31 for 21: Day 26: breakdown

View More: http://mollyflanaganphotography.pass.us/starkey-family-2013

Go:

I hear the bedroom door creak open and jammied feet pad softly down the hall. Looking at the computer screen I note that  it’s after 6 a.m. Technically they can be up now. She pokes her sleepy head into the room rubbing her eyes.

“Momma. Eat? Drink?” Her question makes me chuckle, although I turn from her until I can pull my serious face back together, not wanting to encourage this pattern. Years ago our housecat would wake earlier and earlier to eat. Eventually I learned to switch from morning to nighttime feedings so he wouldn’t wake me earlier and earlier to be fed. That’s not really an option in this scenario, although it sure would be handy.

“No, Quail. Not yet. Potty. Then bite-bites. Then breakfast.” Her face folds up in disgust as she stomps her foot and leaves the room. Only for a minute though, she leans back in to try again.

“Book?” Signing as she says it I sigh and swivel my chair back towards her. The book. We didn’t read the book last night.

In the regular 4k class that we fought so hard to get her into, a daily part of the program is a take-home book that we are to read each night and return to exchange for another one. Last week when I was visiting the school for Zuzu’s field trip we took a brief detour to go down to the Quail’s class and peek in on her. She was tickled to see us and grinned and waved from her square on the carpet as her teacher worked through the cubbies pointing out to the children who had put their things away correctly and who still needed to try again. The first group had their backpacks hung up and their orange folders emptied with the Bookflood books returned to the basket. As she edged towards the Quail’s cubby I notice her purple backpack laying on the bottom of the cubby. Still zipped tight from the morning rush.

“Quail, come back over here let’s try again.” As the Quail hesitated my helicopter’s main rotor blade starts to turn and I stand up, then sit back down, willing my hands to stay still and let the teacher do her job. The Quail walks quietly over and starts to unzip the backpack fumbling over the plush owl attached to the front of it. The teacher looks up at me and comments that her assistant isn’t in today. Usually she helps the Quail get things where they need to go. We both pause, slightly embarrassed, not really sure what to do next. Eventually I stand and go to kneel at the Quail’s cubby as she struggles with the zipper and the teacher steps over to the next cubby. I make a mental note to add having her open and empty her backpack to our evening routine.

Except , our routines are more chaotic piles of need-tos and should-have-done-the-night-or-weekend-befores  rather than orderly-lists-ticked-off-and-put-away-before-bedtime and it’s hard to add even something this simple into our small window of time between pick up from school and drop off to sleep. Still though, the ability to easily open her backpack, take the book out of the orange folder, return the folder to the bag, zip the pack and hang it on the hook next to her coat is a daily expectation in this “regular” class. It’s those little details that in and of themselves are not complicated but added up together and explained and practiced with a 4-year-old with severe motor planning delays that we stumble over until the breakdown of the steps breaks us down.

Little things that we have to know to teach her to be independent with; like climbing into our car and further up into her car seat. Buckling and unbuckling her car seat harness.  Opening the car door to let herself out at drop off.  Buttoning  and unbuttoning her coat and then easing in and out of it. Putting her backpack on and off.  Reaching up to a hook in her cubby and looping the backpack over it. Opening the container her snack is in. Articulating clear enough so that she doesn’t end up angry with the teacher misunderstanding her lunch choice and in turn even angrier when her four-year-old mind insists on not eating the lunch that she didn’t ask for even though her four-year-old body very much needs to. Carrying her lunch tray without spilling. Punching in the code to purchase her lunch, staying in the class line as they walk from one area of the school to another without lagging behind or worse- hiding when the children are called to line up. Pulling her clothes easily on and off when she has to go potty. Hoisting herself up on the potty that, while kid-sized, are still just a bit high for her small frame. Wiping after she goes so that she doesn’t end up in pain with a rash. Climbing onto the swing she loves so dearly and not falling off of it as she wills her legs to pump at recess. It’s those little things that you can’t possibly think to prepare for until you find yourself wholly unprepared. Things that individually are simple and she’s capable of and cumulatively will cause your brain to melt. That is, what’s left of your brain, you know- the portion the children haven’t already taken for themselves.

“Yes, go get your backpack. Let’s read your book.” She runs off to the pantry and tumbles quickly back into my lap with the pack as I set my coffee down and she works her fingers around the small zipper pull. This time the book was too big for the orange folder so she quickly pulls it out of the pack easily and climbs into my lap. She pushes my hand away as I reach for the book, and traces her finger over the title. “O-N-E. She sounds it out and leans back into me with a grin.

“Yes. Good reading.  O-N-E” My finger traces the invisible line hers created connecting the sounds. “One Rainy Day. You like this one right?” She nods and turns the page as we start this story we mostly know by heart now.

Stop.

With my apologies to Mr. Joel….

…but sometimes a tender moment just can’t be left alone. Sometimes, at least when I get to bare witness to it I just can’t help but try to snap it up. You know, in picture form.

Tuesday before last was the first day of public 4k for the Quail. She has been so excited to go back to school and asked after it quite regularly. The other day as I was driving her to daycare we passed a bus on the road and I only noticed it because of her chortle, ” School Bus!!!!”

Last year at this time I was completely overwhelmed by the start of public school for our two oldest girls. It was more emotional for me than I anticipated for a host of reasons. This year for the most part, the start of the school year has gone smoothly. There are still a few unanswered questions we’re working on in terms of the Quail’s IEP. At this fall’s first meeting unfortunately I couldn’t bring another cheesecake, with the extent of food allergies in kiddos these days the school went with a school-wide no bringing in and sharing of food policy, and, well I like to be policy compliant 🙂  So as this school year starts, I’m trying to have a bit more faith in things working out and at least adjust my expectations that we are all now on the same page and working towards the same goal until I see otherwise. The teachers and therapists seem genuinely happy to be with our Quail, she seems to feel the same and the IEP is sufficiently detailed for now. In fact, last night I had reports from both private and public 4k on how participatory and well the Quail was doing. What really made my heart swell though, was a note from the public 4k teacher that in addition to the positive report added a line, “Thanks for pressing forward against our concerns.” So last night when I unpacked the girls backpacks and we pulled out the daily book that is sent home for the public 4k kiddos, we all sat down to read it. Zuzu read as the Quail and Sugarplum listened, and for that brief moment in time, I have to say everything felt normal and great. These are the moments to hold on to.

So last week, the first day the Quail was to go to private 4k in the morning, then ride the regular school bus from there to public 4k for lunch and the afternoon session and then return to the private school for the remainder of the afternoon. We hadn’t heard directly from the school bus office as to what time they would be picking her and a little friend who also will be going. It was making me antsy, but Lovey dropped her off and asked and the private school had heard from them. Later in the morning as I reminded myself that surely one of the schools would let me know if something wasn’t going well, Lovey called to ask if I had heard any updates and when I said no, he indicated he was going to call and see how the pick-up went. So…..ok, it went well. Then come 3pm it crossed my mind again to call and see how her day went, but I let it pass again figuring if something was awful I’d hear about it.

When I picked her up she was cheerfully sandy and sweaty- about how I find her everyday on the playground in the Southern summer. I asked how it had gone and staff indicated she came off the bus no problem and seemed to be in a good mood. Zuzu came bounding over about this time and let me know that she had seen Miss L, the teacher’s assistant and was asked to tell her Mommy and Daddy that the Quail had a good day and was a good listener all day. Whew.

So as we started our walk to the car the Quail started to falter and wilt. I asked if she had a good time with Miss D, she said no. Miss J? No. How about the school bus ride? SCHOOOOOLLLLLL BUSSSS!!!!! YAYYYYY!” The silliness returned for all of 5 minutes, before she passed clear out in her carseat.

We ordered happy meals to celebrate our good days and  headed home. When we pulled in the driveway I turned around as Zuzu was again reiterating how good Miss L said the Quail did today and spied her holding the Quail’s hand as she talked.

Tears.

They aren’t hand holders. Not in the least. Generally they’re too busy rascaling to have a tender moment together. But Zuzu, she’s been looking forward to sharing her school with her little sister for quite some time now and I do think she is sincerely proud to have her there. When the Quail first came home from the hospital I arranged myself on the bed getting set up to nurse and in came a doe-eyed Zuzu. So quiet, so watchful, just sitting there as I lifted the Quail to me. It broke my heart as I heard her refer to Momma & the Quail’s room when just a few months earlier she had shared our room, our bed. So I invited her in to join us in tandem and she happily settled in with a quick reach over to catch her sister’s hand.

Then a couple of years later we had reports from school when the Quail was old enough to start coming out on the toddler playground that whenever the class came out and the older kids were out on their playground, you could count on Zuzu and her posse coming over to the fence that separates them to check in on the Quail and sometimes they would see the sisters holding hands through the fence.

Sisters- I think that it is the unconscious moments that say so much of their bond.

back to school week

…is officially behind us and it’s been a busy one for the Sistred. They each have big changes coming this fall and being the happy little nerds that we are- we’re excited!

Zuzu has finished up her first summer of daycamp. She attended the same facility that she always has but for her age group the summer includes additional outings and activities during the week. Last spring, shortly after we told Zuzu that she was officially signed up for her “camp”. She started fretting over where she had stored her sleeping bag. When I asked why she responded with a, “For camp of course!” We tried to explain that she was not now going to be sleeping over there and in fact she was really just going to be doing more activities with the same teachers and kids without quelching her excitement. Always a balance with her. She had fun though- her first time rollar skating, blackberry picking, she saw a couple movies in theaters (a rare treat in our house due to their ages even though I’m generally happy to see whatever as long as I have a kiddy-cup-combo for myself!), a few rounds of bowling and twice a week water days.  She even got invited to the birthday party of a fellow camper who was turning 12. Once we squeezed in a second week of swim lessons,  let’s just say the girl’s summer was made.

So on to first grade. She admitted she was a bit nervous and checked a couple of times to be sure that we were not going to follow her kindergarten teacher’s explicit end of the year instructions to purchase walkie-talkies so that she could be kept in the loop and at the ready for whatever that teacher needed since rumor had it that her new students were much younger and wouldn’t know half as much as Zuzu’s class. There are some days that Zuzu’s literalness gets the best of her. She was most definitely willing to lend a helping directive or two to the new class. The fact that the teacher that puts the kind in kindergarten sent her a “wish you were here” postcard over the summer probably just cemented the seriousness of those instructions to her.

The other major concern for our rising first grader was  the subject of binders. She had *heard* that certain first grade teachers provided binders and that first graders were to keep track of these. She wondered often and at great length about whether or not she would need to purchase a binder, would it be provided or was the binder a teacher specific issue. When we attended Meet the Teacher a couple of weeks ago, she was absolutely thrilled to see a binder all shiny and filled on the class tables- one for each and every student. The binders contain the homework for the year. It’s an interesting system, pretty different from last year. So for Miss J’s class the year’s focus is to get a good foundation in reading and writing, so Zuzu is to read for 15 minutes each day. Then in said binder is a section for “reader reaction”, spelling games and math games. They are to complete one activity of their choosing from each category each week. There are also some baggy books that come home once a week to practice reading. Being the happy little nerds that we are, Zuzu in all her binder-exuberance dove right in and completed two homework assigments even before the first day of class. I have to say I had to squelch my spoil-sport-I’m-tired-I’m-overwhelmed-I-probably-should-have-weaned-the-baby-before-now-so-I-don’t-have-another-human-being-attached-to-me-on-school-nights- I-have-too-much-to-do-just-now-reaction.

And I did.

I know a lot of people have differing opinions on the value of homework, but right now I have a kid who is excited about it- so I’m going with that.

It’s this funny balance of practical magic that blends its way into Zuzu’s personality that amost always surprises me in the moment and then after the fact I find myself nodding along and thinking, “That’s about right.” The binder joy was not unlike the way she organizes her “facts, rules and routines” along the lines of “writing, not a wishlist/letter to Santa in, but rather placing a rather detailed, terribly specific order; that TJ the Elf must have a very good reason for not having landed in a new spot the next day from where she last saw him the night before; that the Tooth Fairy has made a big mess with glitter like they use at school all over her bed-it’s not fairy dust Mom and that the rascally leprechaun that left green footprints on our kitchen table leading up to the “That’s not gold, it’s chocolate coinsin foil wrappers Mom” in March had gotten into the paint left out on the front porch after her and her sister’s were done painting the day before, rather than being willing to believe he is just green and was barefoot when he left a pile of loot straight out of that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. She was more excited over the homework binder than the magic spell packet the teacher had made for each child that indicated once they squeezed the playdough and repeated the rhyme if it turned another color, they were certain to have good luck for the year. Mind you, she believed enough to locate a packet that was in her signature color of pink and to work the dough thoroughly enough until she was certain it showed enough of the good luck magic and then excited enough about it to pack it in her backpack to show Miss J her good fortune, but she did all of this while still chattering on about the best spot at home to keep her binder in so that the littles wouldn’t get into the ever-important First Grade Work. I love that kid. We all do.

At daycare they have a homework time and last year I forwarded the class newsletter on to school and homework was completed there. This year I’m not entirely sure what I want to do. I want the binder kept at home so I think we’ll send books to school and have her just focus on reading while she is there and the actual activities we’ll save for home.

The Quail is set for public and private 4k now as well. She started private last week and public starts today. Private feels easy-peasy- we love Miss J and she and the afternoon teacher Miss A are fairly familar with the Quail already. There is also another little friend in her afternoon class who will be attending k4 in the afternoon so it is good she’ll have a buddy when the big school bus comes to pick them up there for afternoon school.

This year’s Meet the Teacher night was cathartic for me. I think a bit for the Quail too since we caught her literally twirling through the halls. Last year I was completely overwhelmed by all that had to be done going to one of them. Aside from meeting the teacher, it was a new building, paying the cafeteria for lunches, a car rider line to get tags, a bus line to find out that our bus wasn’t what they meant, a school packet line, a PTA line, a Girl Scout sign-up line, volunteer training and all during the witching hours with 3 hungry, tired and over-stimulated kids.

Times two.

 Because the Quail was attending the school that had the self-contained classroom, in a town 10 miles away. 

Needless to say we didn’t get everything done and on the way home when Zuzu innocently questioned why we weren’t able to spend as much time at the Quail’s school as her own and why couldn’t the Quail just go to her school to make it easier, I found myself turning up the radio and adjusting the rearview mirror so they wouldn’t have to directly witness how very much I agreed with them.

This year, I intended to be prepared.

One school.

Two kids.

No standing in unnecessary lines.

And possibly Girl Scouts, if a local troop can get together.

We planned to pull in at 2:45, 15 minutes early, childless to get all the lines  and training done efficiently, then run out to pick up the kiddos and bring them back for the fun- actual meeting of the teachers portion of “Meet the teachers”. We pulled up, maybe 5 minutes later than intended- to what can only rival a Who concert.

Lines.Out.The.Door. Wow.

And we forgot to bring the school supplies to drop off. Other than that, it was old hat. Not overwhelming. And frankly good to get to spy so many of our friends and neighbors- exactly the reason why you want your children to go to their homeschool.

So we finished up. It was nice to see the girl’s rooms, both were excited over the little house/kitchen centers that would be part of their day and of course we went down the hall to say a quick hello to our kind kindergarten teachers while we were there than ran off for a celebratory burrito! When she started to joke with Zuzu over helping to teach these new kiddos what all goes on I cut her off with a funny little story of repeated requests to purchase walkie-talkies.

In the weeks leading up to school we managed to fit in a couple of parent-single child lunches with the girls and a trip to our favorite “Big Sale” as Zuzu calls it for back-to-school clothes. And once again I felt oh-so-in-the-know. Growing up, picking out sweaters and jeans and tennies for back to school and then stopping off for a shared cup of cheese fries is one of my happiest memories with my Mom. Last year when I started early trying to create this tradition we were faced with left over, neon, stringy, clearanced summer duds at our usual shopping haunts. This year we skipped the lure of no taxes and held out till the next large-scale consignment sale with the promise of a Panera Breakfast treat and a run through the Halloween Costume rack to see what the options might be AFTER finding our favorite winter jackets, fall vests and a suitable amount of legging/tunic top/dress and tiger wear to carry us into the spring.

Last year the night before classes started we read, The Night Before Kindergarten, The Night Before Preschool & The Kissing Hand, luckily even with our distinct lack of household organization we were able to locate them this year too. Zuzu was a little sad to realize we hadn’t purchased The Night Before First Grade, and I have to admit I was too. I have a feeling I did and lost it over the summer, clutter purging  time will tell.

And the littlest Sistred, well she started her preschool lessons. She moved into the Toddler room and is making herself at home with circle time, playground time, lunch-at-big-kid-tables time and now-I-nap-on-a-mat-like-a-big-kid time. She’s happy to go and happy to be picked up, if not a tad grouchier tired from her busy days. When she and the Quail received their welcome to the next class postcards from their upcoming teachers they were equally tickled.

The Quail also had a home visit from our public school k4 teacher and assistant. I had big plans for this visit- we had blackberries from a recent berry-picking expedition and I thought we might make a cobbler to welcome them and make the house smell homey the night before. Neat in theory, impractical for middle of the week. As it was we managed to take the trash out, put the dishes away and hide the week’s wash from public view. All in all, a good visit.  And we’re excited to start the new year.

I had a dress with apples for Zuzu’s first day, but being the Fashionista that she is, it got the thumbs down and a combination of twinkle-toes, stripes and more stripes won out. The Quail chose Zuzu’s graduation dress to wear to school for her first day today. She smiled her brave smile and carried her Dora Backpack to the car leading the way for her little sister. I’ve purposely not called to see how it went. Her getting off to school on the bus, today that is.

I’m cool.

It’s cool.

But Lovey just called as I was typing this and asked if I had heard anything and said he was thinking he might call the daycare and check in to see how her getting on the bus went anyway.

And that’s cool.

Oh, and it went smooth.

five minute friday: story

…where a brave and beautiful bunch gather every week to find out what comes out when we all spend five minutes writing on the same topic and then sharing ‘em over here.

photographed by mollyflanagan.com

photographed by mollyflanagan.com

Go:

My story is ever-changing and yet still the same, this narrative that I live and weave and breathe. What I know, what I think, how I feel and what matters to me, it stems from the same words and thoughts that once hinted at my future long ago. That was well over 20 years ago when I sat at our oval-shaped kitchen table with its smooth wood colored surface thumbing through the class catalog for the University I was to attend in the fall.

“I’m pretty social and I’m a hard worker- how about Social Work Mom?”

I still remember those words pushing up out of my teenage-heart and into my head and the unconscious nodding my head answered in reply. At the time it felt like a whim and a lark, not the life defining moment that it was.

I’ll volunteer. I’ll wrap presents for the homeless. I’ll visit the shelters and soup kitchens. I’ll work with children who have disabilities. I’ll help others.

And so my grown-up story began to weave itself out from me. Winding itself into other people’s lives and how they lived. How they are in the world and how to clear a path for them so that I and others could walk alongside rather than leading or following them.

I couldn’t see this current chapter of my story back then. I wouldn’t have even pictured this gabled home in the foothills of the Blue Ridge that my pages would unfold into. I couldn’t imagine the lives of the people I worked for as my own. Their ordinary, extraordinary lives. Lives that required others to step out of the way so that they could do the simplest thing. Live in their home. Go to their school. Shop in their community. Work down their street. Simple, ordinary, daily moments that require the commitment and love of another in order to make that possible. Things those of us without labels are blessed to take for granted in this world that is built for us, not them. The story I was reading and writing, I had no idea how one day it would be my own.

And now, now the narrative has shifted once again. The once energetic, young social worker out to save the world or at least walk beside those in it, has a clearly visible path as a parent and an advocate to take with her family. New characters are emerging.  Slowly unveiling their roles to the plot. The sense of our community and their acceptance of us peels off in thin pages as we understand what has changed and what remains the same in this old world. Their personalities full of strong will and generally good cheer. The villains not hooded and cackling. No. They are more ordinary and reasonable sounding as they build fences trying to line my children’s own path into this world and their future.  

My path is now the one that I had read about, but hadn’t recognized as my own. It takes shape each morning when the baby cries to nurse one last time before the sun rises. The four year old with her last wisps of strawberry blonde locks falling over her softly rounded shoulders, climbs out of her sister’s bed too early, to pad through the dark and quiet hall in search of her parents asking to start her day, to eat, to drink, to play, to go to school just like Zuzu. A school that is not yet as eager to meet her as she is to attend it. A school that requires us to sit up and focus our attention and feelings and knowledge into one kind and articulate presentation so that our daughter can walk through their door the same as her sister without the weight of the world and these reasonable-sounding decision makers pulling her into self-contained corridors.

My story, that I couldn’t have written yet, as I bumped into a soon to be Lovey while walking through a farmer’s market on a bright Saturday morning.

Our story, whose future words would float through our conversations unbeknownst to us as I would ask questions like, “What would you do if our child had a disability?” while we drove through a Wisconsin countryside.

My story, that flashed visions of dark-haired girls swinging from the heavy oak branches as I pushed the mower meditatively up and back through our mossy front yard around the abelia bushes.

My story, that rattled my nerves and my bones in those first weeks with each newborn and wild tangle of hormones.

Their story, as that once newborn kindly reaches over to grasp the hand of a new dark-haired wonder and nurse in tandem.

My story as I hold tight to Lovey after hanging up with the doctor editing the words Down syndrome into the next chapter.

Their story, as we bring home one last white-tipped, chestnut haired bundle, shifting each of their birth orders into the Sistred formation they now are.

Her story, as we sit around the  school’s table on a late spring afternoon, slicing into the cheesecake flavored peace-offering and discuss how this extra-chromosomed wonder of ours will learn the ways of the world she is so eager to be a part of.

My story, I understand now, as the Southern sun sets each evening around us. The back-to-school lists now printed and purchased for two. The legal books and memoirs I will curl up to each evening as we settle into the soft, brown couch. These books, they stack up in between fairy and coloring books. Southern Living magazines and Ipads.  Ceramic mermaids and bowls of speech articulation tubes and whistles. These pieces of our lives that cover our families’ worn wood table that creeks under the weight of the framed images of our loved ones. The girls snuggled under their fuzzy cuddle-uppets over brightly colored nightgowns that skim their summer legs with the day’s boo-boos and rainbow sparkled Band-Aids. Red clay stuck under the too-long toe nails.

These girls that accept their story as a whim and a lark without looking too far into the future tonight. These girls, they clamor at me each night to set down my computer, my phone, my legal books and memoirs for the last few lit minutes of their evening and read one more fairytale before bedtime.

My story.

My very blessed ordinary after of a story.

Stop.

(PS: Yes, more than five minutes worth of words. That happens some times.)

Quailday: Happy IEP Day!

Growing up, I was a big fan of public school, happy little nerd that I am. Generally I had good teachers that encouraged a life-long love of learning as cliché as that may sound. Going to school was fun for me. There were plenty of subjects that I wasn’t naturally good at. I worked hard anyway. For me memorizing when something happened wasn’t the point of how I was spending my day. Learning how to function and contribute in a community and how to find an answer when it was relevant was the point. I’ve always felt that way (perhaps if I had been good at memorization I would have felt that was the point) and it’s a value I still hold for my children.

All of my children. And so far, they haven’t disappointed me. These girls, they are curious and bright. Busy and friendly. Determined and happy. Zuzu is in her last week of kindergarten and as I think back to a year ago and my fears that her over-confidence, her boundless energy and her chatty nature would not serve her well in a structured classroom setting, I’m pleased as punch to lay my worries down and say that I was wrong. Her interactions with her principal this past year really did have her believing that the principal is her pal. She thought he was handsome, friendly and giggles that he wore a tie that matched her socks one day. He gave her an award for being a P. E. Superstar that included a school TV cameo and a fresh new jump rope. She is sad he is retiring and I’m glad she is comfortable with the authority figures in her school. Her teacher this year was everything a kindergarten teacher should be- warm, energetic, loving and clever. When Lovey had lunch with her at school a few weeks ago she excitedly got to choose two of her besties to join them at their special table. Lovey got to sit first hand amidst this giggling generation of girls who laughingly explained the meaning of the word infinity and then moved on to explain to him how lucky our family is to have our last name be a compound word. Indeed. She has blossomed socially and academically. She’s learned to read and to write, to color and create, to lead and to follow. And to be a bit more detailed and subtle in explanations to her parents in all things kindergarten. Which in case you didn’t know is no longer fat crayons , snacktime, cubbies and nap mats. It’s running the mile to pop-rock, explanations of onamonapia, regular use of an Ipad and understanding that sometimes President Lincoln gets shot because not everyone believes in his views. Indeed.

They learn so much so early on now. Never mind are you smarter than a fifth grader, take a peek at the k4 progress reports and you’ll suck your breath in I’m sure. I know I did. We’ve been in discussion with the school district over the most appropriate placement for our Quail this next year. Discussion is the nice word for it. And for the most part appropriate. In our school district there is no public preschool. Only preschool for children with significant disabilities in the k3 year. And in our area, that setting is a self-contained classroom in a little town about 10 miles down the road from where Zuzu goes to Elementary school. I’ve been aware of this fact for years.

When the Quail was 2 we started discussing with Jodie (our EI) what public school would look like for her. I have very visceral memories of the feelings I had during these conversations. What was coming was not what I wanted to hear. Yet, I really didn’t know what we could do about it. I’m no homeschooler. It doesn’t go with my personal belief system about the purposes of public education and community and people with disabilities. Yet, I’m generally a rule follower. A rule enforcer by tendency and profession, just ask my co-workers and kids. I also expect rules that are put in place to be up to date and relevant to current understanding and to treat people fairly. Not fairly like we all get a foot high step stool so we can reach the sink. Fair like, those who can stand on the ground and reach the sink do, those who need the step stool to reach the sink have one available and those that are able to help you get your step stool do help.  

So here we are, in a small fairly rural town with well-meaning professionals that have set up a system where people like my child go “there” to get an education. Problem is, I was educated that people like my child should not go “there”, they should come here- with everyone else’s children.

So every few months we would have this discussion with Jodie. Mentally I would put it on the backburner and go back to the more pressing issues at hand, like birthing a new baby, hiring and training students to work with the Quail and answering Zuzu’s unending questions about why, where, when and how.

Then the time came to make the referral to the school district and I reminded myself that if the Quail didn’t have Down syndrome, she wouldn’t be offered a public school class at age 3. So that first spring that she was 3, the Special Education teacher met our family and came to see the Quail at the private preschool/daycare we have always used. Speech, occupational and physical therapy were started with the school and the Quail’s days began to fill up. Over that summer, while I was in a new baby mental fog, the school added a self-contained pre-school class at the town down the road and recommended that the Quail attend two days a week along with the therapies she had been receiving. It was an uncomfortable transition for us mentally. We were going to be sending her off on the short bus to a segregated classroom- exactly what we didn’t want. Our option was to go or to refuse services and frankly- the Quail was happy enough. Each morning she would chant and cheer her teacher’s name and grab her purple crocs and Dora backpack and head for the door. She would have preferred to go everyday. The school was wonderful to work with. I pushed my fear of the bus on hold by driving her there myself. She did ride the bus back to her private daycare as I hid my head in the sand. When you are a working parent, sometimes you have to make accommodations that you aren’t crazy about, but that aren’t really doing any harm.  The teacher’s came to gather the Quail from the ca. On the days that I was running late, the principal would greet us with his coffee in hand, bow-tie neatly tied and a smile on his face as he leaned down to offer a hand to the Quail and off she would go. The team worked well with the Quail and she responded in kind. They worked with us to accommodate her with the resources they had. When we remain concerned about the slow pace of her speech progression they added another session per our request. When we remained concerned they assisted us to get an assistive technology referral. When we asked for more details about the Quail’s progress they provided extra notes detailing her work. We talked with the teachers at drop-off about how she was doing and we worked on our speech via song and conversation on the way to school along the pretty country road. All-in-all the year passed by without concern.

Then this past year, my fog lifted, Lovey asked about the recommendations for next year and our eyes widened. We made a decision to meet the regular k4 teacher and see her classroom. Our SPED said she would coordinate the meeting. A few days later she called back to say that we needed to reschedule so that an administrator could join us as the school had questions for us. Lovey asked after the questions and we were told it had to do with the thickened liquids that the Quail requires. We agreed to reschedule and the day before the meeting I again called the SPED to ask if there were any other questions the school had, so that we could be prepared with what information they needed. We were again told that the question had to do with her thickened liquids.

I’m cynical enough to not have believed this. Lovey had put on the k4 application the need for thickened liquids though, so it sounded reasonable. We decided to bring the Quail along with us figuring her charm could only help.

I should stop right here in this tale though and mention that we have mentors for going through this IEP business. And if you are reading this and wondering about how the education system might work when your child with Down syndrome ages in to it, I will say this in a weary tone- question what you hear and use this time to educate yourself in how your specific school district operates and seek out other families who are in the situation you want to be in. Because this school business, it is not one size fits all and unfortunately- the education plans, they aren’t entirely individualized despite their acronym. If you are comfortable with what the school district recommends for your child- then you will have an easier time with this transition. If on the other hand, you have wanted something different for your child- be it a more restrictive environment because it makes you feel your child will be safer, or a less restrictive environment because you feel it will help your child thrive- then that is what you should aim for. The key is you know your child and you also need to know your rights. As a parent, it will be your job to advocate for your child’s rights- whether those around you are in agreement with you or not.

So we entered the meeting and we could literally see the organization that had gone on before we were invited in under a specific pretense, down to where we were instructed to sit with the principal at one end of the table and the SPED teacher at the other. We brought along our EI. She’s known the Quail since she was 8 weeks old and is a separate set of eyes that regularly witnesses her interactions with her typically developing peers at our private preschool. She of course, sat next to us. The regular ed teacher sat across. We began the meeting with our family’s intent for the meeting- questions about the structure of the k4 day, the classroom, the curriculum. Partway through the discussion our SPED teacher spoke up and indicated that while it was still her recommendation that the Quail continue this next year in her self-contained classroom at the neighboring town’s school, if we were really wanting the k4 classroom setting for the Quail she could arrange for her to go to the k4 classroom in that school so that she could continue to keep an eye on her and monitor her acclimation to this larger classroom setting. We asked a few questions about what that would look like and then turned our attention back to the k4 teacher. The principal then interrupted our discussion,

“Look, I don’t mean to offend, and I don’t know how else to say this, but we all know that the Quail is in the SPED teacher’s classroom for a reason. If she were my child, I would trust the expert’s recommendations and her recommendation is that the Quail stay in her classroom at least another year.”

Strangely I felt a calm settle over me as he spoke the words I had been warned someone would- that they were the experts, that they know what’s best, that they are trained in working with children like mine.

I looked at the principal, who was not my pal and replied, “With all due respect, she is a wonderful special education teacher. What we are looking for right now is a regular education environment. The Quail is currently in a typical preschool with a larger student to teacher ratio then the regular classroom here and handles herself just fine. She has shown us repeatedly that when we think to teach her something she is capable of learning it. We are not your typical family. I have a master’s degree in social work where I was trained in working with people with developmental disabilities and community integration. We have educated ourselves in Down syndrome and how people with Down syndrome learn. We know that the Quail can be more concrete in her learning. We’ve had therapies at this school and it is the capability of the environment that we know it provides that makes us certain we want the Quail to attend here. It makes sense that while she is working on her gross motor skills in therapy that they be in the natural environment where she would be expected to use them. Your speech therapist this next school year happens to be our private speech therapist. She is very familiar with the Quail’s learning style, her strengths and weaknesses. We are confident in her ability to assist the Quail in her adaptation to this school and frankly speech is her biggest delay. We understand that there is a spot open in the k4 class and that for at least 7 of the 20 children, English is not their native language. The Quail will be comparable with these children in her communication needs, and perhaps even ahead as she has low-average receptive language abilities. Currently her IEP includes no academic goals because she is on par with children her age academically. If there is a reason for her to be in a more restrictive environment, you are going to need to be very specific as to what that reason is.”

The SPED teacher agreed that the Quail was on track academically to date. She noted that her main concern for her in a regular classroom was that she was often easily distracted in her class this past year. She described how she would sit and work with two students at a time and once she had told her what to do and turned away from her, the Quail would often need redirection to finish her table work.

Our EI noted that working independently at the table is a goal we could add to our IFSP and work on between now and the next school year now that we were aware this was a concern. I then asked the regular k4 teacher if this was ever an issue for the other typical 4 year olds in her class. She smiled and admitted that it quite often was throughout the entire year. I asked if that then meant that this would not be an overwhelming issue for her to have and she agreed it would not.

Around this time the principal interjected that they would have no problem meeting the Quail’s needs both individually and legally. The conversation then turned to a continuance of one that we had not previously been privy to between the SPED teacher and the principal over who would oversee the IEP at our homeschool.

A couple of notes of interest about this meeting, as I mentioned earlier:

  1. It was organized down to the chairs we sat in. Some of the best advice we received was to not ask a question that you didn’t already know the answer to in an IEP meeting. This proved to be the school’s method as well. It’s important in this environment to know the school’s language. Attend a seminar on IDEA and IEPs. Know the words such as home-school, least restrictive environment, mainstream vs inclusion vs self-contained classrooms, FAPE- free and APPROPRIATE education (note the law doesn’t require them to provide what is best- you are aiming for what is appropriate).
  2. Know what you want and have it in writing to remind yourself when you are in the midst of the pressure to go with the flow. Legally, your child has the right to be in a regular classroom with accommodations. They shouldn’t have to earn their way there. That said, the education system is huge, and it is understandable that they would organize their system in a manner that works for the greatest number.  It would have been very easy amidst the SPED teacher’s concerns about the Quail’s acclimation to a regular education environment to agree to have her in either the segregated classroom or the K4 classroom where the segregated preschool class is housed. Their thoughts and action plan were well planned out. From the beginning of the meeting the Quail had the ability and right to be in thek4 class in our homeschool. That option had already been secured and discussed with the Special Education director before the meeting even began. They did not offer that up though. The meeting process is not a buffet where you get to see all of the choices out in front of you and choose which one you think is appropriate. It’s a negotiation. When we expressed our desire for her to be educated in the typical environment with her non-disabled peers in her community, as the law allows for, they attempted to talk us out of it even though we were VERY clear about our intent. They eventually said yes once they saw we were firm in our stance.
  3. We all have to work together. Be kind. Don’t assume that the man, the system, the government is out to get you and your child, to hold you back. That isn’t the case. Remember, it was just in the last half-century that children with Down syndrome were regularly kept at home rather than routinely institutionalized. It is even more recent that research and experience has shown how very capable these children are when they are included in typical environments- home, school, community and work. I truly believe that no one is trying to deprive the Quail of an appropriate education. What I know about her and frankly, people like her, is very different than what others trained years ago know. The understanding of a person with Down syndrome’s ability is different. I also believe that what has “always been done” is no longer what is appropriate. We know so much more about how children with Down syndrome learn than we did even a decade ago. And fortunately, the law is on our side. It’s going to take working together to make this work. In the process of learning about the system and the hoops others that came before us have jumped through, I admit in the back of my mind I thought people might be exaggerating that this is a “fight”. Frankly I had hoped that it wouldn’t be. Fighting and confrontation for the sake of it is not my style. Fight might not be the right description, but it most certainly isn’t a given that the Quail or children with her diagnosis will automatically be educated in a regular classroom environment in 2013 everywhere in our country. Even in what is deemed “an excellent school.” This dinosaur of an education system is still adjusting to what our children are capable of. What our generation expects is not how this generation of educators was trained.

So our family is going to mind its manners while advocating for our child. We can’t change the system for all of the children. We can calmly and firmly expect our child to be given an appropriate education where she will learn, progress and be challenged.

How that happens will continue to be a discussion. We’re still learning about inclusion and mainstream. Our family’s preferences aren’t quite the same as most other families in this community that we know. We have been fans of therapy for the Quail since she was young. That said, when we haven’t agreed with the style or suggestions of a particular therapist or the Quail hasn’t responded to that therapist, we have eventually moved on. We aren’t trying to “fix” the Quail, but she likes to be busy, to be learning and be active. She keeps her watchful eyes on her sisters and friends and wants to do everything she sees them doing. We have seen firsthand how when we break down a task for her, she lights up because she is able to then go on to do it more independently. The problem is, our family’s collective brain power isn’t one that automatically knows or thinks how to break down every single thing in life. We rely on others trained in various areas to help us with that. The Quail is a child who loves flashcards and a structured learning environment. She responds to it and engages with her teachers and therapists when she knows what is clearly expected of her, and yes- she is a kid after all- what she can get away with. This transition into the education world is new for us. It is a transition that we are open to and it will be interesting to say the least to see how our district adapts to family’s level o involvement.

 As I mentioned before we have found only 2 other families that have their child included in the regular education environment in our surrounding counties. Two. I don’t believe it is because these other children are less capable than our Quail. I believe it is because it is not what has always been done, and frankly, it is a fight. One that, God willing, will last a lifetime. It would be lovely to trust the “experts” and their recommendations. In our situation though, what they have described doesn’t coincide with our expectations. If it does for you and yours, then that should be your choice and there is no judgment from our family. It is incredibly hard to step out on a limb and ask your child to walk a path that very few have walked before her. I have all the same fears as those families who want a “safer” environment. I know that society at large is not welcoming to children and adults whose faces resemble the Quail’s. People see her features and they already think they know her. They interpret what she does in a way that validates their stereotypes. That, unfortunately, is a fact of life in 2013.

We agreed at the end of that meeting to go home and consider the choices. The educators had some additional questions for the Special Education Director about what it would look like to have their first four-year-old with Down syndrome in this school. You see, those two other families we know, they live in a different town and district. This isn’t something they have done before but we agreed to work together to figure it out.

After that meeting we sent an email to the SPED teacher letting her know that we still wanted the Quail to attend our home-school that her sister goes to in the afternoon regular k4 class this fall. Our IEP meeting was then rescheduled to include our new teachers and allow for some changes to the document itself.

When we received a new draft of the document we continued to have questions about the specific goals we saw. Some of them listed the next year’s goal to be the same as this past year’s goal which the functional strengths and assessment in the same document listed her as having achieved. We asked to have these adjusted forward. We asked to add in a goal pertaining to the attention and concentration concern and to add one academic goal pertaining to math that the teacher had noted the Quail was inconsistent with. We suggested some rewrites to her OT and PT goals to be more specific in terms of what was being measured and how. We explained our need for this quite simply. The Quail needs to have consistent expectations explained to her and if they are working on a goal in the classroom that we will also be working on in private pre-school, therapy or home, we want to be asking the same thing of her the same way. We asked for the afternoon k4 class so that she could still attend the academic portion of her private-k4 class that she will be moving into at our pre-school/daycare this August. This also surprisingly shortens her over all day since Lovey and I both work and we still have a set time we can pick her up at the end of the day. With her going to public k4 in the afternoon, she can go into private k4 by 9am, rather than starting her day at with public school at 7:10am.

I admit our list of questions, modifications and concerns was long. And specific. And detailed. 3 pages long to be exact. The thing is, I read these documents for a living. Lovey is a college professor. We expect to collaborate and be very involved when it comes to our children. Our SPED teacher thanked us for the list. She adjusted a majority of the goals that we asked to either move forward or be more specific. She indicated that in terms of our questions for the k4 teacher it would be easier to just go over them at the IEP meeting and she forwarded us a revised IEP. We were thrilled with the changes. No surprises and I took her gratitude in our suggestions as sincere.

I bought a cheesecake for the meeting. That is not a euphemism. I literally bought a cheesecake and asked the baker to write, “Happy IEP Day!” on the cake. If I had time to back brownies, I would have done that. But with three little ones and more literature prep than we could easily cover for the meeting, store-bought would have to do. When we arrived at the meeting we went to our “assigned seats” and I started setting out the cake, plates, utensils and napkins. I looked up to a chuckle from our SLP. ”That’s a first!” she grinned as I divided up the cake. I started handing out slices to Lovey and Jodie and noticed the tone of the room change as our SPED teacher brought out our list of concerns.

We started down the list and the first few questions about the Quail’s schedule- when she would be pulled from class, a request for a daily communication log between us and the school, what she would actually do in resource class, functional phrases that it would be helpful for us to work on her articulating over the summer were all met with I don’t knows. As I mentioned before, we knew that you should not ask a question that you don’t already know the answer too and we knew the answer to each of these questions would be I don’t know. The purpose of our asking was to make it known that these were issues we wanted a say in and that we would need to meet to discuss them 4-5 weeks into the new school year.

I think I’m a pretty good judge of social appropriateness. Trained as a social worker, I generally watch for people’s reactions and gage my responses accordingly. I know the importance of social niceties as much as the next person. And as personal as these meetings are, I was in professional mode. So needless to say, I was completely caught off guard when the principal from his end of the table suddenly interrupted (not unlike at our last meeting) to scold us. He seemed truly flustered as he blurted out that we were just going to have to trust them to do the job they have been trained to do and that WE were making them look foolish by the minutia of all of these questions we were asking that they didn’t have the answers for.

It stung. Literally. My eye’s stung and my heart burned briefly. I didn’t feel as calm in my response to him as I had the previous meeting, but Lovey said that although my anger showed in my voice I still sounded calm and professional.

I reiterated what he had previously said to us, that this was new for them, that they had not had a child like the Quail in their k4 class before and that while we were clear about that, we are involved parents and our questions are not meant to be condescending but collaborative in nature. It is our confidence in this school’s excellent academic reputation and our experience so far that makes us clear that this is where we want our child to go to school. I reminded him that they had requested a different arrangement from their director if the Quail were to attend and that they had been turned down in that arrangement, that it was their explanation of that request that had clarified that the resource teacher who was now to be assigned, has no experience in working with children with the Quail’s diagnosis and as young as her. I pointed out that we were not offended by their not having answers to these questions and the need to defer discussion to the fall, but rather that we wanted to make sure these issues were on other’s agendas and to be clear that we would be discussing them come this fall- that we had sent our questions ahead of time in a good faith effort of collaboration.

He backed off again, and the discussion and questions continued but I didn’t leave there this time feeling he was on our team. At a later point (yes this was a long meeting) he made a point to lock eyes with me and give me a world-weary warning to never ever give up the Quail’s IEP- that that was where the protection of her rights lie. To be fair to him, he doesn’t know me, us, the Quail or what we know. I’m crystal clear that we need protection of her rights, as unfortunate as that is in this day and age.

So we finished up and the principal had to leave. Turns out this was his last IEP. He’s retiring this year. Others apologized for his tone and we all moved on to share some cake. And I left glad I had brought it. Some victories- they need a bit of icing, and I’m happy to provide it.

Quail day: I’m back…

I’m back.

Last week- I don’t know exactly how to explain it other than my brain and heart woke up again. I knew this fog I had found myself in was likely- but when you are in the middle of it- sometimes it is just so hard to see till you are nearing the daylight just outlining  that fog.

When we were debating having Sugarplum the thing that crossed my mind was that while well intentioned, the necessary separating of another apron string that happened between Zuzu and I that lasted about 2 years of her young life.  I know it’s biology- a momma’s focus turns inward to grow the little one in her and then to continue that in the first year growing her on the outside during that time when life is still so very fragile. Still as much as Zuzu adored both the idea and fact of her baby sister, we would catch glimpses of her by herself while I laid as still as I could willing my stomach not to heave and then contract. While we spent 45 minutes of every 2-3 hours syringing drops of milk I had just pumped into the Quail’s tentative mouth, while I loudly (and not ironically) demanded quiet from the household so I could beg the Quail to stay latched on. What willed us through this though was the equally apparent sight of Zuzu reaching out her hand to the Quail while they simultaneously nursed, cuddled on the couch and reached for each other through the fence on the playground. They were sisters first as they patiently waited to grow into playmates and friends.

The thought of yet another apron string detaching between Zuzu and I and now that even heartier one between the Quail and I loomed ahead though. And while I knew it would again be as fruitful as it was necessary, the advanced warning of the maternal fog that was about to set in for a couple years duration did little to prevent the overwhelmingness of it.

This past month as Sugarplum has become a bi-pedal little person we’ve been slowly introducing things other than momma milk to her diet. I say slowly because she hasn’t taken to it with much vigor for the past 6 months. She has learned to sign “all done” and shake her tiny head with a fervent “no” and Stanley Kowalski the offerings of “people food” promptly off of her tray. And since she is our baby, and because I’m old and tired, it is so very hard to “outstubborn her” as the good doctor has prescribed. We’ll get there, no doubt, if the Quail has taught me nothing, she’s given me a renewed emphasis on the glory of patience and conviction. But in the meantime, I’ve been slipping more and more cow’s milk into her cups and weaning myself off of my pump, if not her.

This alone has woken me up, to not be so saturated in the momma hormones throughout the day. And then, this past week, it was like my brain sat bolt upright remembering itself. Lovey asked me if I knew for sure what the Quail’s IEP team was recommending for next year. I recalled that the teacher had said she had been speaking to the 4k teacher at the school where the special education program is housed for the county about the Quail and wanted her to start spending some time there and to come to special ed 5 days a week. Beyond that, I knew no specifics. Lovey then decided to send a note to the Quail’s special education teacher asking for clarification. What came back, that was the jolt I needed. Yes she wanted her to spend some time each day there. What was the shocker was it was calendar/math and phonics sessions she felt the Quail was capable of. But that was all.

This moved us to action. I began tentatively emailing our village- cyber and IRL folks who have been there, done this, here in our system and across the country. Lovey did the same, and then one day- he sent me a note after reading what I had said to another mother. He noted how little like myself I sounded- that I sounded uncertain- not knowing what is the right path for the Quail. That in talking about her we need to focus on her strengths and abilities and lead with that because of the prevalence of stereotypes that surround Down syndrome, people hearing about her will latch on to what they already know about people like her- the weaknesses and difficulties and not hear what we are saying about the real her. I have never been more in love with this man. The student became the teacher. These past 17 years of knowing each other- of sharing my heart with him of showing and including him in the world of disability that I’ve grown up with and how we best serve others in their own community, of how we talk about people- well it was ingrained in his heart and mind and he brought it back to me when I was at my most vulnerable, overwhelmed and doubting of myself, my daughter and what I know. What. I. Know. What we know about this individual that is our heart and light.

I may not be well versed in the education system and most of what I know about offerings locally for others that come with an extra chromosome is third person removed, but it included including the child in the less academic portions of the day- very little inclusion- but mainstreaming into the regular classroom for things like lunch, recess, art, gym. Rarely academics without a fight. And here was our teacher recommending the academic portion because the Quail- well frankly she knows so very much.

So Lovey headed down to the local elementary school in our town. You know the one where Zuzu goes? The one where the Quail went for her therapies when she turned 3 and started with the education system before a segregated classroom even existed for preschoolers here. Now public 4K in our state is for children that are “at risk”. There are limited spots and we want one. The 4k teacher willingly told Lovey a bit more about the class. About the fact that in this class of approximately 20 students, there are to date, 7 native languages. The joy of a college town- a very international community. This was sounding just perfect. The Quail- her receptive language- it’s near normal. She understands what you are saying. She just has trouble expressing herself in a typical form back. But this teacher- this teacher already works with that fact, albeit for a different reason, in her classroom everyday. Why not one more?

Lovey asked what concerns she might have about including the Quail in a typical 4k setting. She mentioned that attention span and focus can often be an issue and it can often be overwhelming coming into such a large classroom environment for the first time. We parroted back what we have been told about our bird. She is great with work assignments and therapists have frequently noted the expanse of her attention span. She also is currently in private preschool with 1 teacher and 16 classmates.

“Well then,” came the reply; “scratch that.”

So, this past week, we let the Special Education teacher know that we were not in favor of her continuing at the separate school, in the separate class. There is so very much more to say about the Quail’s experience and the impact it has had on her this past year….and I can and will go on. But this fog that is slowly dissipating, well it means I’m also keenly aware of all the other things around me that were out of sight and mind in this period of growing another little person both in and along side me and they are calling for my energy and attention as well.

Last week when Lovey spoke up on behalf of our bird, our teacher asked what our goals are for her and out of a vault that had been stuck shut- came pouring the expectations for equal rights. For equal education. For inclusion. For the Quail’s right to be a part of a typical classroom and continue to learn just as she has shown us for the last 4 years that she is capable and eager to do. What we know are concerns for her and how we know they have been successfully addressed in the past and can be in a typical 4k setting.

We made a choice 4 years ago to include her in the same typical daily setting as her sister knowing that if we had to move her into more specialized care, that we would- but that she would need to show us that she needed it. Since she came into our lives we have assumed ability, not disability. We have looked at her and known and assumed capability and as she has shown us she needs support, we have sought it out. And she has thrived. She has grown. She has learned.

My girl- she is entering a system that expects her to prove herself in a way that someone not bearing her label and features would never be asked. Children that know what she knows in her head- they would be able to sit down alongside the other children without having to earn their way there. Because in this country- education is a basic right to all children. Except possibly those that have to work a little harder to keep up. Except maybe those that need it even more.

But that’s ok. I was born for this. The generations that have come before me and educated me personally, academically and professionally- my gratitude is with them. They fought to have children like mine have first the right to be born in to this world, then given the medical care to live a life and then the right to be supported in their own homes.

My generation- we are here to continue on that legacy. We are here to show the capability that lies within. To continue to advocate for equal rights. And that begins with a good and thorough education.

I hope this won’t be a fight. Our family will go in to these meetings with the assumption that we are all here to do what is best to educate the Quail. But, we will lead these meetings now making sure the educators know what we know. What the Quail knows.

That this bird, this bird can and will fly.

five minute friday: bare

…where a brave and beautiful bunch gather every week to find out what comes out when we all spend five minutes writing on the same topic and then sharing ‘em over here.

Go:

DSC_4398

I take the teacher note out of the Quail’s backpack and read it to her four year old self: “The Quail was not kind to her friends today. She pulled her friend down and her friend did the same….” The Quail looks down at her shoes while bird-perching her bottom lip out at my words.

“Momma, that girl was mean to me again. She took my prize and hid it and wouldn’t tell me where it was.” Zuzu’s voice wobbles through her tears.

 “Momma I got my sticker and stamp taken away today. But I was only talking quietly. Lucy was talking loud but Mrs. Campbell didn’t hear her. She didn’t get hers taken away. It’s not fair.” Her tears flow hot at the injustice of kindergarten rulings. Her embarrassment at having gotten in trouble worn as plain as the clean back of her hand where the daily stamp is missing.

“Back away from each other and Quail go to time-out. We do not hit or spit.” I raise my voice to be heard over the wild ruckus of the girl’s disagreement and then proceed to wipe the spit off my face that was sent there flying out of the Quail’s frustration. I feel myself pause- I need to be heard, but I need to not yell and frankly- that’s hard some days.

Each day we start again. Each day I promise myself I will not yell. I will listen. I will instruct calmly. I will model what I want to see in them. Each day I feel the frustration mount as we repeat the same lessons over and over. Including the new promise to not yell *this day*.

The basic lessons:

We do not hit, pull or spit.

We ask for help when we need it.

We listen to our teacher, parents and grown-ups in charge.

We do not yell.  

The bare bones they are,  these daily repeated lessons of ours. How to get along with others in this ole’ world. How to be kind.

These basic lessons- they bare repeating each and every day as we wake up and try again.

Stop.

Zuzuday

Zuzu did swimmingly on her first report of Kindergarten. Or so her parents praised. When she looked it over though she was concerned that some of the sight words she knew she hadn’t gotten credit for. She was upset. So I suggested that we had to find a kind way to let Mrs. McCainknow. Zuzu said she would write a note and list the ones she knew. I agreed this was a kind way to let her teacher know what she knew.

Quailday

Public pre-school days are what the Quail looks forward to each week. She grabs her backpack and happily heads to the car. On the drive there she gets a high-five from Zuzu and we practice our A,B,Cs and 1,2,3s. She’s made some new buddies and is working on not “mothering” them too awfully much.