IS DEVELOPING THIS SKILL: BALANCE(S) EDITION

Dear Persons,

The fall semester brings my favorite season and also, this year, an unexpected bout of teaching Intro Phil, which class only enrolled after registration closed so I was rather unprepared, the class that is by far the hardest class I teach because there’s no room whatsoever for winging it and I have to think “deep thoughts” and understand them, at least momentarily, so it takes a ton of prep, which is hard since I did not think I was teaching and took on other work, and even I don’t know where this sentence is going.

Frankly – and perhaps the above is indicative of this, hmm? -- my life generally feels out of balance, especially because of the difficulty of earning a living in a rural area while raising two high-needs kids. I’ve taken some steps to try to remedy this, but the biggest one was going to be firmly establishing a new, wildly lucrative line of work (Ramp up the editing? Finish book proposal and become publishing sensation? Teacher coaching???) this semester while I wasn’t teaching.

Oh well.

My Laotong (old same, best friend) recently shared some thoughts on balance. She said one of her wise teachers once told her that stable, even balance is a myth. That to really accomplish something you need to pour everything into that bucket, rather than trying to just dribble a little so your other bucket(s) stay(s) evenly filled. Except. If I pour any more energy into my career there just won’t be anything left for my family...and meanwhile my career is a hodgepodge that’s confusing even to me.

It’s also time for G’s three year evaluation. At times like this -- with multiple daily emails, calls, written correspondences, meetings... -- parenting my older child alone feels like another full-time job. Our last three-year eval was a Battle Royale about which I wrote in PROCESS, REPRESENT, TOOT, so grueling I am loathe to even recall it. But recall – and strategize - I must. His current school is proposing more testing, including adding testing for ADHD, which I thought was ruled out by/folded into his autism diagnosis years ago. Their explanation is that with more results they will be able to develop more tools for helping G succeed as he heads into high school next year.*

But I have to balance the school’s need for testing, documentation, and tools with how much G hates testing, how vulnerable he is to feeling singled-out, how much time this barrage of testing will take away from his much-needed academics. And we also must, at the same time, make sure their assessments reflect how G really behaves in real life contexts (he’s great at social skills in a two or three person small group environment, for example; outside of that, not so much; there’s a similar disparity for academics).

I need to try to get the right balance between the labels/tools/testing bucket and the acceptance bucket. And it’s hard to even know how to find that balance when I am facing piles like that in Figure I in addition to my work piles (not pictured).

Figure I -

The Behavior Rating Inventory of Executive Functioning

The Social and Atypical Behavior Questionnaire

The NICHQ Vanderbilt Assessment Scale

The Behavior Assessment System for Children, Second Edition

Figure II –

Closeup, Random

When you see such a plethora of tests you cannot help but think as to how this is your child's LIFE! The answers to these questions will be used to evaluate a human being, your beloved child.

You want them to be accepted and celebrated as they are, as well as situated in school so as to best Learn. You wonder how the oversimplifications of what feels like millions of multiple choice or scaled (always-often-sometimes-never, and so on, see Figure II) questions  can possibly reflect your child, and pray the testing will somehow be helpful.

You never, ever, ever want your child to read these generalized forms that aim to identify, problematize (so as to receive services), and label (ditto) and feel bad about him or herself, or judged, or reduced to a standardized series of questions and answers.

You have to go to the bathroom many times while filling them out.

Or maybe that’s just me?

Consider that while I try to find balance in testing and school in general for my son, the time this effort takes shifts the aforementioned balance I am trying to find in work...and the balance I am trying to find with my zooming into teen-land-three-years-early (she just turned 10!) daughter...

I need less in the bucket that holds stuff like me crying in the bathroom for an hour because I suddenly find out there’s a random, last-minute half-day and my schedule is so precariously micro-scheduled that this puts me over the edge. That’s a balance that’s too delicate!

When I look around me, I see that I am not alone in feeling unbalanced. Perhaps that’s because I now know – thankfully! – a lot of other families and people who fill a Full Spectrum of their own. But it’s not just them. As my fall 2015 Intro Phil students say, this system is hard.  It’s impossible for most of us to do as Aristotle advised and become a “happy philosopher,” spending your time reasoning and pondering...

But we get up every day and go after that elusive balance, don’t we? Perhaps that’s what balance is in the real world? 

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

*What?

Second Anniversary Lists I: Advocacy

This time last year, we had just fought a grueling but successful battle to retain G’s IEP. He’d erroneously been tested for reading and math – his two best subjects – and been removed from eligibility because of the not-surprisingly good results of those tests…Meanwhile, he was barely able to write a word, a sentence, a paragraph…

We’d “won” that fight, with the help of his teachers and principal, following a lot of foot dragging from the district; what we still had to contend with a year ago was a relatively homogenous school environment and a child who struggled with expressing himself coherently in writing and felt bullied every day.

I shared what I learned from that intense experience in this post: http://fullspectrummama.blogspot.com/2013/01/first-anniversary-lists-i-advocacy.html. If you are looking for basic tips on advocacy, this post is the place to go. Please see the list toward the end for my pointers on dealing with bureaucracy, and IEP and 504 meetings, and addressing your child’s/children’s needs in institutional settings.

In retrospect, I can see that – much as I adore and respect the heck out of him -- beyond words!  Puh-lease!!!! -- on a subconscious level I was seeing G as in some small way a part of “The Problem.”  Now that he is in a more diverse environment, with students who are comfortable with a mix of people, and teachers and administrators who are accustomed to kids on the autism spectrum, a lot of things have eased up. 

As always, this is what worked for our family. In the balance, making the choice to move our entire existence was the right one for us. It was also a huge gamble, a chance not all families are able to make (and we have BARELY made it -- whew!) -- and one that I am happy to say paid off in our case. Autism was less common in G’s old school and this impacted every level of his experience, from institutional to educational to social. Obviously, G is still on the spectrum, but his present school is more of a spectrum too. For him, for us, this works.

And so, without further ado, my first second anniversary list:

School Advocacy II

1. Context matters. A tiny, cozy school where everybody knows everybody might be the right one for your child. Homeschooling might be the right choice for your family. Or perhaps your child will do best in a big school with lots of services and a wide-ranging student body. Maybe an alternative/private school might be your chosen option, if you can afford it, or are able to access scholarships or school district support. My point: the impact of environment can be more profound than one realizes.

2. Sometimes Change is necessary. To say that change and transitions can be challenging for our Full Spectrum would be a vast understatement. Sound familiar? If stuff isn’t workin’ out too well as it is, though, you might consider changing things up.

Little changes can matter too: does your child lose focus while doing homework in isolation (something you might’ve arranged to minimize distraction…)? Try using noise-canceling headphones in a more-busy area and crunchy carrot sticks (haha, I meant chips) to keep things lively.

Bigger changes, like moving and changing schools, obviously entail bigger risks – and possibly bigger benefits too.

Ease changes where you can with strategies such as advance notice, clear scheduling, and comfort measures – soothing (or stimulating) activities, food, objects…

           

3. Stay vigilant.  Isn’t that just great advice? Yeah, even when things seem fine: stay vigilant. Pfffft.

But -- wouldn’t you know it, as soon as I felt like the school had things well in hand I sorta…exhaled…and took a little breaky-poo? Next thing you know G is failing certain assignments and I am called in to a Meeting and then I am writing my Meeting Friend this text:

“[Censored]! I forgot about speaking up just nodded and said I will talk to [G] when in fact they did not do right by him or create an environment where success was possible. Help! Must regroup. But I am okay. Just entered brief complacent fugue state and now will triumph…somehow ;) p.s. Don’t worry. Am bemused but okay. Forgot [G] has disability.”

In this particular instance, G was failing a months-long writing project because he was overwhelmed by the combination of his classroom environment and learning new technologies and skills on the computer.  He’s at a point where he might be able to handle one of those things and still reach his potential, but not both.

So I wrote his teacher along these lines:

Dear [teacher],

Thanks for meeting with me yesterday.

I was really left with two different thoughts after our meeting: on the one hand, [G] does need to learn to buck up, get it together, ship shape, etc. but on the OTHER he does have a disability that we need to accommodate and work with to best bring out his potential.

I do feel that his failing this project because of new-computer frustration would be a shame. Clearly, he was overwhelmed by learning new skills in a busy environment, which is typical for him as well as many children on the autism spectrum.

I will work with him at home. Hope you can give us an extra week or so to whip it into shape in a low pressure-high achievement environment ;)

Thank you,

            [FSM]

His teacher allowed him to take some extra time and he ended up with a decent(-ish) grade on the assignment.

Yay vigilance!!! Just because a school gets a wide range of students doesn’t mean you won’t have to advocate from time to time…

4. Cycles: Know that there will be cycles of advocacy challenges. After a recent blessedly calm, several-week meeting-free stretch I witnessed with chagrin my Meeting Friend looking stricken while being collared by the principal at pick-up. I was unable to get to her before she rushed off with her child, so sent I her psychic and text support and planned to call her and inquire. A few minutes later, Pardner called me and said the school had called US because G had gotten “agitated” over a computer imbroglio (see above). Anyway, when I called my MF to check in, come to find out her child, too, had been “agitated” that day. Wheee.

            5. Services:

In this larger, more-inundated school, G no longer qualifies for many of the services he received at his last school. Part of this – in PT and OT -- is because of great past work by amazing physical and occupational therapists; some progress is G’s own hard work. But it’s also because the standards of qualification are more stringent. And I do worry that G will fall way, way behind again. His early motor skills and kinesthetic test scores were typically all at the very lowest end of low.  Now that he’s low-average, will he continue to grow and improve without help? Or at least not regress? Please see #3…

G no longer has a one-on-one either. This is because his classroom already has three embedded paraprofessionals in addition to a highly effective, gifted, funny, experienced teacher. Do these three have enough time to get to everyone who needs their attention? Again, see #3.

At the same time, G’s new school offers a lot of services, particularly in group-settings, that were unavailable at the small school he previously attended. I feel like G’s needs are being met in different ways, and that we are in a basic state of balance between services and mainstreaming. But I am also ready to put on my official clothes and use my lint brush and march in there at once if necessary. Luckily, the parties involved do what they do because they care about children and education, so I do feel we are all on the same page as to wanting the best for G.

If you do not feel this way, if you and/or your child/ren is/are in an environment where the powers that be do not share this best-wanting intention, and are reluctant to change, you may need to advocate more powerfully OR see #s 1 and 2.

6. Treats: I am going to write more about this in “Second Anniversary Lists III: Choosing your Battles,” but I am impressed by the power of treats.

a. Treats for Students: G’s new school uses sugar for almost everything and it works. I know, I know: sugar. Regular readers will be well-informed of our sugar aversion. I cringe every time G shows up after school with a neon-colored lollipop. But positive reinforcement – what does your child love/crave? Maybe it doesn’t have to be so ghastly? – can make the difference between a child who is functioning, even thriving, within school boundaries and one who is flailing and failing.

I know G’s lollipop represents his sitting in his seat, or not interrupting, or closing the bathroom door…and since sugar affects him less than it does me, I make the choice to allow it. I mention this in this here Advocacy piece because working with your school to put a system of treats in place for rewarding positive behaviors might really make a difference for all parties concerned.

If you can figure out what really might feel like a treat to your child (or yourself, or your student, or your roommate, or partner, or…) -- whether it’s praise, hugs, Pokémon cards, screen time, or something else, perhaps something unique (but it must be something

Clear, and

Consistent)

-- you can begin to assess whether that individual responds well to this sort of system.

            b. Treats for Advocates: sometimes necessary.

            c. Treats for All, for No Particular Reason: also sometimes necessary.

Regarding these treats prescriptions, remember: Full Spectrum Mama is a Doctor [of philosophy].

Strong and effective advocating to you,

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

First Anniversary Lists I: Advocacy

When G was a colic-y newborn, I made a list for myself so that I could remember the main reasons he might be crying. Actually, I made a few copies of the same list, and placed them around my tiny East Village apartment in hopes that

a. I would somehow see them and then,

b. remember to read them and then,

c. Know What was Going On. The list read as follows:

  Is [G]:

Hungry?

Tired?

Poopy?

Wet?

…Did you think I was joking?

Nope.

Often, I couldn’t remember to look at this exhaustive list -- and so was frequently perplexed by G’s vigorous and frequent crying.

What, I continue to wonder, was quite so hard about having a healthy (if fussy) newborn?

Okay, sleep deprivation. Yes.  And, sure, complete re-evaluation of life plan and goals and appropriation of all time by baby. But: newborns can’t walk or go anywhere by themselves! They can’t even crawl. All the same, there I was, like every new parent, near-paralyzed with overwhelmitude.

Insofar as I can remember, though, when I did happen upon the list, it was quite helpful.

Eleven years later, one year ago this month, I was inducted into a very strict and demanding writing group. Having considered myself a writer all my life, this made sense. But for the last decade I had been writing in only the most limited fashion.

We had less than a month to produce something…and I had no idea what to write!

I sat down in front of the computer and found that I had but two thoughts in my head: one, “write what you love,” and two, “I love my kids.” I began to think about something that had been tickling at the edges of my brain for some time: the notion that my children -- both of whom are considered “special needs” and “high needs” -- sometimes benefited from very different, one might even say opposite, parenting styles and, other times, needed very similar treatment for very different reasons. I wondered if our travails might be humorous and/or inspiring and/or comforting for others. Having never even considered doing so before, I suddenly found myself starting a blog!

A year later, I have written dozens of posts, and they have been read by thousands of readers. The process has been tremendously rewarding, and I am deeply grateful for the support and wisdom that has come our way through public and private comments.

In my last post (http://fullspectrummama.blogspot.com/2012/12/process-represent-toot.html), I was struggling with a number of questions around education and services and things got pretty wordy. After posting, it occurred to me that it might be more helpful to offer what I learned from that situation in a more accessible format.

I’m still prone to making lists, and subject to forgetting to read them. The process of making them, though, has its own rewards, and, here, my purpose is practical: the possible sparing of even just one person some fraction of the ridiculousness and cluelessness that is abundantly available to us all. So, to celebrate the one-year anniversary of Full Spectrum Mama, I decided to condense a few of the things I have learned this year into lists, mini-manuals that I hope will be useful and won’t take too much of your precious time to wade through...

We are still working – often ineptly, generally without definitive answers -- on diet, the social piece, executive function, body awareness and a plethora of other good stuff. For my first celebratory list, I condensed my experience in the world of navigating school as the parent of a non-traditional learner. While this list is entitled, “School Advocacy,” it might also be applicable to other bureaucratic situations in which advocacy is required.

School Advocacy

1. Know your terms and your rights! I cannot stress this enough. You want to be taken seriously, and to present an aura of knowing both the facts around disability, learning differences, “special education” programs and schools AND your options and the protections and programs available to your child. If you are informed, you are able to present yourself as someone to be reckoned with, and thus, in a time of limited resources, your child is less likely to get lost in the system.

2. Wear something to important meetings that makes you feel powerful.

1. Remember to use a lint brush before you attend the meeting.*

3. Know that those you are dealing with are probably good people who got into education (and “special education”) because they wanted to serve and help children; know also that politics, budget concerns, and egos, too, will have a place at the table. Take names. And do everything you can to keep the focus on getting your child the help that he or she needs.

4. In case your child does not qualify for services in one area, know your areas of qualification in order to explore other possibilities for getting him or her the help he or she needs. In Vermont, the areas of adverse effect are Written Expression, Reading, Math and Orientation/Mobility. Sometimes a 504 will do when an IEP won’t – and vice versa. You may have to be extremely persistent or change tactics if one door closes…

5.  Review ALL documents very, very carefully.  Small errors (for example, one report stated that my son had a diagnosis of “Asperger’s disorder;” this morphed, as my correcting email crossed the paper trail, into - and I wish I was joking here - "asperberger's disorder") may have large consequences later on. If the materials are daunting (chances are they will be), try to find someone to review them with you. Every state has advocacy groups that are willing to assist you in this process. In Vermont, the Disability Law Project (http://www.vtlegalaid.org/our-projects/disability-law-project/) is a great resource. 

6. If you find yourself in a position where you need to advocate for your child, you may be surprised by your own ferocity. (From a private comment on my last post: “Back in my days as a grant writer I did some work with special-needs students' parents.  My God, [FSM], they were the fiercest advocates I've ever been around!”).  On so many levels, you and your child will need what that ferocity brings. Just make sure to keep your demeanor a step away from cray-cray. (Please see #1.)

Next Week: Things I wish I had known earlier about Attachment Disorders.

Love and thanks,

Full Spectrum Mama

* Big thanks to Thistle, who suggested this in a reader comment.

Process, Represent, Toot

The Meeting

Just before the holiday break, G, whose autism spectrum disorder presents with a variety of significant motor and neural challenges, lost his IEP status. Having access to an IEP (an Individualized Education Program [or Plan]), or what used to be known as “being in special ed.” is federally mandated through the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, but is administered differently from state to state. In Vermont, the threshold for “adverse effect” is testing below the 15^th percentile.  At his three-year IEP evaluation, G tested slightly above this percentile on one measure (reading), and substantially above on another (math).  Several of the nine people assembled in that room thought this was terrific news.

The rest of us knew they had used the wrong measures.

Those of us with children in the IEP system periodically receive giant stacks of paperwork from which we are meant to glean both

1.     what is important in our child’s life and

2.     which areas are open to our active participation.

Had I read – somewhere in the latest bureaucratic morass of information packets and forms requiring my signature - the single sentence, “We will be testing G on math and reading,” I would have taken notice. Had I understood this one piece of information, I could have told them weeks in advance that he wouldn’t qualify and could have saved my son a whole mess of unnecessary testing.

Unfortunately, however, I – holder of an Ivy League Ph.D. who reads every word in these piles – was unable to discern this simple fact in time. I shudder to think how those parents who are unaccustomed to giant morasses of the written word variety process these packets.

Fortunately, I was tipped off the day before the meeting that G was about to lose his IEP status. I thus was able to PROCESS the feelings and ideas that would have squished me (on my slice of the spectrum big feelings of any sort cause shutdown), and thereby prevented me from any meaningful participation…had they been new to me at the start of the IEP meeting.

For maximum authority, I dressed in my teaching clothes -- grown-up style duds in my requisite Goth black. In Vermont, not wearing denim and fleece is a badge of sophistication and, possibly (I hoped), power. 

The district brought in the big guns, the Director of the district, to break this news to G’s “team.” I believe they expected G’s teacher and I to be cowed but we were not. 

G’s teacher was a fierce and compelling advocate, who came prepared with an arsenal of points in favor of G’s continuing on an IEP. He asserted that ALL of G’s teachers feel very strongly that he needs to be on an IEP; that indeed his Literature Circles teacher says he is “the one child out of 40-plus in his group who absolutely must be on an IEP.”

We were told that the Feelings of teachers don’t matter.

 We were told only “objective” measures can be used to justify (the funding of) a child’s (expensive) IEP status.

Dueling acronyms were bandied about, statistics parsed…

It emerged that it doesn’t actually matter if someone has a diagnosed disability… so long as that disability doesn’t place him or her in the 15^th percentile or below.

“He’s sort of a victim of his own success,” one “team” member explained, making the universal hand gesture for “gettin’ real high up there.” “These scores show that G is getting higher and higher up the mountain of achievement.”

Except - he’s not.

Where he used to get “Super!” and “100%!” (with smiley faces in the zeros) on his spelling tests, now that he is in fifth grade my gifted child can barely write a sentence. The PROCESS of writing a single word is very, very different from that of writing a sentence or paragraph. In writing more than one word, G loses focus. Although he reads at almost adult level and has marvelous comprehension, he misspells 50% or more of words. Without reminders, he does not capitalize first words of sentences, nor does he punctuate.

I was furious, but manageably so, since I’d had time to PROCESS: “Here is a kid, I said with deadly calm, “who should be testing in the 80^th and 90^th percentiles based on his intelligence, but because of his disability is testing in the bottom third and there’s nothing we as a school community can do about it???”

“Well,” the district psychiatrist informed me, “that is a symptom of a larger societal problem.”

“All we are responsible for,” added the Director, in a tone I read as smug (but I am not such a good reader of tone), “is providing a basic ‘free and appropriate public education.’”

”Then what is our purpose here? If letting our children down is acceptable to you, why are you here?” I asked.

There was no response.

So I continued, calling on some of the many ideas that had been racing through my mind all night: “I would suggest, then, if you want to help G you ought to test him on the measures in which he is falling behind. Please tell me the other areas in which students can be found eligible and [teacher] and I will let you know which of those are a good fit.”

“’Written Expression’ and ‘Orientation/Mobility’,” said the Director, after a pause.

“Perfect.” Said I. “Those are the very areas in which he is struggling.”

Having had the opportunity to PROCESS, I was able to question and to REPRESENT my son’s interests: to bust out my big words and my for-once tangibly-useful doctorate and the statistics classes I took in graduate school. Once again, what do parents who haven’t had the privilege of extended education -- or who don’t have the skills or confidence to stand up to Important People – do under similar circumstances? I could never have effectively (confidently, somewhat skillfully) advocated for G if I hadn’t spent the entire night before thinking about what to ask and say in this meeting. Spending my entire life in academia probably helped too. 

Do IEPs help?…Sometimes.

I was told in this meeting, and it makes some sense, that “the three-year evaluation is intended to protect students from being dumped into the special ed. system and staying there even when they have progressed out of it.”

Ambivalence is as much a part of this process as advocacy! I certainly don’t want G to be subject to – or feel himself – the stigma that sadly remains associated with being on an IEP. So why on earth would I want him to receive services if they were not crucial to his survival as a student? IF it helps him – does it? – I want him to have all the helpful help that can be helped…

Without any services, without aid with transitions and organization, G might get lost, “fall through the cracks” -- or he might “rise to the occasion.” He might be “just another gifted kid not living up to his potential”…

As his teachers and I watch the gap widen between G’s intelligence and intentions, and his written expression and executive function, we wonder if we will be able to get him the services he needs. His teachers serve dozens of students and are at the mercy of the system for their livelihood. While G’s teachers are more than willing to advocate ardently for G, there is only so much they can do. The rest will be up to his family and community. And to him.

A.A. Gill’s wise recent article in Vanity Fair (http://www.vanityfair.com/society/2012/12/aa-gill-schools-ruining-our-kids

-- enjoy!) gives pause to the notion that school success is the sole predictor of life success. But if G struggles academically because of his disability he should have access to help if he, in all good faith, wants to succeed in school! 

In effect, the astonishingly low “adverse effect” threshold in VT, coupled with unsuitable testing has turned my son into an experiment.

Process, Represent, Toot

As rough as the social piece can be for G right now, and as challenging as some aspects of school can be for him as well, my deepest, darkest fear, the one in my mind almost constantly is: what will G do when I am gone? I know some of you other parents out there feel me on this. Maybe he will be just fine. I sure hope so! But he might need some help and -- as any parent would -- I hope that when he needs that help, the help will be there.

Will it?

Here, G may be losing his elementary school safety net. Since one might naturally assume that childhood is where the best safety nets would be found, this raises doubts about safety nets in general. What about the bigger safety net for people, including adults, who are not neurotypical or are differently-abled? What about the “larger societal problem” to which the district psychiatrist referred???

With the recent stigmatization of Aspergers and autism in the media (please see previous post: http://fullspectrummama.blogspot.com/2012/12/ignorance-ahoy.html), it seems a fabulous time to begin to tackle these problems. Chief among them are ignorance and limited resources in schools* and communities. Advocacy both for students and their parents (not all of whom know their rights!), as well as education and community efforts around disability might be some directions to take whatever talents and energy we have.

So long as I have a good chunk of PROCESSing time, meaning I know IN ADVANCE what issues and objections will be raised, I should be able to lend my voice to these efforts. This IEP meeting was a great lesson for me about how to optimize my ability to REPRESENT my own and my children’s best interests. Like G, apparently, I need time to internally PROCESS and then transition into external expression and interaction in any potentially intense context. In this post, I am TOOTING my own horn about how I handled the whole thing, because I just learned so dang much. 

I want to use that knowledge to foster G’s ability to PROCESS his sensory and intellectual and emotional intake, so that he can best REPRESENT himself in his endeavors, and TOOT his own horn – stand up for himself and be proud and, especially, self-advocate -- when appropriate.

Resolution

G’s remarkably operatic three-year IEP evaluation began with some serious acrimony, officiousness and righteousness. There occurred pounding of tables, raised voices, trembling (not even by me!).  Praise be, we all managed to stay in the room until some consensus was reached. Thanks to G’s teacher and me, the meeting ended up with the team’s agreeing that G was not well served by the testing that had taken place. He will now be tested in the other two areas of eligibility in Vermont, “Written Expression,’ and “Orientation/Mobility.” 

So G is about to endure another round of testing, this time in areas in which he actually does have significant adverse effect. We shall see if it meets the criteria. If so, may the help he gets be targeted to his real needs. May it be helpful.

This is the hope with which many of us left this meeting.

As I walked out of the school, feeling I had just, for once, made the best of a difficult situation – i.e. for once I had not been completely overwhelmed  – I looked down at my “professional” all-black outfit with a feeling of maturity and satisfaction.

I then noticed that I was completely covered in white cat hair. Glad I didn’t find THAT out at the beginning of the meeting.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* I cannot imagine the Director of the district got into the field of education in order to deprive students of services due to limited resources (which inevitably must result in tighter testing standards). This must be one of the most difficult aspects of the job.