Best Friends

This week a new girl started in K's class.

That's right. A girl. 

Her own age.

Who shares common interests.

In all the programs we toured, we saw one girl K's age, but unfortunately that particular program wasn't a good fit. I would be lying if I said I didn't consider trying it out just so she could have a friend, though.

This new girl visited K's school twice, and I held my breath waiting to hear if she would become a student. When I received an email confirming her acceptance (the school sends up a heads up whenever a new child joins a class), I was elated.

When I had spoken to K about the possibility of this girl being in her class, she told me they would be best friends, and she would buy one of those best friend necklaces she saw at the mall. She was so earnest and matter-of-fact about it. Her innocence in how friendships are formed and kept is something I love about her, but the potential for heartbreak is not lost on me.

Yes, K and this new girl like some of the same things, like unicorns, and My Little Pony. But, this is also a special education school, and all kids come with a certain amount of trauma, or bad experiences, from previous placements. In her mind, K had already decided that they will be BFF's (best friends forever), and I hope she isn't disappointed. What she knows about friendship, in general, she has learned mostly from television shows. They are how she planned her first real sleepover, and they are how she has formed views on friendship. Mix those expectations with the expectation that everything will be immediate, and I worry what might happen. Especially if the new girl has a lot to work through, and isn't up for the instant BFF status K desires.

I am trying to stay positive, though. Even though these are two girls with a myriad of challenges, they absolutely can forge a path to true friendship. At the core, they are 10 year old girls (the new girl might be a year younger), and I always wants to have the same expectations I would for any 10 year old. Why not? Maybe things will look a bit different for them, but I respect my daughter enough to not baby her, or just assume things won't work out. I never want to underestimate anyone based on diagnosis, and I know there's always more than meets the eye. They both deserve to finally be accepted, feel safe, loved, and feel worthy of that BFF necklace.

Below are lyrics to a song I performed with 2 friends in an elementary school talent show :) 

BEST FRIENDS 

Best friends should be together, 
That’s how it ought to be, 
So let’s pretend I’m part of you, 
And you are part of me. 

If I were a little shoe, 
I could be your heel, 
If I were a little pig, 
I could be your squeal. 

If I were a little peach, 
I could be the fuzz 
If I were a bumble bee, 
I could be your buzz. 

Best friends should be together, 
That’s how it ought to be, 
So let’s pretend I’m part of you, 
And you are part of me. 

If I were an elephant, 
I could be your trunk, 
If I were a chocolate cake, 
I would be a hunk. 

If I were a picture, 
I would be your frame, 
But if I were nothing, 
I’d like you just the same. 

Best friends should be together, 
That’s how it ought to be, 
So let’s pretend I’m part of you, 
And you are part of me. 

The Perfect School

Today K and I made a list of things she'd want (or not want) in her perfect school. Though we love the school she is in now, it isn't long term (which we always knew.) She needs to be challenged more academically, and definitely needs more social opportunities (right now she is 1 or 2 students in her class.) This school has done a lot for her, mental-health-wise, and for that we are eternally grateful, but at some point we'll have to find a new placement.

So, today, while we were getting in some afternoon snuggles, we decided to make this list. Actually, I asked her if she wanted to make a list of wants and don't wants, and she agreed. We make so many decisions for our kids, I wanted to make sure K is represented in whatever we choose to do down the road. Some of her answers I prompted, knowing what she loves about her current school/misses about her old school. Some of her answers she gave without any prompting at all. I think the most important answer was no restraints. This was 100% her, no prompting needed.

So, here is K's list. Short, sweet, and oh-so important:

Wants:

A class pet
Girls
Nice teachers
Art
Good food
Culinary arts
iPads
closer to home

Don't wants:

Restraints(!!!)
Homework (she hasn't had that in her previous two placements, anyway.)
Bullies


One of the things K loves most about her current placement is the culinary arts program, so I am really hoping we're able to find another school that offers that. She loves using the iPad for all her schoolwork, too. The fact that physically writing is such a challenge for her, and can get in the way of her overall performance, an iPad, or laptop, is definitely something we need to make happen.

The class pet? This might trump everything else on the list, but is probably the hardest thing to find. Especially as she gets older. We toured a few different schools, and class parts are few and far between. I'm sure K could convince a teacher it's something absolutely necessary, though ;)

And girls. Well, we are realistic about this one. If we could find a school with even one other girl K's age, we'd consider it a win!

Nice teachers, good food (in the cafeteria), and art class are all things that will hopefully be easier to find. As far as distance from home? Well, we live in the boonies, so nothing is going to be close. One can always hope, though!

As soon as we started making the list, K said something she wanted was "no restraints". Actually, what she said was she didn't want "that thing at the other school", and I immediately knew to what she was referring. It's sad that has to be on the list at all. That in this day and age educators can't come up with a better way, or have enough respect for our kids that restraints and seclusion aren't even on the table.

But, alas...

A school's policy on restraints/seclusion is something that will be immensely important moving forward, though.

As for homework? Most of the programs don't have homework, but that isn't a given. Being that we needed a tutor specifically for homework when K was mainstreamed, I wouldn't mind no homework either. It caused a lot of unneeded anxiety and behaviors in our house, and I personally don't think homework is necessary, for any kid. Reading at home should be the only homework a kid gets.

K considers anyone she doesn't get along with a "bully", so this is a hard one ;)

I am hoping that K's next placement is the school she will be in for the long haul. It would be amazing if we could find a program that could get her through high school, even, though I know that's a tall order. I just don't want her changing programs every couple years. Hopefully we can take some of her wants (and don't wants!) and find a program that will work for her. There is no perfect school, but I want to make sure that K has a voice in whatever we choose.

Selfish

I have a confession. Lately, I've been feeling very selfish. Or maybe self-centered? All I know is that my #1 priority is my kids, and with a lot going on these days, I haven't been the best friend. Wife. Anything other than mother (and even that...)

More medical issues have come up with B, and in plain English, it sucks. Hard. In two weeks he will have an endoscopy to figure out if he has Celiac Disease. I won't go into detail about how we arrived here, because B deserves some level of privacy, but I can say he has markers in his blood showing he has a pretty high risk of developing Celiac at some point. That, along with other symptoms, have led his GI to tell me that even if the biopsy doesn't show Celiac, she will probably still want him to go gluten free.

Sigh.

B is already small. He barely eats, and what he does eat of course contains gluten. He doesn't have a big appetite, and so I fear taking away foods will leave us with other problems. Like starvation. I know I am over-reacting in a big way, because he probably won't starve to death, but when I say my kid is fine not eating, I mean it. I pretty much have to force feed him as it is, and that's with foods I know he likes. I've tried GF foods, and I can say with 100% certainty, if B has to go GF, we are screwed.

A lot of his issues with food are sensory based. His rigidness also makes it so that only certain brands and colors of food are acceptable. He eats no vegetables, and fruit is hit or miss, though thank goodness for year round watermelon. I don't even give a care if it's GMO. Anything to get him to eat.

I feel like we just went through a big change with the Epilepsy diagnosis, and we all just need a break. Smooth sailing for a while. But, I guess that isn't in the cards.

On the K front, things are going pretty well, but we are currently doing a med cleanse, and things could change. Basically, nothing is working for her anxiety anymore, and the meds are making her incredibly tired, along with making her gain a ton of weight. Just too much build up, I guess. So we are weaning her off, and getting a baseline. Her doctor is hopeful once we do this, her system will rev up a bit. She won't be exhausted all the time, and her weight will come under control.

K hasn't been off meds since kindergarten. Her anxiety is so bad, the side effects were "worth" it. Until now. I hope the transition goes smoothly, and I am hopeful her better school placement will help, but we don't really know what it will be like with K totally med free. All of this is adding to my own anxiety, and my own inability to look past my own kids to anything else.

On top of that, I am always worried that our perfect placement for K will be pulled out from under us. This is just a constant in my mind, and lately I've been worrying about it more. K is at a school where she is accepted and loved, and where she feels accepted and loved. She isn't forced to change who she is, or made to feel that everything she does is wrong. The focus is on her strengths, and what an awesome kid she is, not what an awesome kid should could become if she just did this, this, or this. I am always concerned that one misstep on my part with our school district (whatever that might be) could equal her placement being in jeopardy. The stuff nightmares are made of, my friends.

So, yeah, there's a lot going on, which means I haven't been pulling my weight as part of  my "village". At least I worry I'm not. I know there are people who expect certain things from me, but right now I can't get out of my own head. I want to, but I also believe you have to take care of your own family first and foremost, and sometimes you need to take a step back and do just that.

I am hopeful that things will settle down...soon-ish? That I can feel more comfortable about school issues, figure out all of B's medical stuff, and find a new rhythm. Not feel like I need to circle the wagons, and be unapologetically selfish. Although I guess I'm not unapologetically selfish, as I feel bad I can't be there for people as much as I'd like.

It's probably just part of being a parent. Not even a special needs parent, just a parent in general. Sometimes you have to take a timeout and focus on your own family, and their needs. And hope people understand.

Gushing

If you are anything like me, you cringe when it's time for open house or parent/teacher conferences. Open house seems benign enough, right? Until a few kids from your child's class make it their job to tell you everything your kid has been doing in school lately. Crying. Knocking chairs over. Just being weird. Why does she do this? Why doesn't she do that? Then there's always the quick talk with the teacher, different from the chats she has with other parents. There's no gushing about how well things are going. It's mostly therapy related, or things they are working on to help your child make it through each day. You walk out, happy it's over (while usually trying to wrangle your overstimulated kid.)

Parent/teacher conferences are more of the same. Sure, you get to look at some work, but the majority of the conference is spent talking about your child's weaknesses. Behavior issues. Everything that's going wrong. Last year I was even asked to make time for an "extended" conference for my son. Not the 10 minute, in and out, talk, but 30 long minutes of listening to how everything was going wrong.

You get home, check Facebook, and notice everyone else has posted these status updates about how awesome school is going for their kid, the wonderful things the teachers said, how their child is practically on the fast track to Harvard! You close down your computer, and give your kid a hug, wishing your conference had been a tribute to your child's strengths, instead of a summary of the opposite.

Last night was open house at K's new school, and I almost didn't go. I have what I like to call "school PTSD" which makes every bump in the road seem like a giant road block, and every phone call from school seem like the beginning stages of another program going down the drain. In my mind, I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For people to pull me aside and tell me how poorly things are going. That the next phone call will be the one telling me we are back to square one, when it comes to finding an appropriate education for my child.

K had a couple rough days at school recently, and I was feeling down. I didn't want to attend an open house where I would be bombarded with yet another laundry lists of everything my child can't do, and every weakness she has. I didn't want to see looks of pity on the teacher's faces. I've already seen enough of those to last a lifetime.

At the last second I decided to go. I almost turned around on the way there, and sat for a few minutes once I did arrive, working up the courage to walk in. I was so nervous. I felt like I'd be assaulted at the door by stories outlining how things weren't working out. I tried not to make eye contact, but in a school of only 26 kids, it's hard to disappear in the crowd.

As soon as I sat down, people started introducing themselves. The woman who teaches K art. Her OT. A few other staff members. And they all started gushing over how much they love working with Katie. Yes, gushing. Telling me story after story about my child. Not stories about things going wrong, but stories about how well things are going, and what she brings to the school. How they look forward to their time with her. Are excited to see her each day. And they meant it.

When I say everyone I spoke with focused on K's strengths, I mean it. I know there are times when K struggles, but those weren't the stories I heard. They even looked at her choosing to do work under her desk as a positive, whereas before it would have been a huge issue. I had to hold back tears as I heard about her interactions with the other kids. I rarely hear anything from K about school, but she has a whole life there that is just amazing.

Amazing.

I think I was the last parent to leave, when I thought I'd be the first person trying to escape. For once, I left with a giant smile on my face. I can't remember the last time I left any school function feeling anything other than sad for my kid, and throwing a pity party for myself. All my fears melted away. I realized the little bumps in the road really are just little bumps. That K is at a place where the focus is finally on what she can do, and she is appreciated and cared about by those around her. It was like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. I could stop worrying about her placement. I could stop cringing every time the phone rang. I didn't have to browse the Department of Education site on a daily basis, making a list of other programs that might work, after this one inevitably failed.

A bit of that "school PTSD" fell away. Open house ended up being a game changer for me, and I am so glad I went. I had built it up so negatively in my mind, because it's hard for me to believe any program will go well. That anyone would see my child for the great kid she is, and not as a problem child who no one wants around. Let's face it, last year was tough, and I am still dealing with the everything that happened. It's nice to finally be able to relax, just a little, and know K is somewhere she is happy, and thriving, and an important part of the school. Where she is valued, and loved.

If you are anything like me, you know how miraculous this all feels, and how a placement like this is something every child, every family, deserves. It was a long, hard fight, but so worth it in the end. For the first time ever, I was the one posting a status update about how everyone gushed over my kid, and it felt really, really good.

Bucking the Mainstream

Last week we started the process of getting K a new neuropsych evaluation. The last one she had was in first grade, and because she is currently outplaced, we need something new to figure out what's best for her moving forward. The school she is at, while great, isn't a long term solution, but we have yet to tour any school that fits the bill. We hope the new testing will point us in the right direction, when it comes to choosing another school down the line.

The thing is, I am nervous the kind of school we want for K doesn't exist. I also worry that we'll be pushed to choose a rigid, ABA, school. Why? Because after spending just a short amount of time with K, our new psychologist asked if we had toured one particular school, which is considered the "most" ABA school around. It was a school not even on our radar, quite honestly. It has a long wait list, for one, but it is also a school I didn't think served children at K's place on the spectrum. I know these days it is cool to loathe functioning labels, but the school, I thought, served a more severe population (although I could be wrong.)

Honestly, we don't really want K in a strict ABA program. Yes, she requires a very solid routine, but she is also a child who ends up feeling bad about herself if she doesn't "earn" all her stickers, or rewards. She suffers from probably the lowest self-esteem possible, and ABA isn't great for a kid like that. Sometimes it can just leave a child feeling like everything she does is wrong, and I am trying so hard to get away from that model. The school she is in now doesn't use ABA, and she is doing so, so well. But, the reality is, we'll have to move on from there eventually (for many reasons.) So far, we are coming up empty in terms of options.

I know there are various ways ABA can be done, and there was a time it was the only therapy I wanted (mostly because I was told it was the gold standard), but I just don't see it working for the kid K is now. There are parts of my child that ABA would want to change, and I am really in a place of wanting K to be herself. To embrace who she is, and not think she needs to be a different person in order to be a worthwhile human being. Passing is not my goal for K. Mitigating anxiety, helping her achieve the things she wants to achieve, those are my goals. Making sure she stays seated for dinner, doesn't jump up and down when excited, or sits in a class of 30 kids without issue, are not. My hope is that she can surround herself with people who completely accept her, who will love her, quirks and all. I am sure that sounds naive, but not more naive than saying I hope one day K is a different person, who doesn't look autistic.

Unfortunately, because ABA is the gold standard, that's what most schools use. Changing behaviors is a big part of therapy when you have an autistic kid. But, what happens when you don't want to change behaviors? When you realize trying to change who your kid is, only makes things worse? I'm not talking about letting aggressive behaviors go (although I do believe behavior=communication, and there is always a reason for aggressive behaviors. I know with K there certainly was, and finding out the reasons behind them=buy buy aggression.) I'm not talking about letting my kid get away with whatever she wants, because she's autistic. I still teach my kids the same I would any child, but I am not looking to change who they are at their core, and, unfortunately, that's the experience we have had thus far with ABA, and related social teachings.

Some have suggested I just homeschool, which, sure, is a great idea, except I know my limits, and there is a reason I changed my major from Education after just one semester. I don't have the patience. I don't have the degree. I don't think I would do K justice being her teacher. If at all possible, I'd love for her to be at school, with peers, and with people qualified to teach her. Homeschooling is a last resort to me, and we aren't quite there yet.

But, on the flipside, I am realistic that the program we want for K very well doesn't exist. Getting away from the goal of wanting our kids to "pass" is a fairly new idea, and the majority of people still see autism as something to be fixed.

So, here we are, going forward with new evaluations which, in the end, will probably suggest programming we don't want for our child. We'll move forward with the testing because we need it to keep K outplaced anywhere, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous the district will use it to try and force programming we just don't want.

I'm not saying ABA is inherently evil, or that there are kids who don't benefit, but I really believe it won't help K at this point in her life. If only there were more schools that looked past ABA, as well.

Happiness

It's only September, and I've been fooled into thinking "maybe this year will be the year"  before, but maybe this really will be the year...school goes well.

I remember the beginning of last year for K. Third grade, in a typical classroom, with a lot of supports. Early in the year, her teacher told me how well things were going, and how she hadn't seen any of the issues we'd seen in 2nd grade. Part of me felt defensive...I swear there were issues! But, another part of me felt that maybe maturity was on our side, and 3rd grade would be the turning point. A lot of people say 3rd grade is the make it or break it year. Kids are required to be more independent in their work. All things social get even more tricky. It's really just the year your child goes from baby to big kid. Scary, yet I had hope.

Of course, things didn't go as planned. Third grade didn't continue to go well, past those first few weeks. K does the opposite of most, where the first few weeks are GREAT, and then we hit a rough patch. She's always excited to start school, and we never have that initial issue with transition. Probably because those last few weeks of summer vacation are so all over the place, she's glad to have some routine back.

But, after those first few weeks of 3rd grade, we definitely hit a rough patch. Long story short, she went from mainstream, to autism class, to home tutoring, to private placement. Yes, 3rd grade was the make or break year for her, and unfortunately the latter happened. I've admittedly had a hard time adjusting to her not being three minutes down the street at our neighborhood school, but that's my issue, really. Sometimes it's hard to let go of every dream, all at once. But, I do realize my dreams are mine, not hers, and I'm working hard to get over myself.

Right now, she is doing so well at her new school. Amazingly well. Of course, nothing is ever perfect, but this is leaps and bounds better than where she was before (and I want to add that her 3rd grade teacher was awesome. It wasn't her fault that K wasn't successful in the mainstream. Since first grade, K has been blessed with fantastic teachers. I think that helped her make it as far as she did.)

This past week alone, I've received such positive reports from two different people at her school. How well she is doing. How engaged she is. How she's even reading out loud in class (which is huge for my reading challenged kid!) She is participating, and happy. Basically the polar opposite of before. It helps that her new school is year round. Even though she missed a couple weeks this summer because of camp, she still had way more routine than any previous ESY. If there's any kid who thrives on consistency, it's K.

K has a lot of potential, and I want to make sure she achieves everything she desires in life. She has big dreams, and I hope everything we're doing, the program she is in right now, plays a part in her seeing those dreams come true. I do struggle sometimes, knowing inclusion (or our district's idea of inclusion), didn't work. I struggle figuring out what placement will work for her long-term. But, for now, I'll just take the happiness this new school has brought out in K. She deserves it.

Most Imporantly

The first day of school, B came home with a sheet of paper meant for me to write his likes/dislikes, strengths/weaknesses. I filled out both sides, just with general information, but I felt something was missing. Something that really got down to the nitty-gritty of what I wanted his teacher to know. School has never been easy, for either kid. We've had more than our fair share of struggles. I really just wanted to get a certain point across. More than "B likes dinosaurs and talking".

So, after filling out both sides of the initial sheet (which, btw, was really only meant to be filled out on one side), I took out a piece of notebook paper and added page three.

 Most importantly,  I never want B to feel that something is “wrong” with him. I think sometimes therapy, and constant redirection, can make our special children feel they are not good enough. It's a fine line between helping them cope and be successful, and making them feel they need to change everything about themselves. 

B has Aspergers. He will always have Aspergers. I want him to feel proud, and not that he is less of a person because of any diagnosis. I want him to find a place of happiness and contentment in life. I never want him to feel he needs to change who is to be "normal". 

Of course, there are behaviors he needs to learn to mitigate better, but I don't want him thinking his struggles make him a bad kid. Maybe if we focus on his strengths, the self-confidence he builds will help temper the "weaknesses". 

I'm sure you didn't expect parents to take up several pages talking about their child. I just really need you to know that B is a great kid. No, I don't think my child hung the moon, but I also don't think he is in any way damaged. I think he has incredible strengths that can be overlooked because of a meltdown, or social issue, and those "weaknesses" shouldn't be the focus.

As you can tell, I am passionate about this. No one is perfect, and we all continue to work on ourselves. I just never want B to feel bad because of his neurology. I've been through it with my daughter, and want to keep B from ever feeling that way.

I've heard from other parents that you are the perfect teacher for B, and I'm excited about this year. Thanks for taking the time to read everything I wrote. I appreciate it more than you know. 

So, that's it. I truly hope she takes everything I wrote to heart, and doesn't view me as some whacked out parent. Honestly, I haven't yet moved away from last year (which, if you don't know, did not go well for either kid), but I am also not going in thinking this year will be the same. I can't. I have to hold onto hope that things will be different. That we've all learned from the past, and want to makes things better. Some might call me naive, but I'm not ready to give up. Maybe this year will be the year things go smoothly, and everyone works together for the good of both my children. I have to hold on to that possibility, because the alternative...well, I can't think about that only a few days in.

I Shall Not Admit Defeat!

It's been a week. Or, really, a week and a half. Forget waiting for the other shoe to drop. I think sometime this week I looked up and 757 shoes came raining down.

But, as K's therapist's would say, that's glass half empty thinking, and that won't do.

It all began when I got into a fender bender the week before last. Apparently a red light doesn't mean the same thing to all people, and the woman behind me figured she'd use my car to stop, as opposed to her brakes. She looked at my broken bumper and told me to just get some glue. She didn't want to hear the person in the car with me had whiplash, and decided the best thing to do was jump into her vehicle and drive away. From an accident. Because, you know, why not?

One 911 call later, I filed a police report, called the husband, and had my poor car towed. Thankfully, I now have it back, so I can ring in 200,000 miles as planned. I mean, I am a little over 198,000. I was not happy thinking I might not get to reach the next milestone. It's the little things.

We are not a one car family, but someone, who shall remain nameless, thought he'd save a few bucks and not add rental car insurance to our policy. Let's just say, it's being added now. I always had this idea in my head that we could ditch a car, and just share one to save money. A lot of people do that. We...are not these people.

So, we're cruising along last week, and then Wednesday happened. Let me start by saying I am very thankful my husband decided to work from home that day. I am not thankful I put off taking a shower...

After getting K off to school, my husband, B, and I slept in. It was the one day that week I had nothing to do. We got up around 9:30 (yes, 9:30...I know some of you are murdering me in your heads), I made B breakfast, and while he ate I checked my email (and, OK, probably Facebook and Twitter) in the other room.

One second I hear B talking to our dog, and the next I hear gurgling. Gurgling that I thought was caused by him making a mess with his chocolate milk.

Don't I wish.

I walked into the kitchen and found him on the floor. Drooling. Convulsing. Not responsive in the least. I called (screamed) for my husband, and dialed 911 (two 911 calls in a week is not my idea of a good time).

My kid was having a seizure.

Seizures are not something we've ever dealt with. Quite frankly, I thought we had dodged that little autism bullet (if it is at all related to autism). It was the scariest morning of my life. I literally thought my kid was dying. It took him a long time to snap out of it. He even lost speech for a while. Thankfully he remembers nothing, thinks it's cool he got to ride in an ambulance, and thought the ER was fun...they had saltines and ginger ale. Party down.

I really don't think paranoia begins to describe how I've felt since. I don't want to leave him along for 2 seconds, and have forced him to sleep with me all this week, thereby forcing my poor husband to the couch (but he has a dog to snuggle, so don't feel too bad for him).

I've tried not to Google grand mal seizure. I've tried convincing myself that B might be one of those kids who randomly has one seizure, then never again. We thankfully got in with a neurologist tomorrow afternoon, and I am anxious to just get on with it...whatever "it" might be. I am sure there will be EEG's and tests...protocols for school and camp...I just want all our ducks in a row. I want to know what to expect. I want to know more than I know now.

And I never want to see my child like that again.

Some other, personal stuff went on this weekend that I'm not at liberty to share, but all in all, I've had a lot on my mind, and am ready to hibernate for the winter. I am thankful for some friends and family who understand that I am currently half-human, and who are giving me the time to live in my own little world. Pretty much all I can muster is being a "mom" right now (so, I guess I'm thankful for an understanding hubby, too).

The one light in all of this is that last week we secured a permanent school placement for Katie, which is huge, and wonderful, and takes a giant weight off my shoulders. Not that the universe needed to replace that weight, but that's life. I'm glad K will remain somewhere she is happy, and thriving. One hurdle down, a zillion to go.

But, these past couple weeks have put a lot into perspective. Life is short. Anything can happen. I'm in control of pretty much nothing. So, the things I can control, I will. I need to make sure my family is happy. I need to make sure I am happy. I need to be selective with those I let into our lives, and not live in that glass half empty way. In the end, we are all responsible for ourselves, our actions, our decisions. How we choose to live. What is important, what isn't. What stress is necessary, and what can be left behind.

(Blah, blah, blah, etc, etc, etc, please stop waxing philosophical, says the audience, eyes rolling).

Love,

Your favorite pseudo-blogger (I am, right?)

J

The End of an Era...

For as long as I can remember, or, as long as K has been in school, we've had issues. From her behaviors not being understood, to her off the chart anxiety. Social issues. Extra-curricular failures. Fights over homework that could go up against the best war movies. Or actual wars.

Issues. 

School was always the fuel on the fire. Something we couldn't escape, no matter what accommodations were made, how long the IEP was, or what therapy was tossed in the mix. Every morning I had an upset little girl who sometimes had to be physically put in her van, and every afternoon I had a child who stormed into the house, angry at the world, and set off my the simplest things.

Each August my own anxiety would rise when I saw the back-to-school commercials. Our break had been far too short. Sure we had ESY, but a few hours a week was nothing compared to the actual school year. I tried to remain positive. Maybe this was the year things would turn around. Maybe maturity would be on our side. Maybe my kid would make a friend she couldn't wait to see everyday, and that would get her on the van. Maybe we'd only have one IEP meeting the whole year, instead of one almost every month. I wanted things to go well. I wanted K to be successful. I wanted to experience school like every other parent, and not like I was looking down the barrel of a gun.

Then this year happened.

Third grade. When everything changes. Students are expected to be independent in their school work. Socially, things start to change. Kids get mean years earlier than when I was growing up. I really can't explain the pain you feel when you go to the school to drop something off, and catch a glimpse of your child eating lunch in the cafeteria, alone. At a table by herself. It's an image I won't soon forget. My heart still breaks thinking about it.

And that was the most benign issue this year presented.

A lot happened this year. So much went wrong.

Very, very wrong.

And we knew we had to get K out.

With a lot of help, and after many sleepless nights and anxiety-ridden days, we finally did. We were able to move K to a new school that held so much promise. It took me a while to relax. To say I am a worrier is an understatement. Every time the phone rang those first few weeks, my heart stopped.

But, gradually, the worry got less. K was happy. She didn't even complain about getting up early to catch her van.  I knew she would be OK at the new school, and started praying to the universe that our district would allow her to stay.

Last night it really hit me. Life isn't perfect. A new school didn't magically make K's autism go away. We still have our really trying times.

But, one problem we don't have?

School.

And that's huge.

I no longer have a child who is a constant ball of anxiety, living in a perpetual meltdown. For those six hours every day, I'm not curled up in a fetal position, crying, feeling desperate.

For those six hours a day, my kid is happy.

It's an experience I never thought we'd have.

Like I said, things aren't perfect, but they are a hell of a lot better. It's a whole new world of school not being a catalyst, or something we all fear.

And it's about time. 

Just Right

As you know, K started a new school about a month ago. After a long search, we found someplace I felt she would be comfortable. Tiny classes. The ability to take breaks, or do work outside of the classroom, whenever she needed. Understanding. People seeing her as a kid who wants to do well, and not as a kid who is trying to make life difficult.

She has been happy, and I have been happy.

But, I started to hear this nagging voice in my head. Can K really succeed at this school? There's no ABA. I mean, how can she succeed without ABA? There aren't incentives to change behavior. How will she do well without incentives? I felt like maybe it was impossible for K to succeed, have a future, without these things. She has autism! How else will she learn?

Then I realized something. For years K has had all those things. ABA, incentives, behavior plans. People structuring her day with rules and routines, barely allowing to make a choice on her own. Not respecting when she needed space. Forcing her to stay someplace, or do something, even when she couldn't handle it, because that is what's "expected". And guess, what? Things never got better. This is K's third program this year! Third! That doesn't exactly scream success. Not by a long shot.

I think we are so conditioned to think our kids need this therapy or that, we forget to stop and see if anything is helping. Or, if anything is hurting. And that's not to say that every kid is the same. It's about taking a look at your child, and seeing what is right for them. If things have been bad for a long time, or your child is such a ball of anxiety they can barely function, it's time to figure out why.  

I had a kid this year who was so consumed by anxiety, she never wanted to leave the house. Somehow, in my mind, I felt that she just needed more. More ABA. More structure. More therapy. Because obviously she wasn't getting enough if all she wanted to do was sit in her room, alone.

Now I realize it was too much. The pressure to change. Act differently. Make "better" choices. It took its toll on my girl. The fact that she fought me on therapy didn't mean she needed more, it meant I needed to back off, and let her voice be heard. That no one's opinion is more important than that of  my own child. Sure, she's an autistic 9yo, but she's also her own person, and I need to respect her as such.

This realization will also help me going forward with Ben. I won't make the same mistakes twice. I will be much more aware of what works, what doesn't, and what he truly needs. I don't care what the "gold standard" is anymore. I care about what makes my kids happy, and successful in their own right, not compared to their typical peers.

So, no, K's new school doesn't use ABA. She doesn't have a bunch of different sticker charts driving her behavior. Things aren't taken away when she doesn't meat the standard for "typical" that day. She is allowed to be herself, even when things aren't going perfectly. She isn't restrained, or put in a room alone. She is loved and cared for, viewed as a whole person, and not as someone who constantly says and does the wrong thing.

It's hard to break away from everything you've been told is "right", when it comes to autism. Taking the time to look back, and realize nothing has been "right" in a long time, gave me the strength to let go of everything I thought needed to happen, and see that my girl is happier than she's ever been. Sure, we still have more trying times, but now I am more open to seeing that maybe those times are caused by us trying to force K to be someone she is not.

She is K. She is autistic. She will always be autistic. It's time to just let her be. Maybe that's what she's needed all along.

The Bus

credit

Every morning when my husband or I put B on the bus, I'm happy. 

Not because I'm getting rid of my kid for the day. It makes me happy because Ben still likes riding the bus, and has been successful doing it. It's such a mundane thing. Most people put their kid on the bus each morning without a second thought. Some refues to even allow their child to set foot on a bus, for reasons I don't fully understand (it's free transportation to school!). But, for me, it's so much more. 

When K started kindergarten, she also took the bus. It was the most exciting part of kindergarten for her. She had spent 2 1/2 years seeing the bus drop kids off every morning, when I took her to preschool at the local elementary. She would get so excited, and tell me she wanted to ride the bus. You will in kindergarten, I told her. You have to be 5 to take the bus! Every morning it was the same script. She just really loved the idea of taking the bus. 

K made it 1 1/2 years on the bus, and it wasn't easy. The bus was loud. She didn't have any friends. In first grade she started getting bullied. She loved the bus, but didn't love everything that went along with it. We tried getting her special ed transportation at one point, but were told there was a "stigma" that came with taking a van, and surely we didn't want K subjected to that. We were told they wanted K to have the most typical school experience possible, and that included riding the bus. It was my first rodeo, and I went along with it, as long as I could. 

I think I kept her on the bus as long as I did because she spent 2+ years obsessed with riding it. I so wanted it to be a positive, fun, experience for her. I wanted to hang on to that little bit of normal. During that time, school was going so badly, and I needed the bus to be the one positive we had left. If she just rode the bus, everything would be OK. 

Once the bullying started, I had to admit things weren't working. We started driving her to and from school. It was one of the more difficult things to let go of, mostly because it was something K had been so excited about. 

Eventually, the school offered us transportation, and we accepted. K's days on the bus were officially over. Our days of doing anything "typical" when it came to school were behind us. 

When B started kindergartent his year, he was excited about the bus, too. 

Actually, he was excited to take the van (it was all he really knew, seeing K take it each day), but eventually he got excited about taking the bus. 

So far, his experience has been a positive one. He has friends on the bus. He sits with them, talks, laughs (sometimes a bit too much, but thankfully we have a really nice bus driver, and she's worked with us through some more trying behavioral times). He never complains about the ride. It's a time for him to see his friends before and after school. They plan play dates. They are silly together. Sometimes, it's a warm place for an afternoon nap. 

I am not trying my best to make the bus work. It just is. 

This morning I gave B a kiss, and watched as he ran across the street to board the bus, and I just stood there, waving. Heart swollen. More grateful than any other parent, I am sure, that my son can ride the bus. 

I have been struggling a lot lately with K missing out on any type of typical school experience. A lot. She misses out on so much, not being part of the community. Although I know the school she attends is peferct for her, it's still hard going to programs at the elementary school, and knowing she can't be a part. Or seeing old classmates around town, and wishing she could be with them everyday. I am thankful that B can be a part of his neighborhood school, and have a fairly typical experience. 

Who would think something as routine as riding the school bus could make me so happy. 

But it does. 

Bittersweet

My Facebook status from Thursday night:

We were at the town carnival tonight, and K saw a girl from her mainstream, 3rd grade class (where she started out the year). They hung out, talked, and went on all the rides together. And my heart broke a little, bc I wish she could be successful in the mainstream. I wish she could be in her old class, with kids who truly did love her. 

So close, yet so far...

Thursday night we took the kids to the town carnival. They had been setting it up for a week, and B especially couldn't wait to go (as in it was all he could talk about at home and school). It was wristband night, meaning for $15 the kids could ride as many rides, as many times as they wanted, which saved us a ton of money (I loathe carnival tickets).

We weren't there very long when a girl from K's original 3rd grade class saw her, and came running over. She was so excited to see K. This was the little girl who would always be holding K's hand, or trying to involve her. You know, that "mother hen" you always hear about. She would annoy K at times, but I was glad there was someone pushing her "in" to the group.

I felt a little nostalgic for the good ol' days (that really weren't so "good"), but it wasn't bad. I was glad K got to say hi to an old friend.

A while later, while on the swings, K met up with another girl from that same class. The little girl sat next to K, and the whole time the swings were swirling around, they talked. I don't know about what. I think some of it was about where K went to school now. I saw a lot of gesturing and smiling. It made my heart happy that there were kids who truly missed my girl, since this year was the year some had started to not be so accepting.

Once the swing ride ended, they stayed together. For the rest of our time there, they rode all the rides side by side, and had a great time. I followed behind, watching. Giving my girl space to just be a 9yo kid with a friend. Occasionally she'd walk over and snuggle into me, then run off again, happy and content.

It was awesome that K had such a "typical" experience at the carnival. Going on rides with another girl her age. Being more independent. Just being a kid. Except, my heart was breaking a bit. I had to hold back tears at times, even. Ridiculous, right?

The thing is, it made me sad that K couldn't be in that class with that little girl, anymore. That as great as the night was going, school never went that well. It was easy to forget, for a second, just how bad it was, wondering why it couldn't work out. But, oh, how it couldn't work out.

And I just wish, with all of my being, it could. I wish she could see these girls everyday. Ride the bus to school. Be in the regular 3rd grade class. I wish that inclusion had worked for my child. Sometimes it's so hard to reconcile the 9yo I saw last night, with the girl who is now at a private, special education school. For whom the mainstream was an absolute nightmare.

Hanging out 1:1 at a carnival is fine. Unfortunately, life isn't about hanging out 1:1 with a friend, doing something fun, all the time. I had to remind myself of the context, and not fool myself into believing maybe things weren't as bad as they were, because they were. Even the school admitted to that. And they'd be just as bad again, if we dared attempt inclusion (which, no).

I felt so much joy last night, watching K run around, laughing, smiling, growing up before my eyes. But, I also felt that sting of knowing it was just for the night, and tomorrow we would be back to reality. That little girl would go back to 3rd grade at our neighborhood elementary, and K would take an hour and a half van ride to her own school.

So close, and yet so far away. Story of K's life. But, I'll hold onto the positives, and hope they happen again.

Soon.

K (right), with her friend. 

A Bit of a Breakdown

In all honesty, I am constantly living thisclose to some kind of nervous breakdown. I don't handle stress and anxiety well. Like, at all. I never have. I cope, but there's always something bubbling right under the surface.

Yesterday I blogged about how much K loves her new school. Like, really, truly loves. More than any of her other placements. She talks about the kids there. She asked a little boy if he would be her friend, yesterday. She excitedly tells me about her day. I mean, it's only week one, but how I experience her school day is already so different. She's gone from hating school, fighting us about getting on the van, telling me nothing about her day, and saying no one likes her, to telling me a lot, happily getting up at the crack of dawn to go to school, and talking about friends.

I am insanely happy that things are going so well.

But, I'm also insanely scared it will all be taken away.

Technically, K is only at this school on a 45 day placement. A 45 day placement is one where they evaluate your child, and let you know what kind of setting would be best. Sometimes the child just stays at the school where the 45 day took place, and sometimes they go elsewhere. There is no guarantee, however, that K would be able to stay where she is now. We could have a fantastic 45 days, and then have the rug pulled out from under us. We could be forced to send her back to our home district, or a different public or private school.

Unfortunately, as with most school districts, money is tight, and private, special education day schools aren't cheap. Of course, my daughter has already been through two completely unacceptable placements at this point, and I, as her mom, feel she should stay where she's happy. I do not sign the checks, though.

So, while thinking about how great it is to finally have K somewhere that's a good fit, I suddenly got really sad. We're not done with this fight. We need a signed IEP placing her somewhere permanently. We don't have that right now. Come the end of July, everything will be up in the air, and I really have no clue how it will go. I don't know if they will allow K to stay at her current school, or if it will be another fight. It's why a 45 day placement always made me nervous...what if she falls in love with the school, and can't stay? How do I explain that to a child who has told me there will never be a school for her? That no one will ever understand her? That, finally, she's found a place where she really belongs, and it's being taken away?

It makes me sick to think about.

I should revel in the fact that she's so happy right now, in this moment, but I'm a planner, and I think long term. It's great that K is so happy right now, but what about September? Will she be happy then, or will we be be back to square one?

Like I said, until we have a signed IEP with a permanent placement, this mom will be sitting on pins and needles. I just pray to the gods that K ends up in the right place. The kid has been through too much in her life, when it comes to school, and she deserves to be where she's happy.

"I Love My New School!"

K started at her new school this past Monday. Admittedly, I was nervous. Sure, I knew in my head this school was a good fit, but you never really know until your child is there. I am worst case type of person, so I just had visions of giant meltdowns swirling about my head all day. It's just my Yankee pessimism, what can I say.

I'm used to K getting home from school and being in a mood. Wanting to be alone. Hating life. On Monday, none of that happened. Instead I just heard how "awesome" her day was, and how much she loved her new school.

Loved. 

My child, who can find the bad in a candy store, had nothing negative to say about her new school. At all. Not about the kids. Not about the teachers, or the work. Nothing.

I know that this might be the honeymoon period, but I also think she's finally somewhere she feels comfortable. Our advocate described this school as a "big hug", and she was right. I think the people there know how to educate a child like K, and I think that makes a huge difference.

I am excited to see how she continues to do at this school. Of course, I'm still a tad anxious about the whole thing, just because we are coming off two inappropriate placements that didn't end well, but I really do have high hopes.

Hope that K has finally found the place where she belongs.

A New Journey

I've always written more about K than B. In the context of a special needs blog, he's never been the child that worried us. He has his quirks, but for the most part seemed like a pretty typical kid. His issues never seemed to interfere with his life. All the kids liked him. There wasn't a shortage of play dates or birthday invitations. He seemed happy.

But, lately, things have changed.

I'm now seeing the reason why Aspergers is diagnosed later in childhood. Really, at 6, Ben is still younger than most. Not all smart kids, who are a bit difficult, have Aspergers. Throwing a label on a child isn't something to be done lightly, and sometimes things can be explained away with age and maturity. It just depends on how things progress over time.

But, B's little quirks? Yeah, they started getting bigger, and getting in the way. I had a kid who went from happy-go-lucky, to always frustrated. A kid who had always been surrounded by his peers, struggling to fit in. Struggling to understand simple social situations. A kid who can't ask enough questions, or learn enough things, but who started hated going to school.

A couple days ago, B came home and told me that recess was "horrible" that day. He told me that none of the kids wanted to play with him. They had "other plans". He told me he only wanted to play the time machine game, the game he plays everyday at recess, but no one else wanted to join him. In his mind, they weren't his friends. They didn't like him anymore. He couldn't understand why they didn't want to play his game, and it didn't occur to him at all to join one of theirs.

It made me sad.

He will be 7 in September. He's getting older, and his friends are getting older. They are less willing to give into him. Less willing to let him run the show. His natural charisma is now overshadowed by his inflexibility, and his low frustration tolerance. They are starting to see that he is different. I am thankful that he is a boy, because in my experience it's harder to be a girl and be different. Boys forgive more easily. They aren't catty, and mean. But, they can also choose to just not play your game, so either way B is alone, without the necessary tools to navigate the changing social scene.

This is why Aspergers shows up later on. It isn't glaringly obvious early on, like classic Autism. I've watched You Tube videos comparing a child with Aspergers around B's age (and younger), when you can barely tell, and then several years later, when it's unmistakable. B might only be in kindergarten, but I feel we are slowly getting to that unmistakable stage.

Because of what we've dealt with in regards to K and school, I am determined not to let things get that bad for B. We'll have a new IEP meeting soon to discuss the results of his neuropsych, and I need to make sure everything recommended in that report happens. I need the school to listen to us this time. I need them to understand that helping B now is the only way to ensure we don't end with a kid who implodes down the road. Part of me, a big part of me, truly believes that if our concerns hadn't been pushed aside all these years, K would be in a very different place. Hopefully we've proven to everyone that we aren't afraid to fight for our kids, and B gets what he needs, but you just never know.

For the first time, I am more worried about B, than K. Seeing things get more difficult for him is breaking my heart. Aspergers isn't the end of the world, not at all, but he needs support, and we need to get this right for him, now. Not 3 years down the road. Now.

Ben, with his most favorite thing ever. 

The Journey

I've been a bit overwhelmed lately.

Just a bit.

To make a long story short, we went to battle with our school district over K's placement. We were just d-o-n-e, done. There were a few incidents, that for K's privacy I won't go into here, that completely and utterly broke down trust. She ended up being scared of going to school. Scared of saying anything to any adult at the school. There was a change in her demeanor, from the first few weeks when things seemed to be going well in her new class. Things happened that the school thought were not a big deal, that were the biggest deal to us. So, we hired an advocate, and pushed for out placement.

At first, things didn't go well. If there ever was an us vs. them moment, it was our last official IEP meeting. When the school chooses to bring legal counsel, you know the gloves are off, and working together, collaboratively, is off the table. At least, that's how we felt, as parents.

We spent a nail biting week, waiting for any response from our district. A week that literally almost sent me over the edge, and that's not an exaggeration. A week where things went downhill fast, and where I thought we'd end up living in a ran down by the river, because fighting for our child was probably going to cost us everything.

Our advocate is great, don't get me wrong, but I was still scared to death. We had a good case, but our distrcit wasn't reacting in the way everyone assumed they would. Our pediatrican had pulled K from school at this point, saying she was exhibiting signs of PTSD, and so I had a child out of school, and radio silence from the district. We did all we could to garner a response, and waited. I don't know how many years that one week took off my life, but I hazard to guess it's no small number.

But, then, miraculously, everything turned around. The Superintendent got involved, and we had an emergency meeting with her, the head of special education, and the district psychologist (the one person I had been asking for at our IEP meetings, and the one person they always failed to invited). And they really listened to us. And agreed with us. And...we prevailed. Like, really, truly prevailed. I still have a hard time believing we won, and am always waiting for the other shoe to drop, but thus far, everything has gone well.

Currently, we are touring private schools for K, and she is recieving home tutoring in the interim. Or, she was until our awesome tutor got selected to sit on a jury. Here's hoping K clicks with whomever we get next, just as well. School selection is taking a lot longer than I anticipated. I figured we'd bang out the tours, and pick one within a couple weeks. So far we've only toured one school (with another on the docket this week), and I've yet to even hear from several others (one of which I am really liking for K, inparticular). Next week is April vacation, so this is definitely not going as fast as I would like, but at least we have a plan.

At the end of the day, we did end up spending a good chunk of money on a really great advocate. Getting K into the right program is our priority, though, and even though no one likes to write a big check, it was more than worth it. We had a good case, but hiring someone who knew the ins and outs of the law, and who was a calm voice in a meeting (when all I wanted to do was scream and cry), was priceless.

Hopefully, we can move on and find a great school for K. Fingers crossed.

You Gotta Keep 'Em Separated

I know I've been a total blog slacker. A lot of things have been going on, but I am not at liberty to talk about them publicly. At least, not yet. You know, since whenever I write anything on any blog, I am under the scrutiny of whomever thinks it's OK to run to the school with printed out pages, as though I'm writing a new edition of Mein Kampf. 

But, I digress...

Today I actually have something important to say. It's something I've probably written about before, but a posting on an online message board compelled me to talk about it again.

So, simply stated,

What happens at school needs to stay at school, and what happens at home needs to stay at home.

Example: Your child's behavior is especially challenging at home. You speak to the school and decide that how your child behaves at home dictates whether or not he earns stickers on his chart at school.

NO.

(Hmmm, was that too blunt?)

The consequences a child faces due to behavior at home, must be kept at home. You can do your own sticker chart. Have him earn things for making good choices. But it has to only be done at home. I am not sure how often this type of thing happens, but it was brought up to me once, and I declined. I didn't want to blur the lines. I didn't want to confuse my child, as to why she was earning/not earning at school for things that didn't happen there. It's just too much.

This probably happens less than the next scenario, though. Punishing a child at home for something that happened at school. (Side bar: I don't like the word "punish". Our kids should have the opportunity to earn, not have things taken away. Positive discipline is key with Autism).

My daughter has a lot of behaviors at school, but they take care of the consequences for them there. Home has to to be a safe place. It has to be a place where she can come home after a long day, and escape. School is so hard for our kids. There is so much going on, and it's an overwhelming place. They work incredibly hard just to make it through the day, and sometimes things don't go perfectly. The school has a plan. They take care of it. My children have sticker charts, and opportunities to earn preferred activities. When things go very wrong, there is a plan for that, too.

What my children don't need is the expectation that once they get home, to the place where they should feel the most comfortable, I'll be waiting, angry. Ready to take something way. To yell. To make them feel worse. Nor do I think it's a good idea to have a child earn something based on behavior at school.  Again, those line shouldn't be blurred.

Also, our kids aren't thinking about home when they are at school. They aren't saying to themselves, well, mom told me if I was really good today, I could go pick out that new toy. They are present in school, thinking about school, and we shouldn't add to that worries about earning/not earning at home. Talk about overload. Sometimes, I think parents expect more from their kids than they would themselves. We stress ourselves out trying to think about 100 things at a time, do we really want the same for our children? Our children who already have a hard enough time navigating the world?

Both of my kids have experienced bad days at school. Like, really bad days. But, once they come home, they know everything will be OK. They know I am there to help, to talk with, but never to make them feel worse. I never want them feeling scared of coming home. This will always be their safe haven. 

I know a lot of people don't agree with me on this. I know a lot of parents don't make this separation. Just ask yourselves this: if you don't separate them, where is your child's safe place? Where can they relax and decompress? Where can they release some of that anxiety and worry, and just be? Try to imagine the feeling of chaos when nowhere is safe. Please don't do that to your child.

Please.

Just take a moment to think about it. That's all I ask.

*Steps off soapbox*

Relief

I'm breaking my "I won't talk about school" rule. I mean, we all knew it was bound to happen. It's just impossible to share our life without talking about the place my kids spend 6 hours a day.

And it's nothing bad.

I hope.

The week after Christmas break, K started in our district's self-contained autism class. Things had not been going well in her general ed class. Even with a 1:1, and tons of support, the bad days had just gotten too bad. Our team has been great, and it's not for lack of trying, but sometimes you just have to admit when something isn't working, and K being mainstreamed just wasn't.

I wasn't sure what to expect when the husband and I toured the class. I figured it would probably be similar to her regular class, just less kids. That assumptions is also what made me nervous, because I knew class-size wasn't the only difference we needed.

Thankfully, the class was nothing like I thought. Mainly, it's is very sectioned off. There could not be more places to take a break, or do work silently. They have it set up so that there should be no reason for K to bolt. She would never be standing there, deer-in-headlights, with no place to "hide". If she had an issue, there wouldn't be 20 sets of eye staring her down. There are cubicles, and a walled off space with bean bags, and only a few kids in one area at a time. There are sensory tables (K is a big fan of the rice table), and an iPad (though K has been bringing her iPod Touch to school), and just every opportunity to be calm, and stay calm.

In other words, it's made for kids on the spectrum.

Her class also goes to specials alone, which I am very happy about. I was worried they would be mixed with the general ed classes, and it would be too much. The only integrated time K has right now is lunch. Thus far, she has chosen to have quiet recesses inside, too, and I am so grateful they allow that.

I didn't think I'd see a change so quickly, but I really have. K is happy getting off the van at the end of the day. She has been playing with B a ton, as opposed to sitting alone in her room, needing mountains of space. She has been so much more engaged, and talkative, and present. School had been a huge source of anxiety for K. With most of it gone, everything is better.

Hopefully now we can move away from behavior management, and she can really take in what she is being taught at social group, or speech, or counseling. It's always just been trying to mitigate behaviors and anxiety and stress and aggression. For the first time, I see hope. I see her being able to focus on the coping skills, and the school work, and the social side of things. Really being able to get down to the nitty gritty and make progress. It's amazing what happens when a child finally feels safe, and relaxed.

Obviously, we might still be in the honeymoon period, but I am really hoping the good times continue. Everything in this class is so individualized (it is definitely not one size fits all), and I think they will tweak when they need to, and keep her on a positive path. Fingers crossed! I wish it hadn't taken this long to get her to a good place, but all I can do is look forward, and for the first time the future doesn't scare me to death.