Parent Teacher Conferences

At JH's parent-teacher conference today, we were wrapping up, and he said "Can I say something? I just wanted to say that I love my school and I'm so thankful that I have teachers and friends who really care about me and how I'm doing. I feel like people here really support me and it feels so good to come here every day."

Writing it down, I'm not doing it justice. I realize he sounds a little like Eddie Haskell, but I assure you, he wasn't kissing up. Just being honest.

His teacher completely welled up, and on our way out she took me aside and apologized. "I've never done that before!"

Proud to bursting and counting my lucky stars.

And I know there is still time for him to turn into a sociopath. Or a teenager.

So I'm cherishing this moment.

Shakin' it up

I was never called into the Principal's office when I was a kid, so I had nothing to compare the feeling to when the Principal at my school asked me to step into his office. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble", he teased.

I was still nervous.

It turns out that, because our enrollment for our class was down, and because I am the low woman on the totem pole, it was my turn to be put out of the SCC class. However, the good news is, I will still be in the building, doing patrols (and yes, wearing a safety vest - luckily orange and green are SO my colors), monitoring recess and doing reading with K-3 kiddos. I'm really excited about that last part. But the BEST news is, because we have staff leaving in January, I will be back in the classroom I started in at some point.

When I started working in that classroom, I had very little knowledge of autism, but a huge desire to learn and work with these amazing kids. It can be hugely challenging, and some days I come home in need of a beer and an icepack for my back, but the rewards.... the rewards are breathtaking. And the staff - they are some of my favorite people on the planet. Patient, funny and whipsmart, and they always, always have your back.

So, while I'm truly honored that they wanted me to stay in the school, and I SO look forward to working with the adorable kids that I see in the hallway everyday, my heart will always be missing "my kiddos". Luckily for me, I'll still see them and most especially HEAR them in the hallways!

Working Girl

Last year was the first year that I worked as a parapro in a specialized communications class. I sought this job because: it payed better than the other aide jobs (but not as much as bus drivers - those folks are livin' the dream: they drive for a couple hours, and spend the rest of the day reading or buffing their nails or eating donuts or something), and I would be able to put JH on his bus to school, and be waiting for him when he got home. I would also have all the same holidays and days off, which would save us in childcare expenses. I also took the job because in my previous life (before JH) I was an actor, and though I loved it so much at the time, I have lost my burning desire for it. And that's what it takes to make money at it. And we need money. And insurance. And I know that starting all those sentences with "And" is going to have me burning in Grammatical Hell, but I still have that side of me that just HAS to call attention to myself, so I just turn all BadAss with the English Language and say "TAKE THAT, Blogosphere!"

Where was I? Oh, yes, my job. It could have been a disaster, but it has been anything but. Yes, there are days when I want to cry and run away, but mostly, I am so excited to go to work, so thrilled to be trusted with these amazing kids, and so energized by our joint attempts at communication.

I happened to walk into this job a complete neophyte a) working in the public school system, and b) working with a population that has all kinds of special sensory needs. If I were to write a job description for someone considering this line of work, it would go something like this:

"Part Australian Blue Heeler, part Rodeo Clown, part mud wrestler, part wind talker. Humor is a must. Fashion Plates need not apply. Creative thinking is a must. You will spend your day running, or waiting. You will get dirty. You will get frustrated. You will need a good stiff drink at times. But you will also fall in love on a daily basis. You will see examples of heroic attempts to overcome obstacles several times a day. And you will leave each day wondering how you can make the next day better."

I'll be managing better after a month or so. But I remember last year at this time, I was taking afternoon naps, the kind where you wake up in your own drool and wonder where you are and what year it is. This year is a bit better, but I'm still dragging my ass. Of course, it's closer to the ground than it was this time last year, but we're working on that.

So now you know a little bit more about how I spend my days.

Curriculum Night

Last night was Curriculum Night at JH's school, and while I love the teachers and staff at his school, and some of the kids are really amazing, his school has more than his share of, shall we say, problem children. Or, to be more accurate, problem parents.

I didn't have my camera with me, but I will draw you a word picture:

About ten kids, ages six to eleven, fighting with each other on newly poured bark chips, throwing the bark chips at each other and all over the place, wrapping the swings around and around until they were unreachable, screaming and hitting each other, while some of their parents did:

Nothing. Well, that's not exactly true. They ate their hot dogs and smoked their cigarettes and talked to each other, occasionally scratching their bellies.

When I walked over and confronted the kids and told them not to do that, they didn't even stop. But they did look at me and laugh and one of the fifth graders told me that JH takes his bus. Was that a threat, kiddo? Because you have no idea what will happen if you lay one hand on my child. No. earthly. idea.

I consider myself to be pretty liberal, with a live-and-let-live view most of the time, but some people should not be allowed to have pets, much less children.

Oh, and JH? He's doing great in school, his teacher loves him, the principal made a point of telling me that "he is the most enthusiastic first grader" she's ever met.

Sigh...

star student

I'm so proud I could burst. My son is the star student in his kindergarten class this week. Last Friday he came home and was almost ready to vibrate out of his skin, he was so excited to show me... There was a big piece of paper, with each letter in his first name underlined, like a game of hangman, and quotes from his fellow classmates about things they like about him. Here is what they said:
" He likes to go to parks and play."
"He likes to play every day with cars and buses"
"Joe-Henry likes to come to school"
"Joe-Henry acts nice and plays with people"
"He doesn't scream, or punch because he's nice."

This week, in addition to his homework, he is completing his "Star Student" book, which is all about him. It should be pretty interesting to see what he does with it. On Friday, his dad will get to go to school with him and take some treats, and listen to a special book he selected to read, as well as the book he made. I want to go, but I have a doctor's appointment.

It's been amazing to see what a little pat on the back from someone other than mom and dad can do. I've noticed how straight he stands and how much more responsible he's been this week, taking better care of his toys and working a little bit harder on his homework.

Great job, son!

vigilance

Parenting requires you to have your eyes open all the time. When they are babies, you watch them breath, when they get older you watch them climb and crawl and fall down, and do your utmost to prevent major injuries. As they get older though, this watchfulness requires more finesse, and less active (or at least less obvious) intervention.

A couple years ago, when my son was in preschool, he was deathly afraid of a boy in his class. He would cry every day when I dropped him off. I couldn't figure it out for months. Then finally it came out, and we told his teacher. She was of the belief that my son needed to deal with it. He needed to use his words and say what he needed to say to this boy. And he couldn't do it. He couldn't put his finger on why this boy scared him for the longest time. So he continued to cry at drop off. Every. single. day. It wasn't until he had a substitute teacher that it happened. With her help, he named it and conquered it. She noticed him clinging to me and asked what was wrong. He told her he was scared of this boy. And when she asked him why, he said "because he makes mean faces at me in his heart". His teacher and I looked at each other, and she said "well, I'll go talk to him right now". I'm not sure that she said anything to him about my son, but she walked over and talked to him. And my son knew he had an ally, someone he could go to when I wasn't there, someone who would help him learn to keep himself safe. I was and am, so grateful. But the thing that stuck with me was what my son said about this boy. He made "mean faces in his heart". He was mean to my son. He did it carefully so as not to get caught or called on it. At four, he knew how to do this. I eventually witnessed it for myself, and I did call him on it. Rightly or wrongly, my mama instincts compelled me to say "I saw that. Knock it off." But as my son gets older, and enters the world of elementary school, where mama's interference might just make things worse, I'm left trying to sort out those feelings on my own.

I volunteer in my son's classroom one day a week. It's a priveledge and an education. I'm there for an hour or so, doing whatever the teacher needs me to do. I love his teacher - she is completely and utterly present for these kids. She's not gooey at all, and has enough years of experience (and kids of her own) to know how to deal with 18-20 five and six year olds, but not so many years under her belt that she has hardened into one forced set of rules and regulations. She is learning with them and from them, and she has eyes not just in the back of her head, but everywhere, it seems.
Most of the time when I'm there, I do testing. Although I don't know if they call it that, it's more of an assessment. I hate the thought of "testing" for kids so young, but at this point I believe it's more of an indicator to see where the kids are and what their particular needs will be. I get that, and I can wrap my brain around it and stand behind it. And even though my heart aches for those kids who apparently don't have the parental guidance to know how to count past 7, I don't worry for them. They are in good hands. They will have help and caring instruction and encouragement.

But I do worry for this one boy. This child is tall for his age, and full of something more than just piss and vinegar, as my parents so quaintly put it. Every time I've been in my son's class, he's been willfully mean. To me, and to the kids around him. He's disruptive and violent and knows how not to get caught, and I wonder what's happening at home and worry that he's being hurt or neglected, and I worry for the kids that are in his path, and those that are just watching. Ugh. But mostly, I worry that his rage will grow with him, and become even more destructive. The teacher is on him and watches his behavior closely. She does what she can, and doesn't give anything away emotionally to give him any power. I know the school is aware of him - I trust them, I really do. That is a comforting feeling, because even though it's only a half mile away, my son is there and I'm here, and I'm sure other parents know what I'm talking about.

My son is much better now at dealing with behavior he doesn't like in other kids. He's found the power of his voice, and is confident that he'll be heard. It's a wonder to witness, and I'm grateful to see it. And yet...

I'll keep my eyes open, keep watching, just in case.