introductions & expectations
August 23, 2013 § 8 Comments
For the past two years I have been fortunate enough to sit with my son among teachers and support staff in the quiet halls of his middle school just before the beginning of a new year. Prior to introductions my son is a name attached to a series of diagnoses and lengthy reports; in person he becomes the sum of his smile and I am the voice of his needs. I do this so that each member of my son’s team knows I am a committed partner in my son’s education and will advocate for classroom resources that enable greater success.
Beneath the informal introductions is a subtext: this average looking child has exceptional abilities and frustrating challenges, but he is capable academically. He will struggle to make eye contact during your lecture, but will retain your lesson almost word for word. He will fail to perform written exercises in traditional form, but verbalize coherent, complete answers as naturally as he breathes. He will act socially immature at times, because it is a foreign language he is largely fluent only in textbook application. No one is more aware of his differences than my son who lives in a body with a mind that is often overlooked because his needs are largely invisible, until they become inconvenient. His abilities often humbling us when we uncover his strengths.
This year, for the first time, an educator gave me pause. I could feel their displeasure as clearly as if it were a physical being absorbing the air from the room. Heavy walls stretched between us and while I measured the distance separating our perspectives for a path that might create shared expectations, I could not find common ground. For the first time I identified undertones of prejudice. Despite the tightness in my chest and lump in my throat, there was much to learn from listening. I set aside defensiveness and sadness to educate.
My son lives everyday with needs that make simple tasks overwhelming for the social undertones. I could easily place him in a modified academic setting, but I would be compromising his education and undermining him and his peers’ ability to navigate shared space. The behaviors that some might see as inconvenient to their day are not intentional acts of misbehavior, but invisible handicaps typical to his diagnoses. If my son’s legs were broken we would give him tools to aide his movement. If he could not speak or see, we would give him tools to perform alongside able-bodied peers. Patience is our greatest accommodation. I have never compromised my expectations, rather my son strives to meet a standard that is often higher for the effort it takes to balance his needs to perform among peers as an equal. My son faces unkindness and frustrations with determination. It is because of his abilities that I advocate for him, not his inabilities.
In truth, I admire uncomfortable honesty as a promise of possibility. We learn from one another in lessons that extend far beyond thoughtfully prepared classrooms. Each year I am wiser for the team of educators I partner with and I hope their lives are richer for the experiences we lend them. We begin with introductions and expectations to mark a new path.
thoughts unsaid
July 16, 2013 § 8 Comments
Lately I feel caught in the uncomfortable uncertainty, or perhaps certain uncomfortableness, of my son’s teenage experience. As his limbs lengthen and voice deepens, I am forever looking toward the little boy beneath the awkward mannerisms while my husband endeavors to outline the man our son will become.
to my boys,
There was a time the heavy tread of the father was followed by a hurried, muffled thumping of little feet. An eagerness in sound and space to fill the footsteps that loomed larger than life. As those tiny feet have grown into their own path, you meet toe-to-toe in conflict; demanding respect while quietly yearning for understanding.
I see a man with the sensitivity of a child lonely for his little boy and a child confusing freedom with respect, seeking equality without the experience that informs authority. I stand in the periphery of your experience as father-son, balancing my promises to partner in parenting alongside my need to nurture.
I have an expectation we have only begun to experience the growing pains that accompany this age. Self and selflessness, family and individuality. These are the years we draft silent promises in contradictory spaces, boundaries that hold us tightly together while outlining freedom.
This is my promise to stand between you in love with compassion and patience, respect for what we share and faith in the beautiful differences between us.
wanting & having
July 14, 2013 § 6 Comments
This morning my husband and I circled our daughter with choices, attempting to create birthday plans that would evolve into cherished memories from daydreams and wishes. What would you like? Who would you like to include? What might you like to do? Each of us became dizzy from the momentum of expectations.
We looked outward toward dramatic visuals pinned with promises of parties tinted in tones of joy. Images not unlike the of artistic filters that cast contemporary photographs in shades of nostalgia. Themed cakes and clever goody bags were missing the quaint charm of blank space.
Then, we looked inward.
I cannot remember my parents interviewing me to create an ideal, rather I remember a sense of gratitude for candles that invited a reason to cast a wish among friends. My experience was less wanting and more having. In truth I had less and dreamt more, my riches greater for my dreams.
My daughter’s birthday is just around the corner and this year I am giving her a little more wrapped in a lot less. A simple cake and a couple of friends. A special gift and room to wish.
perspective & planning
February 4, 2013 § 8 Comments
In a little over a week my husband and I will gather among teachers, therapists, administrators, and support staff for our son’s annual IEP (Individualized Education Program) meeting to discuss his experiences this school year and create a new plan for the coming year. Each meeting over the past seven years has created new opportunities for our family to challenge ourselves to honor our son’s ever-changing needs, this year we are adding a new chair to our table of experts, requesting our son sit in on the process.
From the beginning I have honored our son’s unique perspective by bringing written representations of his experiences, created in his own hand, to these meetings. Drawings, lists, and letters have filled gaps in comprehension between observations. Conscious that each year our son grows more independent and that he will, one day, need to advocate as an adult for his education and eventually his career I have determined this step is essential to his journey. This decision comes one year after a difficult experience.
Last year we struggled as a team; teachers were without resources, the school was without strategy, and our son was lost to challenges that created an expectation of failure. My husband and I endeavored to create relationships with otherwise unfamiliar teachers and support staff without the reassurance of trust. No longer nestled in the familiar rhythm of our elementary school experiences we were overwhelmed. Every member of our son’s team reached for a lifeline that had to first be constructed with procedures that consumed time we didn’t have with mandatory requests, documentation, and extensive testing. Meanwhile our son showed up each day consciously drowning socially and academically in his educational experience. At the end of the struggle there was success, but the cost of lost time could not be regained.
This year I partnered more intentionally with teachers outside the neatly outlined expectations of formal documents, creating personal experiences that built confidence. We met with teachers before the school year began, exchanging introductions that allowed for questions and expectations while creating a relationship that lent itself to mutual trust; establishing an easy, fluid dialogue with teachers.
At all times our son carries with him the memory of failed experiences alongside success intimately, with a presence each of us as members of his team are second-hand witnesses to. Rather than plan around our son, I think it is time to invite him into the process.
Knowing our son is presently emotionally, intellectually, and verbally capable of expressing himself, but not yet mature enough to be in control of decisions concerning his supports I believe we are at a point where experiencing the formalities of the meeting will prepare him to engage in future meetings more confidently. This year he will make a verbal statement to personalize his experience and bring materials to take notes and record questions or concerns for a family conference after the formal meeting.
While we have always explained thoroughly each of our son’s supports, this year those decisions will be shared from the perspective of each individual team member rather than translated by us, after the fact, to the person central to our every discussion. I am eager and curious as we near the day, to see how this experience will inform our son’s understanding of his academic resources and for him to recognize the time and care invested by each individual that becomes a piece of a collective initiative.
It is a new step on a long journey and I am grateful for this opportunity to invite our son to walk beside us in preparation to move ahead more confidently into his future.
to my daughter
September 25, 2012 § Leave a comment
Yesterday my phone buzzed with an early morning message from your teacher, eager to celebrate a classroom success. In an area where you often struggle, you had demonstrated mastery. Your accomplishment cast ripples of joy across the day connecting those of us who witness your determined efforts and discouraging challenges.
I want to capture this moment in a snapshot, saving this well-earned success for future reference; to unfold these lessons and write them on the walls of our home. We succeed not because of what we know, but by the way we approach learning. Our strengths are not measured by what comes easily, but how we face that which challenges us. Our accomplishments are a reflection of our choices, not chance.
You, my sweet girl, worked hard for this moment. Hold tightly to this knowledge, the sense of satisfaction and pride that accompany long evenings exercising new concepts. Be comfortable with the discomfort of working through confusion to find clarity. In life these lessons in resilience will bring you strength in the face of adversity. You will do well, not because life is easy, but because you move through your days consciously embracing opportunities to learn.
keeping thanks
September 8, 2012 § 2 Comments
Today is laundry day and a the discovery of all too familiar remnants of unemptied pockets created a cheerful paper confetti amid a load of clean clothes as well as an amused moment of reflection.
My children’s elementary school utilizes a structured reward system to reinforce positive behavior. Children are given paper tickets acknowledging a behavior that reflects respectful, responsible, kind behaviors. Students are instructed to add their name to the back of their ticket before depositing it into a raffle jar. One child’s name is then routinely drawn from each class and they are invited to spin a wheel that identifies a randomly chosen prize. Naturally this system is intended to encourage children to behave in a way that increases the frequency of acknowledgment, thereby increasing the odds their name might be drawn and giving them an opportunity to win a prize.
My children keep their tickets. My son has moved on to middle school but old tickets still turn up buried beneath piles of books and old papers. My daughter’s are tucked inside tennis shoes, the pockets of her school clothes, corners of her backpack, and nestled amidst the chaos of her room. They keep these messages of appreciation with no need to win a greater gift. In fact, on occasion they gift these notes of thanks to others. Sometimes they turn up in our laundry.
I often wish the teachers that distribute the paper praise could see these closely guarded treasures that litter our home and know that the simple validation of good behavior or act of kindness are prize enough.
personally, impersonal
September 8, 2012 § Leave a comment
There are moments of injury, unintended, whose wounds create tiny cracks in a smooth facade. Sitting in my daughter’s classroom for curriculum night my heart swelled with tiny injustices. As the teachers outlined cleaver ways to incorporate writing, reading, and math facts into the home environment to nurture skills that create academic success my head spun with my daughter’s reality. Sitting nestled between her peers’ parents balanced on tiny chairs around neatly gathered desks I felt the discomfort my daughter has so often expressed experiencing in her classrooms. The sense of otherness that creates embarrassment and shame, suffocating joy and challenging confidence.
The teachers encouraged us to use math in practical settings and in moments of stillness. Similarly they invited us to have our children write letters and make lists to practice writing. I wanted to raise my hand and proudly site each instance of such practice in our home, to celebrate our love of learning. Instead anger and shame licked at my mood, it seems unfair that my daughter who is never without a book, a pencil, or a quick calculation stands just far enough behind her peers to feel the shadow of failure before the light of success.
I guide my daughter with words of encouragement and unwavering faith in her abilities, keeping my own frustration reserved for these moments of written reflection. Until curriculum night. Rather than tuck my emotions beneath polite conversation I drafted a letter to my daughter’s teacher outlining my daughter’s efforts and expressing honestly and openly our shared frustration in search of compassion and patience.
This year will march forward with new challenges and old frustrations, but I am making room for friendship in our partnership between home and school. Just as my daughter’s teachers outlined simple activities to nurture academics, I shared simple gestures of kindness to foster greater emotional support for the little girl hiding her fears behind a tiny desk. Making the impersonal, personal.
bedtime stories
August 28, 2012 § 4 Comments
Last night my son was performing his weekly chore of taking the garbage and recycling to our curb. I joined him curious to see how he wrestled the weight of the bulky containers over the patch of grass. I knew he was capable, the containers are present and accounted for most Tuesday mornings. After maneuvering the first container with his own well established routine of rotating movements my son stopped and stared at the sky. Look Mom, isn’t the moon particularly beautiful tonight?
I couldn’t see the moon for the trees and had to move to find the brilliant ball illuminating the sky. It was a small moment, but a lovely reminder of my son’s blessings. This is the piece of his personality I am humbled by. Regardless of the events of the day he finds beauty and shares the moment eager to connect.
As predictably as my son finds beauty in everyday routines and meditates in a moment of appreciation, my daughter creates laughter and music.
Bath time is a lengthy and often messy production. My daughter plays beneath the shower and under the bath water with an eclectic collection of household items and toys. Last night, while handing her a towel, she proudly exclaimed, I hid the dirty elephant. I mean the evidence. I didn’t find the elephant, but I wanted to clap for the happy accidents of childhood language that linger in our home.
And then we danced. Dressed in her pajamas our daughter guided my husband and I in a new song, marching through the coordinating gestures from a music class routine. Off key and out of time we stole a few more minutes of daytime from the moon and I gave thanks for precious gifts of time with my favorite people and the boundless joy they bring me.
back to school
August 26, 2012 § 2 Comments
The rain has washed away my family’s plans for the day allowing me a moment to curl up in the company of my children and reflect on the past week.
Monday our daughter visited her new classroom, introducing herself to her teacher and visiting with the familiar faces of her support staff. We shared summer stories and named our hopes for the coming year. Last year we identified learning disabilities undermining our daughter’s education, breeding toxic feelings of inadequacy and inability. This year we are embracing resources that will nurture confidence and create classroom experiences that will facilitate her independent efforts.
We share a similar journey with our son. As a child with special needs his education is individualized to build on strengths while challenging him to grow in areas of weakness. To foster communication with his teachers we met briefly on Tuesday to exchange introductions and outline expectations, creating a dialogue of partnership.
Wednesday morning we set aside apprehension and uncertainty for hope. After a fleeting breakfast together our son left early for the bus stop eager to visit with friends. On Thursday our daughter navigated the short walk to school independently, her footsteps weaving between old memories and falling alongside neighborhood friends. I found myself standing on the threshold of new milestones grateful for our children’s demonstrations of confidence.
In the midst of new school experiences my husband and I revisited old expectations, encouraging both children to claim ownership of their knowledge alongside their questions; reinforcing the experience of learning as a natural expression of a curious mind. We are measuring success by effort, demonstrations of intention against abilities and needs. We are working alongside teachers to inspire and celebrate a new year of discovery.
heart wish
July 25, 2012 § 2 Comments
On a warm Fall day in the company of an eclectic collection of preschool mothers relaxing into lazy conversations while our children settled into their first day of school, a friend placed her newborn daughter in my arms. Already the mother of a little boy who filled every space of my heart with joy I suddenly found my heart wishing for a little girl.
I returned home that day filled with a quiet hope and cautious curiosity, eager to share my heart’s wish for our little family with my husband. After years of committing ourselves to exploring our days with our son, entirely content to dote on our smiling, curious tiny companion my husband and I agreed we were both ready to begin a new chapter in our lives. And so our minds and hearts began gathering dreams of someone new and yet unknown.
Like most pregnant mothers my greatest wish was for a healthy child. I set aside little girl daydreams and embraced the experience indulging in rest, random cravings, and dwindling days of Mommy & Me adventures with my son.
Then, on an August morning, my husband and I welcomed our daughter. Holding her gently against my chest I marveled at the realization of a wish come true. She fit into the quiet places of our hearts as naturally as the rhythm of our days.
Eight years later I can barely count the blessings of her presence. I dreamed of a little girl who would climb trees in princess dresses, but her life is greater than my dreams. She is familiar and foreign, a fascinating contradiction of predictable chaos. She walks with one foot off the path, testing her boundaries and creating a new experience.
I nurtured lessons in compassion and kindness, but my daughter’s strength humbles me. She is the first to out a wrong, will stand confidently in a place of discomfort, lend a voice when another will not speak in their own defense. She does all this alongside vulnerable moments of insecurity. She struggles in traditional areas of academia, but excels in the unwritten lessons of life. I marvel at her wisdom and wonder at her doubts.
The little girl who began as a wish fills our days with bigger dreams; she is a blessing that multiplies joy and lessons sorrow with her smile.
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