IEP

I've basically just stopped weeping this week over Lilah's kindergarten graduation, so I'll start small with the updates and just cover her IEP.

I had the official meeting to discuss 1st grade with Lilah's IEP team. It included a speech/language pathologist, her school occupational therapist, her teacher, me, and her principal. I was nervous and didn't know what all to bring, so I brought my notebook filled with accommodations I thought she should have, and an educational journal article from Canada called "They're Bright But They Can't Write: Developmental Coordination Disorder in the School-Age Child". Alexis, the SLP, started things off by saying she was shocked things had been allowed to go so far without an IEP. I told her it hadn't been needed for Kindergarten, that D'Anne had a whole modified environment with special everything. They took all of that information down for her IEP - her "blue table" (a low to the ground, distraction-free workspace set apart from other students, where she is allowed to pick a friend a day for company), her computer and iPad programs that allow her to shift some of the burden of writing and motor planning to electronic devices, how she was getting OT off the books but had made great strides, how her testing is administered in the mornings before her fatigue sets in and when her memory is at its prime. Alexis scribbled everything down, crossing off and rewording in ways that sounded more official.

Derek, her principal, was called in because of one of my requests - alternative equipment for PE. "She comes home with slashes from jump ropes and bruises from kick balls because her brain can't send the message quickly enough to get her hands up to block them. She needs foam or beach balls to keep her safe." He agreed to it. They also agreed to purchase her some of the tech that she'd been working with at home - a color coded keyboard and light up mouse, apps for the iPad and computer to give her low-fatigue writing exercises, they gave her talk-to-text dictation software for assignments. One of the harder sells was D'Anne saying that Lilah needed aids for math. Manipulatives were easy to get, beads or bears or something tangible to count. The harder part was proving her work. Derek was concerned that a computer wouldn't help her there, because a calculator would give her the answers. D'Anne suggested number stamps, so she would still have to select the correct number, but wouldn't have the burden of writing it. He agreed.

I brought up that due to her poor motor planning skills, she should be allowed to go to her locker 5 minutes early upon arrival, getting ready for gym and recess, and dismissal to decrease her tardiness. They agreed to that too.

I listened as more and more ideas were piled onto this magic document. They made a copy of my article so no one would have to guess what the problem was. Of course, someday she would have to write. Someday these accommodations would all go away. But it isn't the teacher's job to show her how to gain a skill that should come naturally. It's now a task for her OTs. Her educational progress couldn't be allowed to suffer while Lilah exhausted herself over every task. Just sounding out and writing a simple word like CAT could take her a half hour and leave her shaky and in tears. But verbally if you ask her to do it, she fires it off in seconds. Ask her to type the word CAT and she regards her brightly colored Crayola keyboard thoughtfully and happily plunks away C-A-T. I watched her write a letter the other day on her keyboard. As she talked herself through the steps, I heard, "...I-N-G-period-spacebar-W with a crayon-h...", the crayon key being shift and her knowing already that she needed to capitalize. We have given up every single traditional teaching tool in my arsenal of homeschooling younger siblings and built everything custom from the ground up here at her Bird Nest. Her IEP team saw the difference in performance with what we were doing at home and what D'Anne had modified in the classroom, and purchased identical everything for first grade.

We gave up sight word flashcards and got her Snapcards. They're flashcards for right brained learners. They have the word encoded in a picture, and each card has a sentence and motion that goes with it. "Want" is a person reaching for sweets, and you hold out your hands and say, "I want some". On the backs of the cards is the word by itself. The instructions suggest letting the child discover the pictures themselves in whatever way they connect with, then choosing a motion either from the suggested one or on their own. Supposedly it not only helps right brained learners grasp the mystery that is high frequency words, but in the long run their comprehension is better because they learn the word and meaning simultaneously. Dubious, we went through all 56 together. Lilah was delighted with them, as she was with her Miyazaki flash cards. She's a sucker for a picture. Every day, she asked to do her Snapcards. After maybe 3 days, I decided to flip them over to the word-only side to see if any of this was actually sticking. She breezed through more than half of them without the picture cues, needing only the occasional hand motion or "What sound does it start with?". Total retention of something we spent the school year trying to teach her. Further confirmation that we needed to leave her the hell alone and follow HER cues with how she learned.

The only thing about the IEP I was truly nervous about was her placement for next year. One 1st grade teacher was not returning. One was a fantastic person and dynamic teacher but very structured in her classroom and a concern was raised that it would lead to frustration if Lilah wasn't able to keep up with the other students. The third teacher was unknown, as staffing was up in the air. D'Anne shared that the teacher I really liked but had concerns about (and truth be told, the one Lilah had announced she wanted and would get) had approached her and asked for Lilah. After discussing all the challenges that getting Lilah would entail, she still wanted her and had even thought up some pretty great ideas for her 1st grade success already. I felt a weight lift off my chest. No one would be saying, "Great, I get the kid that comes with an Apple Genius Bar's worth of equipment and an IEP that doesn't even let her play kick ball." She actually wanted her, wanted to see her succeed. She wasn't going from someone who loved her to someone who'd dread her. She'd go from one set of loving teacher arms to the next. These women amazed me in their strength, patience, and ingenuity. They had kids at home and households to run. But within the walls of JFK, my child was their child. She was their family. They gave her all they had and went home thinking of ideas on how to give more.

With a full heart, I reported back to Lilah. She asked about her teacher and I said it wasn't settled for sure until August, and I'd let her know (anything could happen and I didn't want to make a promise I couldn't keep). She said, "Well that's okay. I want Mrs. Cover. I know I'll get Mrs. Cover." I laughed and asked why she thought that. "Because Mama. I saw her classroom, and everything on the walls looks like what Mrs. McNeil has. She has the same words." Familiarity. "She always uses nice words with her students. She never yells at them." Kindness and patience. "And..." she got quiet and fidgety. "I think maybe, she would let me use things. Use my computer, and my keyboard." Acceptance. It tugged at my heart to see what simple, but immeasurably important traits my daughter wanted in her next teacher. I agreed with her that Mrs. Cover was certainly all of those things, and we'd see for sure in August. I was happy to tell her that 1st grade would come with her keyboard and mouse, her computer program, her little blue table, slantboard, all her familiar apps and manipulatives, and even some extra surprises like number stamps and new, gentler balls for PE. She jumped up and down all over the room and squealed. "I can't wait to be a 1st grader! I love being a Little Eagle!"