Coup

I have not written here in a long time, and that is because I have been busy trying to fight back the coup that my body is staging against me. Apparently it does not appreciate the governmental system of my body, but since this is not a democracy but a monarchy (I am the Queen in charge of this vessel) it is just going to have to deal. Since October 23 I have spent 22 days total inpatient in two different hospitals and countless days undergoing outpatient testing. So far I have received the brilliant diagnoses of malnutrition and failure to thrive, which I believe are a given since I have lost over 25% of my body weight since October 23 and certainly can not intake enough of anything to get the nutrition I need. However, without a cause that is clearly defined on their testing (and dysautonomia does not cooperate like that) the doctors refuse to do anything other than monitor the weight loss and provide some supplements. I am also going to be receiving PT and OT services since the malnutrition triggered rapid, progressive muscle weakness and worsened the ataxia. My two new escorts are my wheelie walker for very short distances (about 100 feet or less) and my wheelchair for anything longer than that. I think they sent over a child sized wheel chair because while the seat is perfect, the leg supports are too short if I put my legs up any higher than down at 90 degrees (which is uncomfortable) even on their longest extension. So my wheels need some adjusting (also, a seatbelt would be helpful to keep me from falling out of the darn thing, especially when other people are driving it). I have not been able to teach since October 22, and I miss my kids beyond what words can describe. I knew that I wanted to teach special education since I was in sixth grade, so for me it is not a job so much as a dream and a purpose. To not be able to do so right now is frustrating and disheartening and painful. I want to be there with my kids, celebrating each victory and encouraging them to go beyond all expectations set for them and being creative until I find a way that works to teach and provide the information as well as allow them to communicate understanding. I detest being stuck at home (literally since I can not get down or back up the stairs), primarily in bed. I would most likely throw my TV out the window if I could do so as I by nature am not a huge TV fan (I happily went all summer without access to a TV) and after two months of this I have far surpassed my tolerance for it. I normally can not go more than a day or so without getting outside, yet I have been outside once since December 12 and that was for the ambulance ride home- stir crazy? I can only tolerate foods that are totally smooth and pureed, which means I never want to see or eat another mashed potato as long as I live once I am better, nor do I want to look at infant rice cereal. I can, however, offer recommendations on stages 1 and 2 infant food which is an odd skill to have. I am working with my home health care nurse to arrange for me to travel to where my family is while I recover, for accessibility reasons (I swear this house is trying to kill me - throw rugs, a bathroom that the walker only fits into sideways, hallways too small for a wheelchair, those stairs), safety reasons (probably not a good idea to leave a somewhat fall prone klutz with a walker home alone all day), and my willingness to ask for help (I live with amazing friends, but I hate asking for help and would rather go without or risk hurting myself than be a bother). So it looks like within the next week I will be home, surounded by my family and constantly having to remind them that medicine has never found nagging to be a cure for anything. :)
Anyway, I have not forgotten this journal but I have been engaged in medical combat with a firmly entrenched resistance force. I do have a CaringBridge journal that I started to help keep my family and friends updated, especially while I was in the hospital but I am continuing it. The address is http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/bethanysummer if you want to check that out in between entries here.
May 2009 bring us all health, safety, joy, providence, and abundant love!

This is inclusion

Yesterday was field day at school, a day that I both love and dread each year with my students. I love it because we get to experience the closest thing to full inclusion that exists for m kids in this county right now. We go out and participate in every single activity that I can possibly modify, adapt, or make accessible alongside the general education population without any distinctions made (no special activities are designated for us, we do not attend at a special time or sit in the back row). We are kids having fun in a swirling mob of other kids. I dread it for a few reasons: 1) the logistics of planning how to adapt activities and to "off road" our wheelchairs up and down giant hills that are never accessible, 2) the logistics of mobile "crash carts" that must be assembled and taken everywhere without attracting attention from the other kids, 3) stupid adults who don't "get it". I must say that my kids had so much fun yesterday and we were able to adapt probably 70-75% of the activities for them to participate in. Favorites included t-ball, the 50 yard dash, the sack race, and the basketball toss. Apparently I throw like a girl (um, I would be worried if I didn't). A few run-ins with clueless or even prejudiced people made my protective emper flare momentarily, but then we moved on and had a blast. For example, a really cool semi-truck came that had a bowling lane in the trailer. I could see the parts to quickly place a ramp over the steps and make it accessible but the two men running it said there was no way to make it so our wheelchairs could go into the trailer, but we were welcome to carry the kids up and inside. HUH?!? Like that is safe, or legal, or not flat-out prejudiced. After my mini-education on discrimination the guys still played (or maybe were) stupid so we just let our sweet girl who can walk cut in front of the 50 other kdis in line and have a turn. We were willing to wait in line if they were willing to make it accessible, but not otherwise. Our other run-in was with a parent volunteers at t-ball who kept directing children to go around us in line and when I pointed out that we were in line replied "well, I just saw the strollers and the babies and thought you were only watching.". WHAT?!? I quickly pointed out that they were wheelchairs, that my kids are in kindergarten, and that they don't generally like being called babies. I said this very politely, but was told not to be snipey. Whatever. We spoke loudest with the incredible hits we made and the laughter that echoed as each child ran the bases. Give us a fair chance and you will be amazed by the things we can do. Label us babies and pass us by, and you will never know the potential we hold. :) Plenty of other people made up for those two issues - a bunch of fathers working the giant parachute jumped in and helped our kids be able to run in and out from underneath the parachute and mae sure we all participated and then asked very insightful questions about our program. At the sack race, kindergarten kids who know my kids from inclusion were cheering on my kids as we raced. ;) A little girl helped my kids at the basketball toss, and at bowling countless kids cheered on my little one who got the chance to bowl. All in all it was a great day. Everyone had a great time, but most importantly they had a great time alongside their peers without any great production made about it. This is inclusion- a little adaptation, a lot of creativity, many tender hearted children, and a focus on ability rather than disability. We make it seem so much more complicated than it needs to be. And instead of the fearful unknown that it is t many teachers, it is beautiful, it is natural, it is children being children before adults muddle it up and complicate it.

She left her handprints on my soul

She was mine for less than 6 months, but the mark she left upon my heart will last a lifetime. When you are attending college to become a special education teacher, it is a common refrain from professors and advisers and supervising teachers that you must learn to separate you heart from your job in order to avoid "burn out". Perhaps this is sage advice, but I can not fathom trying to educate a child without forming a relationship of trust with them and in turn, I can not imagine building up a relationship of trust and understanding without loving the child. The children in my class are "my kids" and I willingly take the risk of loving them, of letting them into my heart, because I simply do not know any other way to be a teacher or a human being. She was "my kid" during my first year of teaching, a rough year for any teacher and an especially challenging year for me as I was indoctrinated using the "sink or swim" method. Her arrival was timed with Christmas, and so she was my present for the new year- a beautiful little girl with a multitude of challenges, so medically fragile and willfully strong. For 5 months I celebrated her steps, I learned the meaning of each sound that she made, I puzzled over ways to prevent her from pulling out her life-sustaining tubes (trach and g-tube), I explored the world with her and her friends. Then with little notice, just weeks after her fifth birthday, she was gone. I had played the odds of teaching open-hearted and lost. At first coping was focused around her family- preparing a yearbook signed by her classmates (fingerprints that I labeled) and teachers/therapists, printing all of the photoraphs we had taken of her, gathering her artwork, colecting donations to help the family pay for travel expenses, and sending out cards to them that came in from classmates. Then coping became about making it through the rest of the year in the classroom where she was noticably missing. Finally it became about finding the peace to know that loving her was worth the pain of letting go, and that the risks are worth the rewards. Yet I could not settle on such an inward transformation not somehow being outward; this little life has forever changed mine and I needed (need) that to be evident. So in a delicate line-drawing upon my back I had a tattoo plaed of a child's cupped hands opening to release a butterfly. It is the closure I needed, the permanent reminder I hold dear of how one life short on years can have great impact, and the hope (faith) I have for the future that love is always worth the risks.

Conflicted

This is my first year teaching in a program for students in grades Kindergarten through 2nd grade who have multiple and/or severe disabilities. While I could write a novel already on the rapid learning I have had to experience (because no one ever thinks to provide you with necessary information until after you manage to screw up - not with the kids, with curriculum guidelines, classroom organization, unwritten rules, etc.), I am currently very conflicted about one hot button issue. Inclusion is the hot topic in our district. You would think it was a new invention the way it is being talked about and handled instead of a practice that has been demonstrated beneficial and successful at all grade levels and at all ability levels (based upon what criteria you are assessing). We are not actually anywhere near full inclusion, and I don't think anyone mentions that, but we have inclusion committees at every school and we dance prettily around the issue to keep everyone happy (or at leas amused). My class is in a general education elementary school but my students are primarily self-contained, if not entirely self-contained (the most inclusion any student receives is up to 2 hours per day). I can argue both sides of this issue convincingly after hearing all of the debates since I was in high school and am not conflicted over that. What I am conflicted over is a long-standing "tradition" at my school. Apparently it is traditional to have each and every class at each and every grade level come into my classroom to "meet" my kids, to be "introduced" to them, and to "ask any questions they may have" - all in the name of promoting acceptance, tolerance, and inclusion. While I agree that information is power and I support a climate that welcomes diversity and is accepting and appreciative of all students I do not feel like this is right. Having four or five classes at 6 grade levels come into the classroom (over 600 students) to sit in rows and stare at my kids just feels wrong. My kids deserve the same dignity, respect, and integrity that is offered to all of the other students. They are not tools t be used in an object lesson. They are incredible individuals with unique thoughts, unique spirits, with unique desires, with unique likes and dislikes - but they do not have the ability to speak for themselves and say whether or not they want to be used in a lesson on disability, inclusion, tolerance, acceptance, and being different but still the same. So I feel that it is my job to speak for them, and my voice in my heart is screaming "NO!", it is screaming that this is degrading, that it is dehumanizing, that it is only further separating my children from everyone else in an "us and them" mentality, that instead of creating inclusion it will create a "school mascot" situation where they will be patted on the head and talked to as if they are cute little pets. Yet this has supposedly been done for years with tremendous success. Am I overreacting and reading too much into this? Or am I the first person in a while to consider that perhaps my children deserve a little more dignity and respect? Please share your opinion!!

The List

Every so often I open up the wooden box that holds my most precious little treasures and remove a single piece of paper from the plastic bag that protects it so that I can not just read the list of dates and times that cover both sides but touch them. I can feel the writing that records each time my infant self danced with death, and each time those who love me cut in and reclaimed me. Some of the dates are simply noted with a date and a time, some are noted with a date and time, others indicate that 911 was necessary, and then a few are circled to indicate that these were the episodes when I danced with death the longest. One in particular is circled in red, the episode that changed how my entire family views life. When I was 5 months old, my parent's were asked to meet with the group of doctor's that were providing my care at Children's Hospital in one of the conference rooms. I had been diagnosed with what was then labeled "near miss SIDS" a month or two prior when my mother discovered me without respiration or a clear pulse shortly after I had fallen asleep. No medical explanation for the severe apnea episodes was ever established, and so after running every test they could imagine the doctors had sent me home with an apnea monitor and the reassurance that I would outgrow the episodes by my first birthday. The issue was that in the early 1980s the apnea monitors were not very portable, and they did not function at all in automobiles. My parents had stayed out later than they planned, and on the drive home I accidentally fell asleep in the backseat. My mother was frequently checking my breathing, but in between those checks I slipped quietly into an apnea episode. When she discovered that I was not breathing the choices available to my parents were limited - the stimulation that usually roused me was ineffective, there were no cellular phones, and attempting CPR on the side of a rural Michigan road could be disastrous if I did not respond a there was no way to summon help. My father immediately began to drive to the nearest hospital while my mother attempted CPR (CPR in a Jeep at night is quite a challenge). When they arrived, my mother ran into the Emergency Room carrying me (at that point I was a limp infant lacking both respirations and a heartbeat and had progressed from the familiar blue tinge to a grayish color) in her arms and screaming. She noticed a doctor behind the counter and literally threw me to him screaming that he had to save her baby. Somehow he managed to convince my little body to restart itself, but he was so certain that I would crash again and not survive that he traveled with me in the ambulance for the transfer to the Children's Hospital well over an hour away. After stabilizing me and conducting further tests, my parents were asked to attend that meeting. It was at that meeting that the doctors, among the best pediatric physicians in the region, pronounced that I had been without oxygen for far too long and had suffered profound brain damage. My prognosis was officially changed to terminal with a life expectancy of less than 1 year of age, and my parent were told that even if a miracle occurred and I managed to survive longer my brain had been so badly damaged that I would never progress any further than the skills I possessed prior to that night in the Jeep. They strongly encouraged my parents to leave me at the hospital and allow the medical staff there to care for me until my imminent death. I do not know how my parents processed all of the information that was thrown at them, but I went home with them very soon after that meeting. I continued to have apnea episodes, some minor and some severe enough to require full CPR, up until just before my first birthday and then they abated just as originally predicted. As far as the doctor's predictions, my parent's fears dissipated slowly as I met each developmental milestone and then were dismissed when I began to read at the age of 2 1/2. The only remaining signs of any brain damage are gaps in my abilities to process visual-spatial information. There is no medical explanation for how or why I defied every single prediction of the doctors and the word miracle has been used even by those in the medical community. When I was sixteen years old, my mother and I returned to the emergency room where I was first treated on that night when I was 5 months old, and had the opportunity to meet with the doctor who had cared for me and gone above and beyond to ride with me in the ambulance during my transfer to Children's. As my mother began to explain who she was, he instantly remembered that night and offered condolences to her for her loss as he was certain that I had not survived. It was an amazing experience to be able to thank him and to be a living example of the fact that statistics are just numbers on a page and God is never limited by something so small. As a result of having to fight so hard to keep me alive as an infant, not to mention an entire childhood of battles, my family learned to live in each moment with no regrets. I never had any illusions growing up that I was invincible or that lie was a game; I knew from as far back as I can remember at least on some level that every moment was one that according to everything medical science knew I should never have had the opportunity to experience. So far I have now had 26 "bonus" birthdays that my family was told I would never experience (I just turned 27) and 26 "bonus years" of incredible experiences, memories, and love. When I become too caught up in the small things in life, when I lose sight of just how incredibly blessed I am, when I begin to get frustrated over the medical issues that continue in my life, or when I just want to reconnect to the incredible gift that each moment of my life truly is and the responsibility that I have to live my life in every moment with purpose I simply return to that list of dates, times, and the amazing effort that not just a family but an entire community offered up to give me a chance to be alive.

Perfectly Imperfect

One of the greatest gifts of humanity is that of imagination, the ability to look beyond the situation and see what could be, what might be, what is possible, or even what may see impossible but wonderful. Imagination allows all progress to occur, it allows for innovation and invention, it allows for creativity and art, it creates opportunity for reflection, it offers beautiful escapes. It shapes friends for young children, dream worlds, wishes that we hang upon stars, goals that we strive for, worlds that we long to create, and an ideal of how we can make a difference. Yet with imagination comes a darker side, the ability to look at a situation and imagine all of the possible different outcomes, to ask over and over the two word question that can rip apart the soul, "what if?". We can spend our entire lives imagining "what if" things had been different, "what if" one event had been changed, "what if" this or that had never happened. I used to imagine what my life would be like if I had been born healthy, with every gene perfectly in place and every cell programmed to work exactly as designed. "What if" I had never experienced repeated periods of severe oxygen deprivation as an infant? "What if" I did not have dysautonomia, juvenile onset SLE, ataxia, etc.? "What if?" I had not been the child that was always slower at physical activities, that sometimes actually wished that the hidden medical differences were somehow physically apparent so that others could better understand, that was intimately familiar with hospitals and doctors offices? In my heart I rebelled against "being different" and detested that which I felt made me so, even as I was drawn to and adored the differences in others. As I have grown older I have realized that trying to imagine my life without these characteristics is virtually impossible. It is like trying to imagine a world in which you exist but you are a stranger to yourself. From where I am now, I realize that in order to become the exact person that I am, in order to be able to offer the exact set of skills and insights in my work as a teacher and in my life, in order to have the appreciation of life and the awareness of its incredible fragility, I could not have traveled any other path. As strange as it may sound to anyone else, I am thankful for the exact experiences that I have had, for the exact way that God has made me, and for the fact that I was made perfectly imperfect. That does not mean that I do not become frustrated at times with the limitations of my body, with the seemingly endless medical tests and appointments and medications, and with the conflict between the desire of my heart and the function of my body. There are times when it seems overwhelming, or when it seems like almost any other way would be easier. But no other way other than the one I have already traveled could have lead to where I am now, to who I am now, which I would not sacrifice for anything. Even though the journey has been and most likely will be incredibly difficult at times, I can say with certainty that the views along the way are breathtaking, the companions you meet life changing, the wisdom you gain beyond expectation, and the destination worth any sacrifice. So instead of following my imagination along the endless loop of what if, I have discovered that I am incredibly thankful and proud of the fact that I was created absolutely perfectly imperfect.

I prefer INtolerance

Over the past several years, schools and activism groups have grabbed firmly onto the concept of tolerance. The ideal is presented as creating a culture of tolerance, where all differences are recognized and accepted, where diversity is centered on tolerance of one another. We teach tolerance in schools as part of "diversity education", we preach tolerance from pulpits, we sell tolerance as a movement and an idea. At first this seems like a tremendous improvement in society, to create a culture where there is not open discord over differences, where there is no open exclusion based upon diversity, where everyone is welcome because of tolerance. However, there are significant undertones to the message of tolerance that I refuse to accept. Tolerance does not mean that individuals who do not meet the current social definition of "normal" will be appreciated for their differences, or valued for their unique abilities and insights, or treated with respect and dignity. All tolerance guarantees is that their presence will be allowed and accepted without open hostility and aggression. It does not guarantee that individuals will be viewed as having an equal purpose, equal value, equal worth in life but only that they will not be treated with forthright disrespect and scorn. The very use of the word tolerance suggests that those who are to be tolerated are less desirable, less worthy, less valuable than those who are tolerating them and that it is only through the grace and kindness of others that they are tolerated. For example, we appreciate fine works of art, gourmet meals, beautiful sunsets, symphony masterpieces. We tolerate bugs at a picnic, long lines for bathrooms at concerts, scorching hot cars in the summer time, and relatives who invite themselves for a visit and stay too long. No one wants to be tolerated. Tolerance should never be the goal we set, the message that we send as being what is appropriate. Instead we should be working towards creating a society where differences are not tolerated but valued, where there is no question about the intrinsic worth of a person regardless of how they may meet up to the standard societal definition of "normal" or "appropriate" and where diversity is not a buzz word but a natural part of daily life. I can not imagine why anyone would ever desire to limit themselves to just tolerating someone who is not identical to themselves when they could share with them, learn from them, and value each of their uniqueness.

Rewriting the Bible

As part of the curriculum of the day camp, we teach the Bible twice a week in my classroom. Our lessons this summer are about the different names of God in the bible (i.e. Jehovah, Abba, Elohim). Apparently my kids are writing their own version of the Bible. Below are some of their personal adaptations.
* God's son? Now named Eve.
* Jesus? He is coming back to the city to visit each person who believes in Him and hang out with them.
* Abraham? That refers to Abraham Lincoln.
* When your sins are forgiven God puts them far away, like in a desert. (which totally explains Los Vegas)
* God loves everyone, but He loves some of us more than others.
* God created video games, swimming pools, candy, dirt bikes, televisions, and money. These are needs, not wants.
*God is everyone's Father, but we don't need anymore brothers or sisters. (quote - we were talking about God being everyone's father and the kids were talking about the idea of us all being brothers and sisters, and one boy said "No!! I don't want any more brothers or sisters!!")
* Drawings of Jesus are actual pictures of Him - apparently there were cameras 2000 years ago.

What You Leave Behind

On some level I comprehended that you never realize the legacy that you may leave behind you in life. I recognized that from a first person perspective you can never appreciate the third person impact of an action, a word, a thought, a moment. Yet it did not really fully take a living form for me until this afternoon. This summer I am working as a teacher at an inner city mission where thirteen years ago (13 years ago!) I attended a program they have as a high school student for a week in the summer. I attended for a week two summers of my high school life, at the ages of 14 and 15. As I was sitting at the computer this afternoon writing an email to a friend in the guesthouse (dorm) of the mission, a man approached me and asked me if I was me (i.e. he sais "you're ___ aren't you."). He had been "security" and staff at the project 13 years ago (thirteen years ago!) and recognized me. How he remembered me from all that time and from all those different teenagers that passed through the program is completely and absolutely beyond my comprehension. Yet somehow I had made some sort of impact to the degree that looking at me now, as an almost 27 year old with my hair dyed a different shade of red and glasses instead of contact lenses and such, he instantly recognized me without me even speaking to him or knowing who he was before he knew me. I can not say what that impact was - I hope it was positive, and based upon his interaction with me I am pretty sure that it must have been (i.e. he was shocked and surprised but pleased to see me). So how something I said, did, or was 13 years ago imprinted itself upon someone to the degree that they would recognize me as an adult without any context or clues is an incredible feat that I do not fathom but am absolutely amazed by. It also leads me to want to live my life in such a way that if an action, word, or choice of mine were to again make such an impact on someone I could be confident that it would be positive and that I was leaving a legacy of value behind. I would rather be remembered for something small but significant, something that in its tiny way made a difference, for a thousand tiny moments, than for one grand gesture. A thousand tiny flames are far better than one blaze of glory that quickly burns out.

Beyond the school doors

Just because you are the teacher does not mean that you stop learning. I have learned more from my little ones and their families over the past two years of teaching and my five years in college than I feel that I could have ever offered to them. I clearly remember sitting in as an observer while still in college on a discussion between a parent and one of the directors of the school where I was student teaching. The parent had two beautiful and amazing children who had been enrolled at the school, twins whom I had worked with the previous year. One of her children had been born with a significant brain abnormality, and while he demonstrated no motor delays he had significant cognitive, social, and language delays as a result. He had absolutely charmed me when I worked with him, and had stolen my heart. Her other child had been born without any complications, but later while still in the hospital had suffered a spinal cord stroke and was paralyzed from the mid chest down. She had significant motor limitations, but was not delayed in her cognitive, social, or language skills (speech was impacted by her ability to control breathing somewhat). She too had stolen my heart as I marveled at her quick wit and incredible independence. The parent was discussing her love for both children, but the incredible injustice that she felt at times. They had just had a birthday party for the little boy (They were twins but did not share a birthday - one child was delivered, then labor stopped and held off for a period of time before the second child delivered) and she was saddened by how he was unable to participate with the other children and instead spent the time running around in his "own world". She then was talking about how proud she was of the little girl, but how she was still mad because she was supposed to be her child that was born healthy, the child of unlimited promise to "compensate" for all that was "lost" with her brother. This very personal conversation, which I felt honored to be a part of, opened my eyes to the depth of emotion that comes with having a child with special needs. It took the theoretical of "what if" and gave it a face, a name, and a heart. I had never before truly considered the multitude of emotions, of the daily frustrations and heartbreaks as well as joys and celebrations, of the questions without answers and the need to create new answers that seem to be a part of being a parent of a child with special needs.
In that moment I recognized that I would never be the expert sitting at the table when I was meeting with a parent about their child, and that to behave as if I was would be to do a complete disservice to the child and to the family. I may be an expert in the field of education, but in regards to that particular child their parents and family members have earned a degree of information that I can never aspire to holding, but that I desperately need to work with in order for the educational process to be successful. I may have a child in my class for 7 hours per day, but their parents and family have them in their homes and in their hearts 24 hours per day, 7 days per week, 365 days per year. Even if I think I know what is best, I can not pretend to know the impact that the needs of a child have had on a family. That is when I need to listen, to work with parents to arrive at a solution or a plan that will be successful not just for the child but for the entire family, to form a collaborative team rather than oppositional forces. I always have as my goal a teaching environment where parents feel comfortable expressing concerns, asking questions, sharing information, and knowing that they are a critical part of a team that is working towards providing the best education possible for their child. Teaching without being aware of the impact that a child's needs has on their family, or the needs/concerns/information/ideas that their family may have, is to teach incompletely and to only part of the child. Children are part of a family and a community and it is my job as an educator to provide information, support, assistance, and to collaborate with their family/community. Only then am I educating the entire child and only then will I be successful.

They Get It

My kids get it. I could not be any prouder of these children and how much they have accomplished, and what I am most proud of can not be measured on an IEP goal or on a developmental checklist. What makes me want to give them each a gold medal and set them before the world as true heroes is the fact that they have come together, a group of children that includes three children who are typically developing, one child with an emotional disturbance and language delay, two children with severe disabilities, three children with autism, one child who has mild developmental delays but is learning English as a second language and one child who had developmental delays as a result of medical issues but who (even with his trach and g-tube) is kicking butt and catching up rapidly (also learning English as a second language), and formed a class that takes care of each other. My child with significant autism who has just begun to say a few words has become the protector of is classmates and is the first to come investigate what is wrong when someone is crying. He offers consolation in his own way, with a gentle touch, a smile, and the offer of a cherished toy. One of my inclusion peers has taken another child with autism into her care and is her guardian, making sure that she is not only safe but included in all activities. She very patiently and lovingly plays with her classmate, bringing her into her activities and ignoring her missing social skills, instead filling in for whatever is missing and thus providing a scaffold naturally so they ca play together. Today another inclusion peer requested a toy and when given it, my child who has behavioral issues tried to fight him for it. I redirected him and set a time limit for turns with the toy. When his turn was up, the child was allowed to give the desired toy to any of his peers who were sharing it with him (it was the key to the mailbox they were playing with that was so hotly contested). Instead of being angry at his classmate who had just 5 minutes earlier tried to hurt him, he kindly handed it to his peer who had tried to fight him and told him "its your turn now, X. thank you for waiting". He wasn't just echoing my words either, he meant them. I can give a hundred more examples - how my children talk about how some day the two children in my class who use wheelchairs will walk with them on the playground when their muscles get stronger and learn how to work together, how they compete to see who gets to help push the wheelchairs or hold a friend's hand to help them down the hallway, how they speak up for one another and are intuitively aware of each other's strengths and weaknesses (when playing chase they will often slow down so that the children who are slower can keep up without being asked to do so, they will choose to play games everyone can play together). We are by no means a perfect class - my little ones can fight like scrappers, can argue, can take advantage of each other, can have awful days when I am tempted to set them outside with a sign "free to a good home". But we are something special, and not special in the way that it is used in education. We have created something together, and I mean that the kids are just as responsible as the adults - we did it together, where everyone is a valued and treasured part of the community and ability level is meaningless. It is fact in our classroom that everyone has things they are good at, and everyone has things they need help doing and that we simply help each other when we need help. I did not realize how deeply this belief went until my principal made a comment when displaying my class to her supervisor that "they all have special needs. well, not all of them. two of them are normal." I was shocked because I don't see normal/not normal and I am willing to bet every dollar I have ever made that none of the children in my class do either. We see friends, we see classmates, we see the children we know and share our days with but we do not see disabilities or differences or abnormalities or normalities or atypicalities or typicalities. At the ages of 3 and 4 my kids get it completely, deeply, and without question. They accept one another as individuals, they support one another playing off of each other's strengths and weaknesses, and they love their friends for who they are not for what they are. So where do we lose it? If we can get it so easily at 3, why is it so hard to get it as adults? Where does it go? How do I help get it back? And how do I tell my little ones just how brilliant, amazing, and extraordinary they are for their insight and maturity at such an age? Because a sticker, a paper award, a trinket just does not seem like enough to document what they have accomplished. They have proven countless adults wrong, they have proven that inclusion is absolutely worth it, they have proven that children are just children, and they have done it all without even knowing what they are doing. Sometimes the educator becomes the student.

Those Kids

The word "those" seems innocuous. It is a simple word that helps delineate one group from another, as in you can wear those shoes when it is not raining like crazy but today you need to wear shoes that will not go sliding across the classroom floor the minute you try to use running feet instead of walking feet. However, the word those can take on a very bitter and ugly meaning as soon as it is applied to children. Then it is used to set apart one group from the other, to create divisions, and to mark children as different. That is when the taste of the word becomes revolting n my mouth and I can not swallow it without choking. To refer to children with special needs as THOSE KIDS instantly strips them of any personal identity, of any worth, of anything other than their disabilities. At a mandatory meeting I was required to attend this past week someone was assured their question would not be stupid, only to prove that there are indeed stupid questions. This person, a general education teacher, immediately caused me to cringe by identifying the topic of her question as the children at her school who are served by the severe disabilities program and then referring to them from then on as THOSE kids. Her very stupid question (and I mean stupid in the sense of uneducated and ignorant) centered around how she perceived the inclusion of THOSE kids in certain activities as a waste of resources because "couldn't the teacher be better using her time for something else like a gifted class?". It took every ounce of self control in every cell of my body not to shout out in response to her, and the only way I was able to harness enough control was to remind myself that her words seemed to come from ignorance rather than blatant hatred. Even then it was a tough battle. I wanted to stand up and shout that THOSE KIDS are MY KIDS! Those Kids are someone's son or daughter, someone's brother or sister, someone's grandson or granddaughter, someone's niece or nephew, they are someone's hopes and dreams. Those Kids are not just taking up space, but each child is dearly loved, is valued, is a part of a family, is a part of a community, is an individual with worth and rights and a personality and that by relegating them to nothing more than the designation of Those Kids she was missing it all. How is it that the three year olds in my class who served as my inclusion peers (or those with less significant developmental delays) this year "got it" so easily, without even having to be taught specifically about delays and disabilities, and yet this supposedly educated adult who is in the teaching profession is so ignorant to the truth? It is so true that the children will lead us if only we will follow. It is my most sincere hope that she does not work at the school I am transferring to for next year, when I become a teacher of a class for children who receive services in a severe disabilities program. If by some most horrible turn of fate she is, she will definitely be educated in just who Those Kids are and their incredible value. You can say what you wish about me but Those are MY Kids.

Its Something Unpredicatable....

I wanted to write a creative, unique, fun and interesting way to reflect back on a year of preschool. I do believe I have failed miserably, but failed with style. Style must count for something! Anyway, below is my slightly-off-center reflections on my second year of teaching, and a year in a preschool classroom.

September: "I can't wait to go to school, then I will be a big kid, too, I'll make friends and learn so much at school" (Can't Wait to Go To School by Tom Gardner)

October: "Then you can mash, Then you can monster mash, The monster mash, And do my graveyard smash" (Monster Mash by Bobby "Boris" Pickett)

November: " Soup Soup, Tasty Soup Soup, Spicy carrot and coriander" (Soup Song by The Mighty Boush)

December: "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, Just like the ones I used to know" (White Christmas by Irving Berlin)

January: "But as long as you love me so, Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!" (Let It Snow by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne)

February: "My funny valentine, Sweet comic valentine, You make me smile with my heart" (Funny Valentine by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart)

March: "Vacation, All I ever wanted, Vacation, Had to get away" (Vacation by the Go-Gos)

April: "Spring fever, spring is here at last...Get Up, get out spring is everywhere" (Spring Fever by Elvis Presley)

May: "She's a butterfly, pretty as the crimson sky, Nothing's ever gonna bring her down, And everywhere she goes, everybody knows, She's so glad to be alive, She's a butterfly" (She's a Butterfly by John Rich and Kenny Alphin [performed by Martina McBride])

June: "For what it's worth, It was worth all the while. It's something unpredictable, But in the end its right. I hope you had the time of your life." (Time of Your Life by Green Day)

Notes on the above

September- start of school, excitement, transitioning children into their first school experience, convincing C.'s parents that he should attend a preschool program and that it would benefit him, watching helplessly as M.'s parents pulled her from the program after 4 days and denied her an educational experience that I know would have benefited her but having to surrender to their parental rights, wondering if N. could talk at all or if he had regressed and lost all speech

October- Finding our routines and coming together as a class, discover that N. can talk but has every reason to be slow to trust others and my heart finds a million new ways to break for this sweet child, watching in amazement as the inclusion process with typical peers begins to meld into a cohesive class, Halloween party with awesome costumes, Blue eyed boy as Purple People Eater, A. as superman, C. as spider man, N. begins to show interest in firefighters (this will emerge again in May/June), N. and A. begin their love/hate relationship, N.'s behavior begisn to come under control

November- stone soup feast, farmer's market, taste and try different foods, cook our own soup, avoid trying to explain Thanksgiving and turkeys to children, instead celebrate sharing and working together, emphasize concepts of sharing & team work in all areas of classroom and am delighted at results

December- P. joins our class and makes it a full house, three holidays in three weeks, children love exploring new holidays, classroom becomes a present workshop, miss the last week before vacation due to extreme circumstances and am sad to miss their building excitement over Santa and Christmas but desperately must return home

January- Receive a grant so we can have snow in our classroom to explore as well as cool books about snow, one wintery day we play our instruments until it finally starts snowing ("calling in the snow"), hope and wish for snow days that never happen, run n the snow as it falls and taste snowflakes, dance in the very tiny patches of snow on the ground, discover that we can all work together on the same unit theme and learn as a class - find a uniting topic that fascinates everyone and is universally accessible, B. begins to eat by mouth for the first time and eats school lunch with peers!

February- valentine's day party, practice colors and shapes, create bags of treats for "helpers" at school (other teachers, therapists, etc) like in our book - counting, matching a pattern, following directions, etc. all practiced, make beautiful valentines to take home, learn about different kinds of love - love your family, love your friends, love yourself

March- Spring Break!! Everyone is ready for a vacation, teacher included, as well as for the easter bunny, we have a bear hunt on the playground to search for prizes and instead of bears we find bunnies (cheaper at the store), make textured Brown Bear, Brown Bear books and practice signing the book each time we read it as well as signing along with the song, am able to get P. to say words fro the first time ever!

April- SPRING! We attempt a walk to look at flowers and butterflies but this seems to be the equivalent of barbaric torture to preschoolers, delight in playing outside more, watch as leaves bloom, plant flowers to hopefully bloom by mother's day (they don't and we end up replanting in May with already grown flowers), day and night theme celebrated with a pajama party, discover we can make awesome smoothies and that switch adapted cooking is fun, P. communicates requests for certain toys and to swing using non-verbal communication and adds speech with prompting

May- raise and release butterflies, have fun with a unit on bugs and butterflies, learn about community helpers and discover that every single child can identify at least two community helpers and most 4+, rediscover the joys of the dress up clothes and become community helpers and people in our daily lives, ride tricycles outside and spend entire mornings outside as the upper grades take state tests (we are too loud), I. gets his gait trainer and takes off - this kid can move!, more break-throughs with P. as he connects with peers and begins to show empathy and imitation without prompting and begins to taste foods (applesauce and yogurt), caterpillars take over the school playground and we catch them daily to look at

June- walk a thon with the kids in the wagon and only C. and C. remaining after one lap to go for 30 minutes of riding and walking, playing on the soccer field only to be chased away by lawnmowers, bubbles outside, face painting, End of Year Fun!!

You Want Me To WHAT?

The end of the school year. Parties, laughter, two weeks of standardized testing for the different grade levels. Wait a minute there. Two weeks of standardized testing?!?! They waited until the last few weeks of school for this? And then they asked me to try to keep 11 preschoolers, 11 three and four year olds who can apparently smell summer on the wind and taste it in the sunshine, 11 children who have rediscovered every old behavior I thought we had permanently destroyed, absolutely quiet on testing days. Apparently laughter was not the response they were looking for because it did not receive a warm welcome. Once I swallowed my mirth at the idea of somehow keeping that number of children anywhere near quiet at this time of year, we began to problem solve. Since I am in no way able to predict when several of my children will burst forth into loud noise (either in joy or anger) the final decision was made that perhaps on testing days for the grades in our hallway it would be best if we spent as much time as possible outside. Compared to trying to keep the mob quiet, I can handle playing outside. We can play games, read under a tree, play on the playground, do sidewalk chalk, ride bikes, play with bubbles, go for a walk, take the water table outside, play ball, paint with water on the sidewalk and the building, pick wildflowers (weeds..shh, don't tell the kids), etc. What we can not do is control the weather and the fact that it is supposed to rain on some of the testing days. Um, we don't have a plan B here. Plan B is to keep them absolutely quiet and Plan B is about as likely to occur as me winning the Utah lottery. I have a feeling that I am going to receive a lot of intra-building calls telling me to keep my kids quiet and I will ask for volunteers to come on down and try to keep a preschooler quiet. The Prize? Your very own preschooler on testing days. Because short of feeding them candy until they explode, or letting them quietly destroy the building, there is no way to keep them silent. I wonder if the principal would let us come play in her office for a while? :) I am sure there are plenty of neat things there that would help us stay quiet. We have already worn out our welcome in the library, the computer lab is just a bad idea altogether, and the gym is taken all day for the older kids. I may resort to popcorn and videos for at least a few minutes of guaranteed quiet - that is if no one steals anyone else's popcorn, if no one touches or looks at anyone else, if everyone agrees on the same video, if everyone can see, and if the air currents remain absolutely stable. It is like herding cats through a waterfall, and trying to keep them quiet while doing so. But the kids? They are so much fun right now as we ride bikes, make kites, play in water, play dress up (I wore butterfly wings all day last week because they asked me to and I am totally willing to look like an idiot if it encourages language and social skills), make rapid new understandings (community helpers connected for everyone in so many ways), explore the world around them, discover things outside for the first time or all over again (bugs! caterpillars! dirt! leaves! flowers! birds! blades of grass! puddles! rocks!), and show off a year's worth of learning and personality. Even with the behaviors coming back (they are ready for a break), this is the best time of year because they have come so far and made such progress. And like today, their behavior was awesome! Still, I have to ask, when it comes to keeping them silent, you want me to WHAT?!?

The List Goes On

Yet another installment of Comments from the Classroom.

We have some of the oldest windows in existence in our school building and for some reason when they were installed it was decided that it would be a wonderful idea to place them right at the level of a small child's reach and our kids have all figured out how to unlock them and open them.

PM Teacher: Joseph, are you touching my windows?
Child (who is clearly trying to open the window): No touching the windows!
Teacher: Do Not touch the windows! Windows are for teachers only.
Child: Just say no...to windows!

Child (after being poked in the eye with a piece of grass while rolling down a hill): Well, that wasn't supposed to happen.

Me (to a child I am "torturing" by encouraging them to use their hands): Yes, I know. I am the mean one and you are the cute one. But cuteness only gets you so far in life.

Becca(to another child): Andrew, your princess is in distress. Come rescue me!
Andrew (wearing a fire fighter's hat): whoo-oo! whoo-oo! Fireman Drew! Fireman Drew! Whoo-oo! Whoo-oo! Fireman Drew! Fireman Drew! I save you!

Me: Drew, do you want two blue (jelly beans) or three blue (jelly beans)?
Drew: Two blue.
Me: Are you sure?
Drew: Yeppie! Two blue!!

New Favorites

These little guys are the "new favorites" on the playground at school. Sure, they may be determined to destroy a few of the trees, but who cares when it means that there are thousands of bugs for little ones to catch crawling all over everything? My kids chase these and catch them with the seriousness, and narration style, of the Crocodile Hunter. I laugh when a few of them then scream because they actually caught one (like it moves that fast?). I rescued this one from the "love" of a preschooler and returned him to higher ground after photographing him. You can't save them all...
The Farmer's Market is not a "NEW" favorite, but a returning favorite that is finally open again after closing for winter in November. Fresh fruit, vegetables, local honey, fresh cheeses, homemade bread, spices and teas, flowers, etc. It is just fun to walk around and see all of the bright colors, all of the things that are fresh and crisp, all of the plants, and all of the different things being sold.






Bubbles are a "New favorite" with scented bubbles, catchable bubbles, and a new bubble-blowing machine making their way into our classroom in the past few weeks. With nicer weather, we are sneaking out the playground a little earlier (which preserves whatever passes for my sanity anymore) and these often come along. We have a few rules though - teachers blow the bubbles (we had a few to many fights over the bubbles - and a few too many notes home explaining scratches, bruises, and pissed off kids) and only teacher's touch the bubble machine (you know, I like to send kids home with the same number of fingers they came with. I am odd that way). Also, you can not pop a bubble on a friend. Trust me, it will not be appreciated. Finally, the last rule is that you MUST have fun! :) Even mean dictators of preschool classrooms have weaknesses and mine include bubbles.

Classroom Conversations

Not only is teaching, or at least my specialty area of teaching, a full contact sport (and I have the bruises to prove it!) but it is often an improv act at a comedy club. We don't mean for it to be that way, well - not all the time anyway, but it quite often is just by the nature of combining children and adults together in small spaces for extended periods of time. Below are some of my favorite comments, by children and adults, that I have been able to hear (or say) at school recently.

A teacher: "Yes, you could bury a dead body. What else could you bury?" (Well, they won't all go to college...)

Four year old student: "No! Some girls have girlfriends and some boys have boyfriends. So do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend?"

Me: "Can you show me walking feet please?" Student: "No, I can't!" Me: "Well, your choices are walking feet or sitting bottom." Student: "I found my walking feet!"

Me: "Jenny, it's time to sit please." Jenny: "But I just HAVE TO DANCE!"

Student: "Do you know there is poop on the floor?" Me: "Yes." Student: "What are you doing?" Me: "I am guarding the poop so no one steps in it." Student: "You do know this isn't normal..." Me: "Yes, I know." Student:(muttered under his breath) "Mommy would NEVER let this happen at home!"

Kindergarten student: "Only babies touch their pee-pees."

Me: "Whose cold little hands are on my bottom and WHY are they there?"

Me: "I promise there is nothing in my pockets worth stealing!"

Me: "Who wants to be my helper and come pick up all the toys Jonny just threw out the window (again)?"

Me: "Kelly, pants stay on! Pants ON! In this classroom we all keep our pants ON!"

Me: "No drinking the paint! We don't have enough paint left for you to keep drinking it!"

And last (for now): "Me: If you are going to throw up, could you please TRY to get SOME of it on the tile?"

Miseducation

When you graduate from college with a teaching certificate you have hopes, dreams, ideals, and passion. Apparently it is the purpose and structure of the public education system to strip all of these from you and create a willing and obedient participant in the system. All sarcasm aside, I never expected to become so cynical and jaded to the school system so fast. In less than two years I have discovered that in terms of educating children with special needs we may have brought them into the buildings with children who are typically developing but we have done little else. Inclusion is treated as a noun, not a verb, and according to the portion of the training video I made it through this week before having to leave early inclusion is not guaranteed to any child with special needs under federal law. Children basically earn the right to be with their peers, it is not assumed that because they are children they deserve this right. Services are offered at a bare minimum and things are kept silent unless a parent directly asks, and even then you are to talk around it. The two top goals are to avoid lawsuits and to make sure you can win lawsuits. That is all I have heard about at my last trainings and required meetings. Why take data? To be able to prove your side in a lawsuit. Oh, and while you have data you can use it to make decisions too. Why write a new and improved IEP? To avoid lawsuits and make it easier to win them of course! And to avoid spending more money on "services not federally required". Don't sneak in any services that may benefit a child but are not required under federal law, that would be incomprehensible and unforgivable! In this framework I have committed what is most likely akin to educational treason by supporting a parent with honest information in order to assist in the child receiving the best educational outcome for the future. Nothing I did had been explicitly forbidden, but I do think was covered in one of the general "do not do or say anything stupid that could ever be used against us in a lawsuit" speeches and the "do not give any more information that is required" speeches. I have no clue when it became wrong to do what is so obviously right, but I would rather hang for doing what is right than be heralded for doing what I know to be wrong. I always dreamed of being a teacher, of making a difference, of being able to do what would benefit a child. I never dreamed of being in a position where I felt I was being asked to lie to families, either through direct commission of a lie or omission of information, where I would be asked to focus not on maximum educational benefit but minimal federal requirements, and where the children are almost an afterthought. So I am rebelling in my own way, refusing to lie, refusing to become a silent player in the miseducation of children and the deception of families, refusing to sell my soul in order to have a paycheck. Perhaps I care too much, but these are children we are talking about not animals or shipments of furniture and no one seems to remember that as we discuss data, federal law, services, paperwork, and lawsuits. We are educating children who deserve every opportunity to learn, to grow, to develop, and to impact their own tomorrow. How can we forget that? I refuse to forget that.

Growing your world

Spring is one of the best and worst times to be a teacher. It is the worst because as soon as the little ones realize that it is nice outside the demands to go outside and play begin and continue unabated all day - be it in speech, sign, picture symbols, gestures, or other creative forms of communication. With my class I do not take them outside to play until right before they leave to go home because our specialty is definitely not transitions and once I manage to herd all ten or eleven of them out the door and down to the playground the last thing on earth I want to do is to try to convince them that they have to all march back inside the building. They outnumber the adults on average 3 to 1, closer to 4 to 1. If we attempted this I am quite certain that they would unite and stage a miniature revolution, scattering into the wind and causing a disaster of epic proportions that I never want to experience. If you have ever tried to catch one toddler/preschooler who was trying to avoid something imagine doing that on a scale of 9 running children with endless space because really, why should the district invest in a fence when they can purchase things like a new gym facility in the new administration building or raises for the top administrators. Oh, and forget opening windows because the windows are placed perfectly at child height and my little Houdini has figured out that these are not only great escape routes for every toy in the classroom but also for himself. It will be a long, hot spring. But there are awesome things about spring. Top of the list is that I no longer have to wrestle little bodies into eighteen layers of clothing to go in and out of the building. This never made sense to me because we are in the south. Reality check, children in Alaska wear fewer layers! Forget potty training anyone when they are wearing three pairs of pants. The other great things are all of the opportunities to bring hands on experiences to the kids. Almost everything that grows in spring can be experiences by my little ones. On our torturous walk (sissy city kids - you went less than 1/4 of a block in 30 minutes and most of you were in a wagon) we saw moths, heard bird songs, saw every color of the rainbow in flowers, saw leaves in different stages on trees, and saw squirrels. We will go on more walks to see how the flowers grow, to check for more birds, and to watch the leaves. They will learn to deal with it because the wagon only seats 4 and 3 of those seats are reserved for my escape artists. I am so mean making my children get outside and do something so terrible as walk through a neighborhood with a bunch of adults that love them and tell them cool things about the plants and animals. We are also attempting to grow flowers, and by some miracle most of them are actually starting to grow. This is a dual miracle because the kids were almost completely independent in the planting of these flowers and because I am capable of killing artificial flowers. On Monday I need to replant a few because I think they need a second chance to grow before my kids discover that some have life and others do not. Thank God they can not read otherwise the fights and teasing over who has a flower and who does not would get ugly amongst my children with language. Most fun of all is that we are "growing" butterflies. We received nice fat, fuzzy caterpillars, or as my kids call them "baby butterflies" because the official terms are way beyond us and not necessary. They have watched them crawl around and eat their food and on Friday it looked like they were getting ready to start their cocoons. To the kids, this is known as "wrapping up in a special blanket so that they can sleep and while they sleep they will become butterflies". Again, we are 3 and 4 years old and most of us have delays here. The baby butterflies are now next door in a safer room because I am afraid that once they start to "wrap up in their blankets" they might be bumped or dropped by a preschooler and then not ever wake up. My little ones are so into this that they ask about their baby butterflies every day and have asked some great questions like "where is their mommy?" "they miss mommy?" "brothers?", "what do they eat?", "what the blanket?". and "when we let the butterflies go, will they ever come back?". Between flowers, two little pots of kitchen herbs, and our butterflies we are growing our world this spring and it is awesome to see them so hands on about it. I hope, hope, hope to get permission to take them on a field trip to the farmer's market in a nearby town in May and let them see what happens to all of the fruits and things that people grow. Call me brave, crazy, or both but I want them to experience as much of what is alive in their world. And no way on earth were we even considering the zoo or the petting farm. I may be brave and/or crazy but I am not stupid!

Converting Silk Pajamas to a Parachute

I have never been a huge fan of leaps of faith, although recently it seems like I land from one only to find myself preparing to take another. Personally I prefer to have my feet firmly on the ground, even if that ground is rocky and steep because as long as there is ground underneath me I know where I am and that the fall is not going to hurt too badly. Once you leap you have no idea if the jump is three feet or three thousand feet and if the landing will be gentle or cataclysmicly shattering. So now I find myself on the edge again where I am taking three, oh no that was not a mistake I meant to type three, separate leaps of faith at once and feeling a bit like Sybil wondering how I can throw myself off of three ledges at the same time and quite probably receive three different landing results. First is the most enjoyable leap of faith in the fact that I am taking an enormous risk in participating in this summer missions program. This is most like going over a waterfall in a barrel. If nothing else the ride will be unforgettable and you will have an incredible story to tell for the remainder of your life. Over on cliff number two is a leap that I am taking by choice because I have this annoying little thing called a conscience. I detest injustice, but I abhor and detest injustice when it is directed at someone who is incapable of defending themselves and when it is being done because of prejudice, ineptitude at one's job, and laziness. My conscience is staging a revolt against the school policies of only giving parents the exact amount of information required by law and nothing more, or even outright lying to them. I have never played nicely with others and have been a rebel, so why stop now. When given a choice between obeying a system that I know would not give this child a proper educational opportunity or obeying the moral code of my own soul the choice was really not that freaking difficult. I have not been explicitly forbidden to do anything that I have done or am doing, although I think it may have been assumed that no teacher would do such things after the "don't do anything stupid and be very careful in all you say and do" speech this past August in which we were instructed about choosing words carefully and being selective in what information we offer. Well, I will not participate in the miseducation of any child and this this year I have been subtly backdooring information to parents and finding ways to insure that every child received what they needed even though my own teaching has been greatly hampered by the work of my assistant, or I should say inability to work. All I will say on that note is that it is April and because of a mistake she made while changing a diaper one of my children ended up putting feces in his mouth and eyes yesterday. I would expect that by now she could at least change a diaper without screwing up. So anyway, leap number two is culminating in a series of events where I will refuse to participate in the miseducation and mis-service of a child (and potentially more children). Could this lead to trouble at work, and with my job? I don't have an honest answer other than I would rather jump than stand there and watch all of my little ones fall. Jump number three is one I was forced into by the administration of my school in reference to said assistant. Because of the fact that she is unable to complete simple tasks safely, let alone actually keep the children from hurting themselves or each other, let alone ASSIST ME in teaching I have been placed in a position where I can not remain at the school for next year. The administration has refused to do anything about this issue except admonish me to be patient, to instruct her better, and to make my expectations clear (OK, don't let the kids eat crap! Is that clear enough for her?!? And if they run away for the love of everything holy could she possibly make an attempt to stop them or catch them?). I have 11 children in my class and 1 adult child. I refuse to lose my career and whatever is left of my sanity to this situation when she causes a child to be seriously injured, and I say when not if. Since she is untouchable at my school and has yet to even be reprimanded for anything she has done (leave a child on the changing table and walk away? Well, just remind her, she is capable of learning.) I am out of there. However, I have not been guaranteed a job opening in preschool for the fall and I like the simple things in life like food, water, shelter, medical care. So I am applying for a job in a completely different area of special education which would require me to return to school to get my masters degree. Since sixth grade I have wanted to teach preschool special education and after two short years I am seriously considering bailing at least for a while. HUGE LEAP. So, since I hate not being in control and I detest leaps I have decided that what I need is a parachute. I checked out the parachute we have in our classroom at school, but it has an odd hole in the center that I am a bit concerned may cause some issues with slowing my descent. Then I considered purchasing one from a sky diving group, but then I realized that anyone who jumps out of a plane for fun isn't quite stable and would probably sell me an old one in need of repair. So I have settled on a solution. I am converting silk pajamas into a parachute. Hey, before you laugh, the Confederate army made a hot air balloon out of silk dresses during the Civil war so I am certain this can be done. At least with a parachute when the ground comes rushing up at me after I leap I can slow the rate at which I slam into it, or if it turns out to be a beautiful leap afterall I can perhaps sustain the ride longer and enjoy the amazing wonder of faith and providence before having to return to earth. If nothing else it will sure make a statement as I throw my Sybil self off of all three cliffs. My banner to the world as I jump will be a hodge-podge, mismatched crazy quilt parachute of silky pajamas. Interpret as you wish.

Miles to Go

This week I discovered that I need to put a sign outside of our classroom door. "Children are not on display. If you feel you must come stare, the price of admissions is $10 per person. Comments are extra." Apparently when HER boss came for inspection, MY boss (aka the principal) thought it would be a good idea to give her a tour of the school. I have no issue with that, although I agree with all of the other teachers that a little warning or at least introduction would have been appreciated. No, my issue arises from the moment when my classroom door swings wide open and I look over (expecting to see a child making a bold dash for freedom - as if that ever works) to see my principal and some random woman standing there staring in at us. That feeling you get when someone is staring at you, that creepy "Big Brother is watching you" feeling? It was completely that stare rather than an interested observation. Apparently just a quick stare was not enough because my principal opened her mouth and out fell a new level of inappropriate treatment of me and my children. "This class is chaos. It is always like this. This is our preschool and so they all have disabilities. Well not all of them, two of them are normal inclusion peers." Where oh where do I begin with that? First, allow me to thank you for undermining my teaching in front of your boss. I am quite sure that she found your supportive attitude towards your staff a positive quality to note in your record. Also allow me to thank you for reminding me exactly why I must find a job in a different school, different company, different anything for next year and get the hell out from under your power. Trust me, once I have secured a different job you will have the opportunity to hear my comments on your job performance. Also, if you have the opinion that my class could be kept under better control, please demonstrate this for me by coming out of your cozy office and teaching my class for one day while I observe (with video camera in hand, for reference purposes of course). I am sure it would be highly educational and insightful. Second, where do you get off talking as if my children are somehow less than others because they have developmental delays/disabilities? I don't know what rock you live under (never mind - refer back to hiding in cozy office) but it is inappropriate to refer to only some of my children as normal. ALL of my children are "normal", whatever the hell that means, because all of them are CHILDREN. Some may use wheelchairs, some may use sign language to communicate or picture symbols or voice output devices, some may require assistance to engage with their environment, some may not understand social skills in the same traditional way, but all of them are CHILDREN who love to play, to laugh, to be treated as full individuals with value. Do not negate the inclusive culture I have managed to create in my classroom in spite of the culture of the district. Do not negate the worth of any of my children. Do not treat us as a sideshow attraction. I went over to see what she needed, and my principal said she was just showing this woman (I was ever introduced to her - apparently I am not up to that standard) around and they just wanted to look for a minute. I asked if they had any questions and was told no. My children come to school to learn, to be in a safe environment where their delays are not a barrier, where they will be taught and appreciated on a truly individual level. They do not come to school to be put on display and disrespected. I am fair game because I signed a contract to work there and I can choose to defend myself any number of ways, but my children are off limits. They have no say in being there, or in how the adults around them choose to behave, and they can not speak for themselves. I speak for them and I say they are off limits. Their parents trust me with their care, and I refuse to allow them to be treated as anything less than the incredible children that they are and as absolutely worthy individuals. I have reached my limit of watching these children being treated as less than others, as undeserving and as unequal to others. Now I just need to figure out the best course of action. When I graduated from college I was so wide eyed and truly believed that we had made such progress in the education of children with special needs. Now I see that we have only really made a beginning, and some gestures, but we have many "miles to go before [we] sleep".

Smile, darn ya, SMILE

Today was school picture day, one of my least favorite days to be a teacher. Trying to convince eight preschool children with special needs to sit down in a chair, to look in the direction of the camera, to keep their hands down in their lap (rather than in their noses, their eyes, or making strange and obscene-appearing gestures), and to smile is as much fun as doing dental work on a conscious mountain lion. It took us over an hour to get an individual picture taken of each child and a group picture taken of all of us. That is more than 60 minutes of begging, bribing, and ordering kids to LOOK AT ME and SMILE. I used bubbles, sparkly toys, stickers, candy, and more. I was ready to promise ponies, trips to the zoo, and more candy than they could eat in a month if they would just sit down and smile. The photographer had apparently not worked with preschoolers before and had no clue what to do with little ones, let alone little ones who had special needs. We debated the possibility of using the wooden chair I brought for my children to sit in for their pictures until she realized two things - 1) my mobile children are not going to stand in one place with their hands nicely on a platform for more than .005 seconds and 2) my children who use wheelchairs DON'T STAND. This came up during our debate in an interesting way. I was by this point already frustrated as my little ones tried to find every cord, light, wire, and breakable object and I was negotiating details like can they sit in a chair for a stupid picture or will the floor show if we do that (as if I care?).
Photographer: Can they each try to stand on the platform?
Me: If you can get the two in the wheelchairs to stand, you are hired.
Photographer: Oh.
Me: So is this a good place to put the chair?
By the time we were done, we were DONE. My children who thrive on routine had met, and then exceeded their limits and became puddles of tears or screaming fury. My children who enjoy adding to chaos had great fun. I wanted to curl up in the corner with one of the blankets and just watch as they thoroughly overthrew my established dictatorship. It was a coup. The inmates overthrew the institution. But we did learn that if you kick a standing flash system, the flash goes off and that if you touch a professional photographer's camera she can run faster than I knew possible. We also learned that I am a mean teacher who refuses to allow four year olds to stand on the upper levels of the risers (falls require too much paperwork and bloody messes take too long to properly clean up) and even meaner for not allowing the school secretary to give them all candy after the chaos of the morning had already claimed my children. Hey, they got chocolate milk and gummy bears with lunch. Besides, if anyone earned chocolate it was ME! Then later the afternoon preschool teacher had to brag that her class took less than 15 minutes to photograph. Revenge, it will be sweet.

Survivor - Preschool Edition

Preschool isn't for sissies. Hidden beneath ringlets of curls and never-ending dimples is a harsh world that devours those who enter unprepared. Substitute teachers are a favorite snack, and few who enter once return for a second appearance. They underestimate my little ones and are entranced by the cute factor, completely missing the devilish undertones that crop up whenever there is a new person to exploit. Exploitation of new people is an art form for the preschool child, and while watching the performance of testing each and every limit and boundary can be quite entertaining, participating in the enforcement of said limits and boundaries every single time a new person is introduced can be arduous. Sure, the rules apply with the teacher....but does the assistant know ALL of the rules? What about the OTHER assistant? The therapist? The Other therapist? The Other Other therapist? Can you see where this is going? Like bloodhounds drawn to the scent of a target, my children are drawn to two things - fear and inconsistency. If you are scared of them they will rip you apart like a school of piranhas, joyfully destroying any confidence or enjoyment of teaching young children that you may have brought along that day. should they find you to be inconsistent, they will swarm you like little old ladies at the nickel slot machines constantly pushing buttons until there is a reward. Every so often they like to be thrown some fresh meat to play with, which is nice because every so often I succumb to their incredible ability to breed indestructible germs, and so I offer up to them a substitute for a day or two to toy with and in exchange we maintain some level of peace. They also continually like to test the boundaries of their peers, just to make sure that the line established yesterday is still the line for today. I like to allow learning by natural consequences whenever possible, so I will allow a child to learn many things this way as long as there is no real chance of bloodshed or injury (the paperwork that comes with blood!! Oh the paperwork!! Besides, I am trying to civilize the cute little creatures - we even use utensils on Fork Fridays!). For the first time this school year, I offered them fresh meat on Thursday courtesy of the invincible super flu that never ends, and the substitute not only successfully wrangled them but seems no worse for the experience. She even seemed willing to re-enter our classroom without promises of fabulous prizes. I am in awe! Either I have civilized my children, or she has done the nearly impossible, or a bit of both. My class is the place where substitutes go to be reminded that the other classes really are not that bad after all - which I feel is a shame because once we are done testing someone, my kids are amazing and incredible people with the best personalties and spirits. True, we have our issues (cursing, biting, wetting our pants), but who doesn't? We finally found a substitute that we didn't break! Unfortunately, I think this might mean that their appetite for fresh meat was not fully satisfied and I may need to come up with a new offering soon or face the wrath of unappeased preschoolers.

Hamster Wheel Keep On Turning

We had a pet hamster once. Okay, more than once because those things are not built to withstand children, but that is beside the point here. It was obsessed with the spinning wheel in its cage and would run with such enthusiasm that it would make the wheel spin wildly and throw the hamster out and into the mulch. Undeterred, the hamster would stagger around for a moment and then climb right back into the wheel. He never realized that no matter how fast he ran he didn't get any further than the same damn cage in my brother's disgustingly smelly room. I don't know, maybe the running created a little hamster wind of fresh air for him. Anyway, I have become that hamster. I am well aware of the fact that for the past few months (year?) I have basically gotten no where significantly different than where I was before but I keep jumping right back on that wheel every darn time I get thrown off. Apparently my intelligence level is that of a hamster. Duly noted. A lot has happened since I last wrote, including my requesting a transfer of schools for next school year and applying out of district in case a transfer does not occur. Condensed version of a long story - I refuse to sacrifice my career to someone who should never be allowed to work with any living creature more sophisticated than the aforementioned hamster. Long version - if you can't write something nice, don't write anything at all (until you securely have a job for next year). Getting tired of the same damn wheel though, I did decide to change my frantic run a bit. I restructured my class, which has resulted in two dazed and confused assistants and a mutiny of children who do not appreciate having structure introduced into their world. Someone forgot to inform them that the classroom is a dictatorship, not a democracy, and I am head dictator. Therefore, "no" is not an option unless I offer it to you - not even when you scream it; not even when you scream it while hitting me. You would think I was asking them to take a bath in boiling oil instead of the much worse task of sitting in a chair at the table doing things like painting, coloring, playing with sand, and playing games. NOOO!! Not games! Not Paint!! NOT FUN!!! What they want is anarchy, total freedom to run around like three year old wild children, literally climbing the walls, and demanding that we fetch them this toy or that treat. Um, hell no! Reality check. I don't take orders from anyone who still pees in their pants. I will listen to you, I will engage you in lots of fun learning games, I will offer you time for supervised free play, but I am the dictator here. True, I am a dictator that rewards with candy and cookies, but then again Marie Antoinette offered cake... :) I plan on writing more now that I am back on a steady hamster wheel, with more predictable crashes into the hard ground outside of it. Hell, I don't even know if I am writing anything that anyone reads of just carrying on a strange written conversation with myself. Either way, its a hell of a lot cheaper than therapy!

Too Good for My Own Good

My little ones are sweet, precious, wonderful children who are constantly planning to overthrow the establishment and create anarchy in my classroom. I am the establishment, so I have to work diligently and continuously to keep things at a steady level of something close to calm in order to preserve my position in the delicate structure of our classroom. Our classroom is not a democracy. It is a dictatorship, but a loving and kind dictatorship where I try to take input when possible but often must impose rules and regulations that the subjects hate in order to keep them safe. One example is the rule that no children may exit the classroom via the windows. This edict was not met with much applause or cheering, but the dictator feels that it is necessary because those windows are expensive to replace. Oh, and there is that issue of children tumbling to a rather nasty landing or getting stuck part way. Apparently my constant scrambling to maintain order at the price of actually doing my prescribed occupation, teaching, is becoming a detriment. I was supposed to receive another assistant in September. It is now January. That assistant has yet to arrive in my classroom, although this week the principal finally interviewed someone. I was pissed off enough about the situation but she pushed a few more buttons when she came into my classroom this week. Now I am using every skill, trick, and muscle I have to keep calm in my room and keep my subjects engaged in activities that do not involve bloodshed or rioting and it is exhausting. When I am asking about the second assistant and stressing the importance, she has the nerve to look out at my children, whom I have finally coaxed into a few minutes of calm just before she entered the room (but who will riot the minute I attempt to work with children in small groups or individually and this let down the constant patrol), and say "well it looks good in here. They are all playing so nicely." Urgh! Yes, but do you know the theatrics, the wrestling, and the constant patrolling that is required to achieve this state of control? If I turn my back, within 60 seconds at least 2 children will be crying because someone just smacked them upside the head with a toy, someone will be standing on top of the shelves, someone else will try to exit via window or door, and my current assistant will sit there like a moron watching it all. I am too good for my own good, because I can juggle 10 chainsaws without causing a massacre. I can stomp 10 fires and keep them from becoming an inferno. I can herd 10 cats through a waterfall. But I can not do those things and teach!! Maybe I need to stop being so good and let things fall apart so that they can see that I need help and they will stop taking advantage of me every single year like this? Or maybe I need to take up cat herding as a new occupation.

Not a Goat

Dear Children,
I realize that you are trying to assist your teacher in her efforts to lose weight and that you only have her health in mind. I truly appreciate your kind intentions and generosity of spirit. Your willingness to sacrifice your own effort to benefit me is incredible. But for the love of everything holy these 500 yard dashes up the damn hill on the playground chasing you as you run away from the group are no longer amusing. My arse can not tear up that incline with the ease of a gazelle, and you always have a head start. You are only carrying your light, aerodynamic, and unbelievably flexible preschooler frame up the hill while I am carting my sturdy, not meant for flight, definitely not so flexible adult frame up that hill and usually not for the first or second time. You are wearing name brand running shoes, for which I will be sure to thank your parents. I am wearing cheap slip on flats most days, or cheap knock off brand sneakers. There is an advantage there, and there is a reason that you,a child who cannot reach a basketball net with a step ladder, should never be given Air Jordan's or Nike's or anything that might help them run faster than the little creatures already do. No one finds it cute when you stand at the top of the hill taunting me and wait until I am half way up to take off running further away. And I do mean no one - just ignore your little friends at the bottom of the hill cheering you on and laughing hysterically. They are the voice of evil. So please, if you are truly concerned about my health and welfare stop forcing me to sprint up and down the hill like a frickin' mountain goat and instead allow me to chase you around the playground in a friendly game of tag, or to push you on the swing or to play preschool soccer. I do not mind playing actively with you at recess, but that hill is more likely to lead to an early demise than it is to ever save my life. However, it may just result in you spending your recess lined up with your runaway buddies in a row of chairs watching your friends play those fun games. Just an idea to consider because I am so not above keeping plastic chairs outside for you to sit in as our spectators until you learn that I AM NOT A MOUNTAIN GOAT. You may wish to keep that in mind the next time you have the idea to run up that hill without my permission. I am the same teacher that has no problem making you stand up to eat lunch when you kick my table or keep scooting your chair around. Please don't test me. I don't like to go all Wicked Witch on you, but I will. I still love you guys more than you can imagine, even if you do exhaust me after four sprints up that hill in one 15 minute period. So truce?
Love, Teacher

Honey Doll

My classroom has been approved for a second assistant since the beginning of September, when I realized that rather than teaching I was performing some sort of ritual of organizing chaos into somewhat more structured and prettier chaos. It was also at that time that I realized were we to ever have a real emergency and need to evacuate the building instead of a drill, with plenty of warning, we would most likely end up throwing children out of the window to someone outside who may or may not actually catch them. It is now January and that second assistant is as real as the invisible people my niece kept talking to and having me put in my pocket during Christmas. The concept is fun, but they don't do a whole lot of good when they have no form. Yesterday someone was finally brought in for an interview, and I must say that I may end up having preferred it without her. Her first comment upon entering the room and seeing myself and a very temporary helper wrangling a child into submission was "Ohhh, so they are allowed to wear blue jeans here" with the most condescending attitude as if we were wearing tattered rags and begging for food. She surveyed the scene in her heels and pressed skirt suit for a few moments, most of which I ignored because I was up to my armpits in child. I did hear her comment in surprise on the fact that we were all on the floor with the children (did she expect them to levitate to our height and play suspended in air?) and that with her arthritic knees she was not sure if she could get up and down off the floor. Also, she can not longer lift with her knees and must use just her arms. Okay, hold up here. You are bringing in a woman old enough to be my grandmother who has just admitted that she can not easily sit on the floor with the children and will have trouble lifting them? I think we have a problem here!!! Preschool special education, especially with my little ones, is full contact teaching. You lift, you run, you hold, you get up and down off of the floor so many times you forget that chairs were invented, you carry squirming and wiggly children, and you are in constant motion. You get messy with snot, with drool, with dirt, with fingerpaint and regular paint and with their lunches, and with substances you would rather not consider, and with substances you never quite identify. I really do not need another assistant that is going to be more work than help. Then, THEN, she committed the fatal sin in my world. As she was leaving I asked very politely if she had any questions about the children or my classroom and she responded "No Honey Doll, I have had enough children that I know just about everything." It dripped with condescension and made me want to send one of my little ones over to initiate her immediately. I may be 40 years younger than you but in this classroom, I am the teacher. And you may have birthed a nation, but I guarantee you will not know everything about my little ones. So my principal is actually going to hire this wingnut dingbat and "give her a try" which means I am stuck with her. I may have to surrender the idea of actually teaching this year and become a glorified babysitting service. I already have glorious plans for the first few days of this new woman's work in our classroom - days of fingerpainting and shaving cream play and toy cars on the floor and messy foods and letting her work with my child who bites and the children who have no concept of language (thus making yelling "no" a pointless effort). I am so evil, but then again....she does know everything so she should be prepared for this. Honey Doll, welcome to my world!

Grits

Where I grew up, grits were not considered a food. I had vaguely heard of them as something consumed elsewhere in the country and considered them as one would consider the eating of monkey brains by other cultures, with a combination of repulsion and awe. I am unsure if any of the grocery stores that I shopped in during my childhood sold grits, but I am convinced that if they did these items were kept in some dark and dank corner that I never ventured into because my young and impressionable eyes never viewed such things. It was not until moving south for college that I beheld all that is grits, and was instantly disgusted. To my Yankee brain, grits are millimeters removed from wallpaper paste and that is after much effort to hide their gritness. Given the choice, I may just choose the wallpaper paste. So yesterday I was feeding one of my little ones not just grits, but this awful invention called cheese grits which meant that the already nasty product had been turned pumpkin-glowing-in-the-dark orange. It violated every rule of nature, and a few international laws. He was enjoying this awful substitute for nutrition and had just been given another big spoonful of glowing sin when it happened. I could see it coming when his little nose scrunched and twitched, but had no time to take evasive measures. With a mouth full of one of the most disgusting food substances, he sneezed. But before sneezing he made sure to turn so that he was facing me completely, because otherwise some of the flying grit projectiles might have just missed me and that would have been a disaster. It was something out of the worst horror movie, a shower of brilliant orange particles of grits raining down and spraying out at me. When I shrieked in disgust, he laughed. As I muttered while trying to pick grits out of my hair and wipe it off of my face, he laughed harder. If I did not despise grits before, I would after that. I cursed whoever discovered the existence of grits as I tried to comb them out of my hair and then wash them out in the shower. Now grits are no longer just a disgusting, inhumane food item but they are evil personified. Grits, be warned...I will seek revenge.