!
And down there too, almost back to our house, and saying Hello to the minivan.
She did come back and say “Hi” to the bus driver, so that’s something, right?
And then I drove her to school
Drop off in the classroom was superb. She skipped down the hall, excited to get to Mrs. S’s room. Walked right in and said Hi to her and immediately hung up her backpack (without being asked) where she saw all the other kids backpacks hanging.
The special ed teacher came in then. “I’ve been looking for you, Charlotte!”
Charlotte says, “I’ve been looking for you, too, Big Charlotte.” Yes, the special ed teacher’s name is Charlotte, and my Charlotte has dubbed her Big Charlotte (although she is far from big). No matter how many times I told her that she was to call her Mrs. _____, she, well, she did not.
Charlotte said she will ride the bus home, “Oh yes, I will ride it home.” And the spec ed teacher assures me she will personally see to her getting on the bus.
And so began Kindergarten.
Hopefully, my Part 2 of this story will be much, much shorter.
Summer is officially winding down. How do I know this to be true?
Because my children are officially driving each other (and me) a little crazy. We desperately need to get back on a regular schedule and routine of some sort. Any sort.
And I’m hoping there is some truth to the old saying about absence making the heart grow fonder. Between them, I mean. Right now they appear to be about sick of each other, as evidenced by all the fighting.
You might remember the post I wrote back in June-ish where I oh so negatively revealed my dread of Kindergarten. Back then I was having a difficult time mustering up optimism and feelings of hope about how Charlotte would do in Kindergarten.
Summer has nearly passed, though, and I have to tell you that my attitude has made a turnaround.
I can name one, and only one, reason for this change: Charlotte herself.
She has had one heck of a great summer.
Sailed through swimming lessons.
Happily jumped through weekly tumbling class.
Emerged as a leader in her social skills group. Yep, you heard me right. She was the leader! Reports from the therapists running the group said that Charlotte emerged as the natural leader in the group. Have to tell ya – first time Charlotte has ever been singled out as the leader. It felt really good hearing that.
One of the goals of social skills group was, for Charlotte, to initiate conversation with peers. Initially she was observed to quietly sit and wait for someone to notice she needs something (like the pink marker or a pair of scissors). She wouldn’t ask for it without being prompted.
She also didn’t greet other children in the usual way. A Charlotte greeting might be her saying something completely random, or her asking an offbeat question.
This summer, though, I am seeing her ask children (usually they are a bit younger, but that’s okay, it’s a start) to play. She introduces herself, “Hi, I’m Charlotte. What’s your name?”
Just this week (at our very last private OT session with her therapist of the last 2 years), she had many, many back and forths (i.e. conversation) with a new little boy (who declared he was NOT little, he’s BIG because he’s “this many” as he held up his five fingers).
All of us stood slack-jawed as we witnessed this remarkable-yet-unremarkable exchange. She introduced herself and her sister, she commented on what he was showing her (something he built), she complimented his shoes. It was incroyable!
And so she is about to begin Kindergarten, and this mom is actually feeling optimistic. Yesterday her ‘meet the teacher’ was simply marvelous. The teacher was clearly impressed with the skills Charlotte demonstrated. (I commented that she damn well better be able to cut a circle within a 1/4″ after 2 years of private OT alongside 2 years of special needs preschool!)
I was quick to point out that academics are the least of my concerns for Charlotte. Handling crowds and chaos and high levels of noise are very possible learning barriers for her.
Despite my uncertainty at how she will manage the sensory environment of a crowded kindergarten classroom, I can’t help but still feel optimistic.
No longer am I convinced it’s going to be a disaster.
Nope. I am feeling quite hopeful.
I think Kindergarten is going to be great. We’re ready.
Charlotte is ready. Just ask her.
I don’t think I was expecting a difficult IEP meeting today, but I walked away pleasantly surprised at how easy of an experience it actually was.
What I was expecting, I think, was that everything would be very negative and focused on all of Charlotte’s deficits.
Instead, the language in the MFE results document (which I read on Wednesday) was peppered with the positive.
“Charlotte is thoughtful and considerate of others.”
“She has a great memory and attention to detail.”
“Charlotte is a sweet little girl.”
“Charlotte has very high academic abilities.”
I can’t tell you how much easier it was to swallow the pills of deficits when it was very clear to me that the team recognized that she was not simply a child who was behind in social language and language processing.
Perhaps my favorite line in the document, though, and the one that helped me see the true purpose of this IEP process:
“She will need support … [blah blah blah] … to enable her academic abilities to be translated into academic success.”
In a nutshell – isn’t that what it’s all about? We want Charlotte to succeed at school to the fullest of her abilities.
The accommodations are pretty straightforward. An aide who will watch her (from a distance, not hovering — actual IEP wording) on the playground and ensure she gets on the right bus and off the bus to the right classroom. Safety first. This is important as she is a bit of a wanderer (I’m sure many of you can relate).
Speech goals to work on reading comprehension (i.e. story retelling) and also the pragmatics/social stuff.
She’ll be part of a daily sensorimotor group for sensory regulation and she will get sensory breaks as needed. Not sure what that will look like yet.
And, lastly, there will be special ed instruction for Reading and Writing Centers. That part is fuzzy to me. I asked them to paint a picture for how that will be incorporated into the day, but it’s hard for them to say until they see the details for next year – her teacher, the class routine, other sped needs, etc.
The intention is that there will be 15 minutes per day for that. How that will actually play out is a mystery, but the team’s confidence that she will get the help she needs is inspiring.
As is my plan to volunteer in the classroom regularly and see for myself. I’ve already worked out a deal with my Mom to provide regular babysitting of Sarah so that I can be at Charlotte’s school
The all-knowing They say that if you want to know how your kid is really doing at school, you need to be there.
15 minutes per day doesn’t seem like much for sped instruction, but her needs are fairly minimal. And if she needs more, she’ll get more. So far, the school has been great to work with, so I’m going to trust that if her needs change, they’ll meet them.
The Kindergarten IEP is done. Hip hip hooray.
Now, let’s get ready for summer!
The day that I knew was coming came.
Yesterday I read, in black and white print, Charlotte’s diagnosis, provided by the school.
Asperger’s Disorder.
It wasn’t as stark and harsh as that. It was delivered in a sentence, embedded in a paragraph filled with both the positives traits and the deficits observed in my little girl.
“Recent assessments of her using the ADOS and ASDS support that Charlotte falls on the Autism Spectrum at this time. It is this examiner’s opinion that a more accurate diagnosis of her condition would be: Asperger’s Disorder.”
In a previous section there are official numbers and scores that don’t mean much to me just yet. We have the IEP meeting tomorrow and I’ll get more info then.
To be honest, I’m not too concerned about the actual numbers. Oh, to be sure, I was at first. I needed to know just what they meant.
Wise word from Twitter friends reassured me and helped me put things in perspective.
“…remember that it’s just a snapshot of this ONE moment in time. it doesn’t describe who she is or who she will become.”
“…still the same sweet Charlotte.”
All true. Today was just another ordinary day.
As I was reading the report from the speech pathologist and the psychologist, I couldn’t disagree with a single thing they observed. I’ve observed them all myself.
She doesn’t always make strong eye contact. Yep, she scripts a fair amount. Echolalia is present. Conversations are often short. It can be a struggle to communicate with her.
The difference is she is at school 10 hours a week, and with me about a gazillion hours a week (or, at least, it feels that way sometimes). So during all those hours we’re together – I see lots of initiated conversation. The flat affect disappears. It’s not all echolalia and scripting.
In short, what I read in the MFE is not the whole picture. Charlotte is not the sum total of who she is at school.
Thank goodness, right? Is any one of us the sum total of how we are at any one time? At any one place? In any one situation?
But, the Charlotte who attends school, she needs some assistance. Her neurological wiring is different than most kids, and she isn’t going to achieve academic success the same way.
So there it is in black and white. Labeled as disordered. No, it doesn’t thrill me. I’m not happy about it. What mother wants their child to have any kind of disorder – autism, Asperger’s or other.
But I am feeling grateful. Grateful that Charlotte was born in this era when her “disability” is recognized as a difference and the tools exist to support her.
And so we move forward. Charlotte is Charlotte – the same yesterday and today. Making it “official” doesn’t change anything.
Except maybe for one thing.
1 in 150 has a new face.
I greet her first thing in the morning, after her Daddy has done the initial wake up.
“Good morning!”
“NO NO NO NOT YOU! Not you! I don’t like you. I want Daddy.”
I maintain my smile.
“It’s too bad you don’t like me, because I REALLLLY like you. I love you lots.”
“NO NO NO NO! You can’t get me dressed!”
“I’m not going to get you dressed. You are going to dress yourself.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
But she complies.
“I don’t want to wear that! I want to wear something different.”
I have learned to save what I really want her to wear as the “something different.”
She takes my hand and we walk downstairs to the kitchen.
“Bathroom first to brush teeth and fix hair.”
“NO NO NO NOOOOOOOO!!”
“Sorry, dear, you take too long if we don’t do it first. Let’s brush teeth.”
“Not brush teeth first! Fix hair first!!”
“Okay, here’s your hairbrush. Start brushing your hair while I get your toothbrush ready.”
“NO NO NO NO. You can’t get my toothbrush ready. Fix hair first! Fix hair first!”
I put the ready-to-go toothbrush on the counter and take over the hair brushing.
“What day is it?” she sing-song shouts with a smile.
“Well, let’s see, yesterday was a headband day, so that means today is a ponytail day!” I respond with a smile and just a touch of glee in my voice.
“NO NO NO NO. Not a ponytail. We have to do a headband.”
I am firm.
“No, it’s a ponytail day. Tomorrow will be headband day again.”
“I want a headband, I want a headband, I want a headband!!”
“You can wear a headband and a ponytail.”
“Okay, Mommy, that sounds great.” She’s smiling again.
We head to the kitchen.
“What do you want for breakfast today? Besides chocolate milk.”
“Chocolate milk.”
“And….”
“Food!”
“What food?”
“Chocolate milk!”
“You have to eat regular food too.”
I run down a list of options. She chooses something and eats it while watching Diego.
(Meanwhile during all of this the other one has woken up, demanded to be nursed a gajillion times, refused to get dressed and refused to eat.)
“Time to head to the van. Do not, I repeat, do not open the garage door till I say it’s okay.”
I hear the rumblings.
“I said, DO NOT OPEN THE GARAGE DOOR.”
I enter the garage.
“NO NO NO NO. You can’t come in, you can’t come in. You have to go back inside and look for your keys.”
“I have my keys.”
“NO I have to help Sarah get in the van.”
Meanwhile, Sarah is halfway down the driveway. I retrieve her and head back to garage.
“NO I’m not first! I’m not first! Sarah’s first! You can’t buckle me in first.”
“I never buckle you in first. Ever. Get in your seat. Time to get in your seat. Time. To. Get. In. Your. Seat.”
We’re buckled in and we take off for the 7 minute drive to school.
We take turns picking songs off the CD and/or radio (Mommy’s pick is always the radio).
“NO NO NO NO Not the radio. We can’t listen to the radio.”
“Fine then we won’t listen to anything.”
“It’s my pick! My pick! Not your pick!”
Can you just see me rolling my eyes?
We sing songs instead.
Drop off line. She hops in the front seat.
“Which teacher do you think it’s gonna be? Which teacher is gonna get me out?” Excited anticipation is in her voice.
My sing-song tone: “I don’t know. It’s a mystery. Just have to wait and see.”
Unless it’s one of about 4 teachers (or a possible 12-15), I hear, “No, not her, I can’t go with her, I don’t like her.” (Not shouting anymore – this one is a game.)
She goes anyway.
“Bye Charlotte!! See you when you get home!!”
“Bye, Mom, have a great day!”
Whew.
And that’s just mornings.
April is Autism Awareness Month.
Today, apparently, has been World Autism Awareness Day.
I’m not feeling especially compelled to advocate for Autism right now. Not because I’m not passionate about the subject. I am. Definitely. I am all about awareness.
(Ironically, it’s during this month, April, that I’m going to finally be handed a diagnosis of Autism for Charlotte. How’s that for aware?)
What I am compelled to do right now is advocate for my daughter.
Over the last two weeks I’ve been presented with two different possible school options for Charlotte. Both were exciting, and I became very optimistic – only to come to the conclusion that neither would be the right fit for Charlotte. I was left feeling very discouraged.
But not for long. Now I am feeling more passionate than ever about advocating for Charlotte’s needs at school.
Much of Charlotte’s success in the classroom will depend upon, I think, her feeling safe and at ease in her environment. She’s got the smarts to learn. We’re not talking about issues of ability here. I have said it before but it bears repeating: I believe Charlotte’s biggest challenge is going to be the size of the classroom.
I don’t think the needed accommodations are going to be simply a matter of providing assistance during Reading and Writing Center as has been previously suggested.
Group Time, for example, has a lot of tactile, visual and auditory input all happening at the same time. From what I’m eeking out Charlotte’s teacher, Charlotte is not absorbing everything happening then. She comes home singing and dancing new songs on a weekly basis, so she gets SOME of it.
But she doesn’t go off into the classroom and do the work that was demonstrated during Group Time.
Right now Group Time is 12 kids. Next year it will be 22-23. I’m thinking it’s going to be even harder on her.
I’ve consulted with Charlotte’s private OT and received suggestions for Group Time. Charlotte’s teacher has agreed to implement those changes.
My theory is to just try out some different sensory-based accommodations and see if there is a positive effect. Perhaps one or two will work, and we can carry that into Kindergarten.
Sometimes that is the rub of Autism. There is no formula for treatment. What works for one kid won’t necessarily work for another. Just try different things and hope something sticks.
And that brings me to a truth about Autism. We have to do all the advocating for our kids.
All year long Charlotte has struggled to complete tasks, seemed lost during group instruction, and her teacher has not tried one single intervention with her that I have not suggested (and I have only suggested a couple).
So Autism Awareness, for me, is all about Charlotte Awareness. And advocating.
Because it’s up to me. As wonderful as the teachers are, and as wonderful as our school district is, it’s up to me to educate them about Charlotte.
I’m pretty sure I’m up for the job.
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