The Po Show

Legal Precedent, Motherfu**er!!

Don't ask me why I'm suddenly shy about using the f word. It just seemed inappropriate, because I'm NOT calling the Chair of the CSE (Committee on Special Education) a motherfucker, I'm really not. She's very nice, and has a really hard and overwhelming job, and she genuinely wants to help my child.

But I am STOKED that I found, just 5 minutes ago, a perfect argument to counter what I know she is going to say at Friday's meeting. I knew what her approach was going to be already, but it was confirmed for me when she called yesterday afternoon.

Frankly I was quite startled that she called. It's absolutely unprecedented for the chair to call prior to a meeting. I think she was trying to head me off at the pass a bit, by saying that she knew we were interested in the gifted special education program. She started off the call very upbeat, saying she was committed to getting Matthew the help he needed (and I do believe she is) and doing what we can to make things work for him. She then launched into her shpiel about how they have a legal obligation, and a desire as well, to keep kids in the district and provide them with services internally. I said I understood that, but despite the best efforts of a wonderful team who has tried SO hard to help Matthew, inclusion is not working out, and hasn't been working for a long time. She animatedly said that that is why she wants to look at increasing his services, giving him an aide all day (oh FUCK ME, if they had done that 2 years ago when I requested it, a lot of the trauma that Matthew has suffered might have been averted! But it's too late now), bringing in a behavioral specialist to work with him, blah blah blah.

She could tell after a bit that I wasn't going for it, though. I told her that I had looked into the gifted special ed program in depth, that I'd heard the school psych. and inclusion teacher's description of the class, and I really felt that it was the best fit for him. Her voice noticeably changed, and she said certainly we could talk about it at the meeting. She said she'd give the school psych. a call again. Then we hung up, me still wondering exactly what just happened. I guess we both showed our cards, and now know where the other stands going into Friday, which is just fine. I'm relieved that she agreed with me that he doesn't belong in a self-contained special ed. class (which had been my fear, that they were going to argue that that was the next step in the progression of placements).

But now I know she's going to lean heavily on the least restrictive environment argument, that placing him in a special program is too restrictive, and that they are legally bound to keep him within the framework of mainstreaming.

BUT I just found legal language to kick that in the teeth: Hartmann v. Loudon County, U.S. Court of Appeals. "The Court found that mainstreaming or inclusion is secondary to the need to provide a free appropriate education from which the child receives educational benefit."

Meaning, keeping kids with disabilities in with kids without disabilities is all well and good, but only if the disabled child is LEARNING SATISFACTORILY. Matthew is below grade level in basically all subjects, critically so in several areas. This is ABSURD, considering how intelligent he is (as measured by a slew of assessments and standardized tests). So clearly, this just ain't working out, folks, and it's time to move on.

Oh, and BTW, I commented to her that since he was suspended three times in five weeks, his current situation was definitely not working out, and she replied that she didn't think he should have been suspended. She thought that "his service providers should have done more to make sure he wasn't suspended." I think she recognizes this is a sensitive area, and shows definite evidence of the deficiencies of the services he's been provided, which puts them in a more precarious position. I'm going to emphasize this at the meeting, right in front of the assistant principal, by saying, "How can we be assured this wouldn't continue in the future, if he did stay here in inclusion?"

In your FACE!

Gainful Employment

A friend nudged me via email today, commenting that it had been a week since I've blogged (hahaha, blogged doesn't get underlined by the spellchecker here, though hahaha does). I replied that I was wiped out by spring break, we went away to DC for a few days (it's sorta sad when the only way you can go away on a spring break vacation is to have your husband finagle some meetings for himself so you get a free hotel room and per diem food money!), and I've been preparing for our program/annual review for Matthew, which is this Friday. FINALLY, we get to see if the district will approve his transfer to the gifted special ed. program. So in my usual overachiever fashion, I've spent a lot of time gathering a mountain of documentation to support our case.

I then signed off my email, after enumerating all the documents I've amassed, by saying, "This is why I don't have a job." To which my friend reminded me that I did indeed have a job, of epic proportions.

This is hard for me. Yes, I know that what I do is the most important thing I could do with my life, and I'm the most imminently qualified person to do it. Helping my children navigate the world, and especially dealing with all of Matthew's issues, is really a full-time endeavor. But I'm talking about what many of us stay-at-home moms think, but aren't supposed to say, a "real" job, a career, a "she works hard for the money," SOMETHING to put down on the little line marked "Occupation" that haunts us at every turn. Some societally-recognized JOB. Yeah, I know, fuck society, but it's very hard to go against a lifetime of conditioning concerning what is legitimate use of one's time.

I grew up in the '70s, the era of ERA and Girl Power and people finally telling girls that they could be anything they wanted to be. I was the smart girl, the straight A student, the one for whom everyone had so many expectations. I had them for myself too, and fully expected to do great things. Doctor, diplomat, writer, poet, something significant and lauded.

My favorite quote is from John Lennon (who had a brief stint as a stay-at-home dad before he went back to recording, but at that point he could really get away with it), who said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." I surely didn't plan how I would be employed at this time and place in my life. I know the gains are great, but I still have not made my peace with it all.

Built for School

It's wonderful, but I find myself shaking my head at my girl, who spent her first weekend of spring break working on her book report and diorama, due April 30. She carefully read through her book on kangaroos and wrote out the facts she learned on her worksheet. Then she dug into her diorama, cutting up her shoebox, drawing her background, cutting out her kangaroo shapes. The freaking thing is MULTIMEDIA, with both paper and playdoh kangaroos, and she conceived and created the entire thing on her own. The daddy kangaroo is literally jumping out of the box, attached to a paper tether. The mommy kangaroo is made of playdoh (with a wide kangaroo smile), with a pouch just perfect for the tiny paper kangaroo that can thus jump in and out.

All done in the first two days after she was given the assignment. With no help from me. When it's not due till April 30. And she was having a great time, repeatedly saying aloud, "This project is FUN!"

I mean, I was a total teacher's pet girl geek, and I never was this into a school assignment. It's wonderful, but I'm still shaking my head.

Spring Break(down)

So this morning, upon hearing that our plan for the day was to go to Central Park to walk around looking at the budding trees, then to Chinatown for noodles, Tessa totally pitched a fit. She cried and wailed and whined that HER plan (known only to herself) for the day had been to stay home and play SpongeBob on the Wii.

"I don't want to go out! We went out YESTERDAY!," she cried. Our fabulous trip out yesterday had been to Target and hanging out by the fountains downtown. Woohoo, we know how to party Spring Break style!!

Of course, once we were at the park, she ran around and exclaimed over the blossoms and climbed rocks and trees and generally had a super time. She enthusiastically ate two bowls of noodles at lunch, saying over and over how much she LOVES noodles.

I am glad she snapped out of her bad mood, as opposed to Matthew, who, if he doesn't want to do something, will NOT appear to have a good time, even if he's, you know, having a good time. But I do find this Jekyll and Hyde act very tiring. I am not looking forward to when this girl starts cycling.

Sibs

We agnostics don't talk too much about blessings. We're a bit uncomfortable when people tell us to have a blessed day (though I always say "thank you, you too"). I automatically say "bless you" to people when they sneeze, but it's just words. I could be saying "tofu" to them, and it would have the same level of meaning.

But I do say, often, that my one true blessing in life is how well my kids get along. I've seen so many siblings barely tolerate each other, or actively seek to do each other in on a regular basis (in between occasional acts and expression of unadulterated love and appreciation).

My kids rarely fight, and never REALLY fight beyond a bit of snapping and mild bickering (and the inevitable cries of "MOM!"). They have fun together. They hug and kiss and giggle together. They are each other's best friend.

Yesterday Matthew spent most of the 45 minutes of his therapy session trying to smack himself in the head. He got really agitated towards the end, and flung his head back into the couch, thunking it against the wooden frame. Later in the evening, he noticed that "there's something on my head." I told him it was probably a bump from when he whacked it on the couch.

Tessa asked, "What's wrong with Matthew's head?" and I explained he had hit it while he was upset and had a bump now. Wordlessly, she encircled his head with her arm and touched it to her cheek. The look on her face was sad and compassionate and so, so loving. Just that morning, she had been talking to me about a book I bought her, written by a girl whose brother is autistic. She commented on it by saying, "My life is kind of hard."

Both of their lives are hard, but they cherish each other, and that's the best thing in my life. My fondest wish is that they'll always have this bond, this love, each other.

The Right Place

Today the school psychologist and the inclusion teacher went on a field trip to see the gifted special ed. class in Irvington. They called me right after they got back, and they were so excited.

Basically they said it was terrific, and both of them sincerely thought that it was the appropriate placement for Matthew. The school psych. said that they have a great therapeutic environment, with weekly individual counseling for each student as well as weekly group therapy. They have a clear behavioral plan for each student that is posted on the board, with rewards for goals met that increase in level as more goals are achieved. The inclusion teacher said that academically the program is excellent, with each student using his own Alphasmart (this little word processing keyboard). Each student has his daily schedule taped to his desk, so they always know what to expect when.

There are currently *seven* kids (all boys) in the class, grades 3-5, with one teacher and FOUR aides! There is a lot of independent work in centers, and they do interesting, interactive projects together as a group. The inclusion teacher said that Matthew would LOVE these projects, that he would want to put down his book and join in (lots of times this year, he's refused to participate in classwork and has kept his nose in a book to escape having to deal with anyone). They use *Wilson* in the classroom, so that will build on the progress he's made during his private Wilson tutoring (to help him build his phonemic awareness so that he can learn to spell, and therefore write).

So, that all sounds pretty awesome. I feel really gratified that they were both so enthusiastic (and that they took the time to drive out there and have a good look at the program). So now the school psych. can address the behavioral aspects and say that they would be appropriate for Matthew, and the inclusion teacher can address the academic aspects and say that they would be appropriate for Matthew. How can the district argue with that????

Well, naturally they can, so I am preparing for battle. The biggest fear is that they will just be outright opposed to any out-of-district placement. Apparently they are (like most school districts) loathe to send kids outside the district. This is natural, because it is expensive. However, they are already spending a TON of money and resources on Matthew. He has a half-time aide (plus an extra 40 minutes a day for specials). I think there would be a compelling argument, based on all his problems this year, for increasing that time. Could this county program really be more expensive than paying for a human being for his individual benefit?

The other fear is that they are going to say that inclusion is no longer the appropriate placement, but moving out of district is jumping the gun, that the next step in the usual line of progression would be to move him to a self-contained special ed. class. Well, I believe we have some pretty good arguments why that would be inappropriate. He doesn't belong with lower intellectually functioning kids, kids with Downs or mild retardation. That is definitely not his peer set, and the law does state that proper placement is with the child's intellectual peers.

They might argue that we are jumping the gun on moving from the least restrictive environment of inclusion and moving to a much more restrictive environment with the gifted special ed. class. However, it would be a lot LESS restrictive than what he's experiencing now, due to all the modifications we've had to make in the last couple of weeks as stop-gap emergency measures. He no longer goes out to recess with the other kids; instead he goes to the office and reads. Recess was just too stressful and a constant arena for trouble. Now he is not being dismissed to the cafeteria with the other kids, because that was a tremendously difficult time for him too. So he's walked down to the office at the end of the day and I pick him up there.

There's the question of whether this particular program is appropriate for him, but I think that's clear. If there was ever a child who demonstrated a discrepancy between academic performance and intellectual capability, it's Matthew. I think the whole situation is encapsulated in his tri-annual test scores from the beginning of the year, in which he scored in the 99.8th percentile for math reasoning and the 2nd percentile for pseudoword decoding. There is definitely giftedness and learning disability at work here.

I'm gathering all my information, printing up all the pertinent parts of IDEA (the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act) that apply to our case, picking out all the appropriate language. I am determined that this is going to get approved at our meeting (set for May 2. We really tried to get it expedited, but it's the end of the year and there are a million IEP meetings scheduled, plus we're on spring break the week of Apr. 21). I do not want to get denied and have to appeal. When would THAT meeting get scheduled? We're running out of school year (though we do go all the way till the bitter end of June!). Plus, AFTER the district approves his placement, he still has to be assessed by the county in order to be accepted. So we cannot waste a moment's time. Thus, I'm finally lawyering up and going to a special education lawyer for a consult. I want to cover all bases here.

Plus, Matthew's therapist will be attending the meeting. She will testify (can I get a WITNESS?) that she had a patient, who has Aspergers and explosive episodes, who couldn't deal with inclusion, who went into the gifted special ed. program, and he's doing really great now.

Well, that sounds about right.

The Other Stuff

I so don't want this to become a standing record of how Matthew is doing so poorly and Tessa is doing so well. That's how things start to sound, especially when I'm talking about school, and these are the events that are foremost in my mind since they have the greatest immediate impact on our lives, but it's not the whole picture.

The funny thing is, and I remark on this often, is that Tessa is a much bigger pain in the ass on a daily basis than Matthew (well, my ass of course; she's the model citizen at school). He more or less goes through life with his video games and his books and looking up stuff online. He mostly gets his own snacks and drinks. He doesn't whine, and at home, he rarely gets out of control. He never ever hits Tessa, even though she can be REALLY annoying. Tessa on the other hand is six years old (7 in just over 2 months!) and whining is her vernacular. She is still just a big pile of "I want this" and "Watch this, Mom" and great dramatic overreactions.

I also want to remark on the effect Matthew has on people, in particular the teachers who work with him everyday. One of the most striking things said at his conference the other day was when the inclusion teacher said that working with him this year has been amazing, that he has taught them so much about teaching. She said that he should know that, that they are so glad they have had the opportunity to work with him, because he has taught them so much about being teachers. I've mentioned before that he has always managed to draw teachers to him (well, with the exception of his teacher last year :p), to make them want to dedicate themselves to helping him, by impressing them so much with his sweetness and his intelligence and his inner pain. It is incredibly gratifying to me that these teachers can look past his tantruming and inflexibility and all of his other difficulties, and truly appreciate what a special child he is. His aide told me the other day that she wants to follow his entire life, to see what happens in it, that she can't wait to see what he accomplishes.

We travel a hard road, but we are not alone.

A Tale of Two Conferences v.6 or so

Today was parent/teacher conference day. It was also the second day of Matthew's latest suspension, and he was sad because he missed his class field trip to see a play in the morning. We picked up Tessa at noon (half day for conferences) and went to have lunch. Matthew was happy to have his DS in his hands again, since days of suspension are screen ban days. We then picked up Ross at the train station and headed to school. Matthew was nervous to go back to school and said so repeatedly. The first person we saw as we walked into the building was his aide in the office, who was so happy to see him. Then his tutor (who works with him using the Wilson method every Tuesday afternoon) met us up at his classroom and they went off for their session.

We had Matthew's conference first. His teacher and the inclusion teacher both told us how shocked and upset they'd been to hear he'd been suspended again, and they thought that it had been a very unfair decision by the assistant principal. His teacher said that he was "working on it" and that if it happened again he was going to raise some serious protests with the administration. Well, that was good to hear.

It's hard to talk about Matthew's academics, because we all know that he's very below grade level in all areas concerning writing. His report card was the most dismal one yet. And since ALL subjects require writing these days, including math, Matthew is very frustrated. Combined with all the other issues, they are trying to move in small steps, but they do feel that they are moving ahead with him. We all feel that the Wilson lessons have helped a lot, though I think he's still lacking basic phonemic awareness.

Mostly we talked about the upcoming program/annual review that's scheduled for May 2. They agree with me that moving Matthew to a self-contained class would be a hugely inappropriate change, though that's the "next step" in the chain of moving from the "least restrictive environment." The inclusion teacher and the school psychologist are taking a field trip to check out the gifted special ed. class this Friday and said they'd give me their impressions of how appropriate it would be for Matthew. His teacher then said that speaking as a parent, off the record, not as a teacher, we had to really push for this. We understood immediately what that meant, that the district was going to try and dick us, but we had to fight to get Matthew what he needs. It's good in a way to hear that, to know that's where we're going to stand, and to know that they'll support us. Really, I'm terribly sorry that Matthew was just unable to get everything out of this school year that he should have gotten, because this teacher is simply tremendous. Though of course, the year's not over yet (since we go till almost the end of June!).

Then we went down to Tessa's conference. She came along, and sat across the classroom from us, but was obviously very uneasy that we were talking about her. Her teacher had more intensely glowing praise for her. She actually has to get special permission to assess Tessa's reading level, since she feels it's around the middle of third grade and she's not "allowed" to give assessment results above second grade level. Not too shabby for a first grader. Her work in math and social studies is all above grade level too, so she's just the whole package. Her writing is full of correct punctuation (including quotation marks) and incredible vocabulary (though the spelling is still creative :)).

She said that everyday Tessa comes in happy, she works hard throughout the day, and she leaves with a smile on her face. She participates, she contributes in group discussion, she helps others. "She is brilliant," the teacher said. Which is a kind of startling thing to hear your child's teacher say. I mean, I've thought she was gifted from the time she was 18 months old, but to see her progress like this is truly amazing.

The teacher talked about next year, and how she would strive to make sure that Tessa is grouped with a girl from another class who is reading at the same level, along with a few other kids who are working above grade level. Since we don't have dedicated gifted education here, I guess that's the closest they can do. But she said that Tessa's second grade teacher should make sure to enrich her lessons the way she has done this year, to ensure that she's progessing in the way in which she is capable. I felt awkward, thinking in my head, "But we may not be here next year," but since that all remains to be seen, I thanked her profusely for all her efforts.

And so it goes, in the world of school.

This Week Has Sucked Ass

And not cute, sexy, slappable ass, but big, hairy, zit-encrusted ass.

Yes, I know I have so much for which to be thankful. My children are alive and relatively healthy and a joy. We have a roof over our heads. I'm drinking a very nice porter. But please indulge me a little ol' whine fest.

First there was Tessa's two day dental trauma. They were putting a metal torture device onto one of her molars (a metal cap, with a hook on it, which attached with rubber bands to a metal button glued to another molar, to try and move the tooth over so that the impacted adult molar underneath could come out). The poor girl (veteran of 11 fillings and 2 extractions, during which she was an incredible trooper) got totally hysterical. She cried and yelled and tried to jump out of the chair and run across the room. Then after they finally got it installed, she had lunch and the metal button fell out, so we had to go through the whole process again.

On Wednesday, after having spent the whole day walking around the Bronx Zoo with 80 first graders on Tessa's field trip, I sat in on an incredibly stressful therapy session with Matthew. He is just not responding to therapy at all, even though I think she understands him very well and is really committed to helping him.

On Friday, Matthew got suspended again.

And then tonight, my beloved UCLA Bruins lost their Final Four game. I had a fearful premonition that this sucky week would just keep on sucking and they would end the gorgeous run that it has been my privilege to witness. They not only lost, they got WORKED. It broke my heart to see those boys, my Ben Ball Warriors, get humiliated. I couldn't even watch the last 90 seconds of the game; I couldn't bear to see them sad.

I can't even think of a way to end this post, so I'll just end it.

I Am Going to Lose My Fucking Mind

Matthew got suspended for two days again, which brings us to a total of 3 suspensions in 5 weeks.

I can't talk about the details or what was said or what I'm doing, because I'm just too exhausted emotionally. I just need to say again:

I am going to lose my fucking mind.

Yes, Apparently I *Have* Given Up

So I come home sporting a sexy new haircut (to replace the massively overgrown wedge cut I had around the holidays, which was cute for about a week, but then grew out so badly it resembled an industrial accident), and what's the FIRST thing I do? That's right, stick two big granny hair pins into the front because I can't STAND it falling in my eyes. Sexy: OFF. Geek: ON.

Wow, when did I so stop caring about how I look? Yeah, I know, I was just at home, with no one to see me, but it extends to the wider world as well. My uniform these days is Lands' End comfy pants and long sleeved tee shirts. I mean, I never really got dolled up on a regular basis, but I used to try just a tad harder.

Ross has always teased me, when I wear sweatpants, by asking, "Have you completely given up?," in reference to the Seinfeld episode in which Jerry asks that question of George when he starts wearing sweatpants in public. My sweatpants are at least a tiny bit more fashionable, having no elastic around the ankles, but still. Apparently I am on the road to becoming one of those middle-aged women in elastic-waist stretch polyester pants, who like them because they're COMFORTABLE.

Anyway, here's the sexy haircut. Thank goodness the pic is a little overexposed, so you can't see all the sun damage spots on my face. That's right, kids, listen to Kurt Vonnegut and wear your sunscreen!