train wreck

I haven't talked much about The Paid Job here. Funny Kid Stories are harder to come by than Stupid Kid Stories, and seeing as the kids aren't mine, writing about them even anonymously worries me.  But I'm with all those kids regularly and, for the most part, feeling useful and good.

Most of my time recently has been with Vomit Girl.  (See how I use a fake name to keep her anonymous?) Even after all these weeks, Vomit Girl is so anxious about school, that she-- (do we really need to fill in the blank here?)  I took a change of clothes today in anticipation.  (Joy, Fun and Goodness!) But Vomit Girl was out with a stomach bug today.  (I feel like the straight man waiting for the comedian to get the punch line here:  "How would you know?")

Nevertheless, I was in my boss' office discussing who I might go see and work with instead. She mentioned Impulse Control Boy and I brought up Control Freak just as the girl's teacher walked in and asked me if I could come see Mr. Hurting People Lately because his lack of social skills is becoming a problem in her classroom and his mom is concerned.  It occurred to me that In Your Face Girl also needed some follow-up and maybe I could do a social skills group.  Then it was obvious to all three of us that Chaos Boy would also need to be included and suddenly we all got quiet and serious. Chaos Boy's mom is a teacher at our school and his behavior is a Very Touchy Subject.

I was full of confidence at this point. A social skills group! I could do this regularly and teach that little group of four year olds how to make friends and how to play without controlling, hitting, grabbing, kissing (yes this is a problem) or otherwise causing chaos and repelling their peers.

I had a couple of minutes to think about this plan before the day started. I grabbed a book about personal space and confirmed that I could use an empty classroom. What else would I need? (As I said, full of confidence.)

The five were all excited to come with me. (Cool. All's well so far.)

We entered the empty classroom and they all started grabbing toys off the shelf.  I dealt with that and gathered them on the carpet. (Doing ok...)

I showed them my book and asked if any of them knew what 'personal space' meant.  In Your Face Girl could easily have licked my nose while she told me with much excitement that Yes! She knew what it was and she had the very same book at home!  All five of them proceeded to tell me what it meant-- (although I doubt they knew-- everyone was talking at once and I really have no idea what they were saying.)

I read the story, then got into In Your Face Girl's face when I spoke about it again. I thought she'd back away, but she didn't notice (hmm.) I tried it with Impulse Control Boy. He began to incessantly tap me on the arm while telling me that I was too close. (Yay? He learned something?) Control Freak was also telling me what I was doing wrong (technically she was right) and with her authoritative face she looked ready to lead the group.  (Nothing like getting a finger waved in your face while being told by a four year old how wrong you are.)

Chaos Boy was trying to escape. I touched him lightly to encourage him to come back, and he cringed away from my hand. (This child needs lots of personal space!)

We finished talking about the book and I decided I wanted to do a group block building activity. They each pulled out a toy. I insisted they put away all the toys. I chose one that none of them had picked. I put a box of train tracks on the floor and talked about how putting it in the middle helped everyone reach. (They gave me "yeah, whatever" eyes.)

Immediately Control Freak told everyone that we were going to make a track in a circle. Impulse Control Boy and Chaos Boy had already started making their own tracks. Hurting People Boy seemed to be doing fine until I noticed that he'd pre-counted the trains and realized there weren't enough for everyone. His method of solving that problem was to sit on them hoping no one could see them. Impulse Control Boy is also Copycat Boy and so he grabbed two from Hurting People Boy and did the same. (Oh my, what am I doing here?)

The result of that would have been blows if I hadn't been right there. In Your Face Girl (who was also right there) and Control Freak tried to intervene.  Chaos Boy tried to escape again. In Your Face Girl was making it hard for me to get him back to the carpet because she was wanting to hug me. I told her she needed to ask (she did) and then I answered no. (God help me! Have five minutes passed yet?)

There was no way they could make one track as a group, so I helped shape the track into something oval-ish. We drove (shared) trains on it for 30 seconds (Hurting People Boy looked like he was seething) and then I could tell we needed to clean up and be done. Control Freak Girl told everyone to line up at the door while In Your Face Girl tried to hug everyone. Impulse Control Boy had run down the hall and was already in his classroom. Chaos Boy escaped.

I couldn't decide if I should just sit on the floor and laugh, or make plans to try again.

of no monetary value

I've been teaching Preschool Special Education almost all of my working career. I spend my time with children who will not remember me. It used to bother me, but then I realized that I don't work for the children-- I work for their parents. If I can give a parent a good start down that long dark road of special educational services (and for some families it will be a forever road) then I'm doing it right. If I show them how it should be and what they should expect then I'm ahead of the game.  Sometimes they come back and thank me.  This came in my email yesterday:

"I have YOU to personally thank for getting into that program.  You personally were the only one who brought up the school.  Thank God you put it in my ear.  It is going great for Jay.  His facilitator has a Masters in Special Ed.  She is fabulous and is even willing to learn his play therapy. (appointments scheduled.) On a personal note, I have seen great improvements in Jay- in a wider range of interests, manners ("No thank you, " " I don't care for that…" etc.  He is growing by leaps and bounds and it is exciting to see him in a place that is equipped and used to kids like him.  They have a sensory room- as you know- and have lots of kids with sensory issues.  

God Bless you and thank you for caring.  Because of a kind and interested person like YOU- we found help for Jay.  I had not heard about it from anyone else…..really…thank you a million and know you have changed your lives.  Tonight when you go to bed, know that God is smiling at you because you have changed the life of a child.

All My Best,

(Jay's mom)"

Yeah, I'm wiping off the tears.

those dreaded words

"I'm sorry, but we can no longer meet the needs of your child."

This is why I teach special needs children.  These words guide me. I hate that any parent has to hear them ever. I want to stop them from being used. I want all children to be in a learning environment which can adapt to their needs, even if those needs end up being pretty great.

I am good at what I do. But even being good does not make me able to do everything for everyone. And today a parent got those words. "I'm sorry, but we can no longer meet the needs of your child."  Unless the parents can find someone to shadow him, full time, he can't come back to the school.

The director is making the right decision under the circumstances. He can't cope without full time assistance. It isn't good for him. It isn't good for the teachers. It isn't good for the other kids in the classroom.

He's a Jack In The Box. But no one ever knows how long the music will play before they get startled by the puppet jumping out. And this puppet alternates between non-cooperation, physical tantrums, verbal outbursts and hurting other kids.

The mom asked if she could hire me. I'm flattered, but no. I would be in my old position if I wanted to work five days a week with one child. I can't do that to my family and I can't do that to me. I don't want that many hours, and besides, it really doesn't suit me. I get tired and frustrated with a child if I spend that much time with them. It becomes more like parenting, and my kids know that tired and frustrated mom all too well.

I've been trying to spend half my time with him, on the two days I work. There are other kids in the same classroom who also need my attention. Other teachers in the building ask me to come make observations and teaching suggestions for them. I feel like I have a good balance right now.  But it wasn't enough for him.

I'm feeling sad as well as feeling some failure. His classroom teacher feels some relief and also some failure. Our director is disappointed. Other parents of kids in the class will probably be relieved. The kids won't miss him and may even thrive without his presence.  But his parents are surely feeling a lot more.

They are up a creek here. They both work and will need to use their Thanksgiving to search for either a shadow or another program placement. I'm not optimistic that they can find either. They haven't been ready to admit to his disability. They have a long way to go, quickly.

a little of this, a little of that

I feel like I need to catch up here.

• The kids are outgrowing clothes. Pook hasn't put away the shorts but has worn long pants all this week. If he hadn't, I think the school might have turned me in. We had lows in the 20's. I went to a nearby thrift shop and bought him six pairs of pants for about $20. Glad the kid doesn't care about brands. Or, for that matter, doesn't care what he wears.
• The garden has frozen. The leaves still look wonderful however. I'm looking around for things that need help next spring. I must get better at cutting back fall bloomers so they don't get too leggy.
• I cooked teriyaki chicken with fresh baby carrots the other day and it turned out great. Last night we had some fresh spinach and everyone moaned with joy. (It had butter and Parmesan cheese on it.) We had about twelve leaves of swiss chard from our own yard. While I feel grateful that I have a family who likes food and all my cooking, Pook did surprise me by saying that "what really matters to me is just that it has calories." See #1, above.
• I sort of stole a four foot basil plant from Bug's old school. The cold was already predicted and the plant looked so neglected that I couldn't help myself. I made enough pesto to fill two ice cube trays. I didn't have many pine nuts so I tried pumpkin seeds and it turned out great. Much cheaper. Stolen basil is already pretty cheap however.
• The Halloween candy is gone; banana Laffy Taffy was the final sweet in the bowl. Bug doesn't like them, but ate one because "well, it was candy." I, on the other hand, am a candy snob.
• The Paid Job is good. I don't have a well defined job description, no idea what sort of title best describes me, and I forget to pick up my little paychecks since I don't always work the day they get distributed. I come home exhausted, but I really like what I'm doing. I have a nice blend of shadowing a couple of kids who need support and doing observations in other classes when teachers request it. I think I'm useful.
• Someone told me that the holidays "were upon us." I went into Starbucks and then Kroger one evening last week and discovered that Christmas had thrown up all over them both. Poor Thanksgiving.

useful and flexible, that's me

I'm working!-- no, I've always been working-- I'm employed again and that is why I've been a bit scarce around here.

The Paid Job didn't extend into a second year because I wanted to work fewer days than they wanted me. I can squeeze in two, maybe three days away from home but more than that and our homelife would suffer. Last (school) year I stayed home and as the year went on I added enough PTA/school activities to be busy and useful. Sometimes too busy.

I kept my ear to the ground and one day a lead led to where I am now. I'm at a very nearby church preschool in a make-up-the-job-as-we-go position serving, basically, as the whole special education department. The plan is for me to help teachers identify kids and to make adaptations for them-- both for the child and the teacher.

I'm trying to be useful and flexible. Useful because they can barely afford me. I asked for a salary they agree that I deserve but that they're struggling to give me. It makes me feel concerned that I need to prove my worth.  Flexible because we're making this up.

To some parents I'm a gift- "wow! extra help for my kid for the same price!" But for others, I think I'm a threat- "Is she in the room because of my kid? There's nothing wrong with my kid!"  And since these aren't legally defined special needs kids, we've got to be careful.

I'd assume in a school of about 150 that a dozen or so will have some type of special need. Some may grow out of it and never have an official diagnosis, but some will begin to show more learning problems as they go. I'm hoping to identify both types of children. In my opinion, the diagnosis is really unnecessary unless the parent is using it to receive public services. The adaptations used to teach the child matter much more. If I can provide those now, before any diagnosis is ever acquired, I'm giving them a head start.

So, its been fun, but tiring. Just leaning over tables which are slightly too low to serve as comfortable adult chairs makes my back tired. (A doctor once told me to teach taller kids if I didn't want back pain.) Then there's trying to anticipate when darling little Joey will decide to pick dirt up off the floor and carefully attempt to insert it into someone's eye. Yes, today. Truly no dull moments in this one particular classroom. It feels like a game of Whack-a-Mole. The teachers are extremely competent, but there are multiple ...um... moles in the same class.

I originally thought that going back to work at The Paid Job would be great for blog fodder but I've decided that the chance of falling into a legal hole is too high. Even with names changed to protect the innocent moles, I'm uncomfortable. But yeah, they are funny.

gala

I'd thought the "Spring Fling" was optional, in the don't-bother-with-it category, but then realized I was expected to attend if I was able. After all, the charity it was benefiting was my employer.  So I asked around a bit about dress code expectations- party dress, not too formal. I spent one morning trying on all the dresses in my closet that I never wear. I shopped around Atlanta for a new dress and found nada. The styles weren't working on me.  I found a casual skirt I could wear on Easter, for something new, but settled on my old little black dress for the gala.  It was simple- my black slingbacks are about the most comfortable shoes I own, so not buying a dress also saved me from having to buy new shoes that I'd seldom wear and probably not find comfortable.

Then Wednesday evening I got sick to my stomach. Although Thursday I went to work, I began to feel lousy by the end of the day.  Friday I couldn't decide if I felt well enough to attend the gala or if I even wanted to feel well enough.  I'd mentioned feeling poorly to a few people at work, partially to explain myself on Thursday, but also realizing that I was setting up an alibi in case I wimped out and decided to skip it. 

I ate a bit of food Friday which went down fine but didn't revive me.  When I stopped working on reports at one I warmed up some leftover lentils to eat.  They were good and left me feeling a little more energetic. The final deciding factor would then be the shower. If I finished it feeling drained and tired, I'd have the excuse to skip the gala- clearly sick. If I felt well, I'd call around and try to find someone to drive with.

I showered, shaved, lotioned... and felt well.  Patty, who lived near me was happy to share the ride, but wanted to leave early. Perfect. Just a matter of psyching myself into being excited about the party.  And part of me was. There are some very fun women who fit the "Party Girl" label who I knew would drag me onto the dance floor if I so much as said "hi.'  Having a good time would be a decision, not a reaction.

The other part of me dreaded looking old, dumpy, under/over-dressed, and most of all, having to stand around while other people socialized, but not knowing many people myself. The problem with teachers socializing outside of school is that we seldom get a chance to socialize during the day,  since we're always with kids. There are a handful I enjoy chatting with for the few minutes we have each day and I've helped in many of the classrooms, but I don't know anyone I work with very well.

I read through the auction book and pointed out a few items to CD. No, I wouldn't bid on the trip to Tuscany (starting bid $5000) but what about the week in Myrtle Beach (starting bid $450)?  What was a Braves baseball package worth, with either club seats or front row seats? He wanted the reverse of a charity auction, where instead of bidding up the price, we'd bargain the price down.   I told CD that he was cheap and that I loved him and that I might bid on things... but conservatively.

I put on my little black dress. Bug suggested that maybe I needed something under it. (Maybe a turtleneck? I'm not sure what he was intending.) Pook brought up the possibility that everyone else might be in jeans and sweatshirts. (Thanks, kids.)

We arrived to a cheerful crowd near an open bar.  They were serving pink "Springtinis."  "Um, ginger ale please." The first people I saw were the Pope's parents. Since I email his mom every school day, I know her as well as any co-workers. I enjoyed talking with his parents, but it kept veering into shop talk and the Pope's school progress so I took an opportunity to move on.

This was a move which didn't fare well as I then spent the next ten minutes floating without finding a soul I recognized.  Finally familiar faces walked in and I latched on. I spent most of the evening near them. It didn't matter if we had anything to talk about anyway; the music was much too loud for talking. We went for food, ate some (awesome) shrimp and grits, and more ginger ale since diligent wait-staff had cleared mine away.

We were reminded to look at the silent auction items around the room, so I did.  My search for the Myrtle Beach paper revealed a still-empty auction form. I put down the starting bid of $450 and decided that our family would have our summer plans set by the end of the evening. (I also bid $65 for a $150 gift certificate to the World of Beer, but since I don't know if I won or not, don't tell CD.)

I picked up a Springtini, discovered they were being very liberal with the booze, and never had more than a few sips. The shrimp had not been a great idea for my stomach and grapefruit juice and vodka were not going to help. The "Party Girls" were dancing, as I expected, so I put in one dance before the band stopped for some auction action.

Patty came to see if I was ready to leave at that point and I decided I might as well. My stomach was not misbehaving, but not well either. We slipped out, mostly unnoticed. I was a bit disappointed- an open bar on a lovely night and I wasn't drinking or dancing. But there's always next year. And there might be Myrtle Beach.

on a scale of 1-5

I have an annual evaluation at work.  Ok, I know lots of people do these and the world doesn't end.  But how do I know that the world won't end?  Can you tell me that?

Pook says he has to evaluate himself after big projects. He gives himself "like two 5's and two 4's" and Bug has to evaluate his progress in gym class with thumbs up, down or sideways. He didn't say, but I'll assume he grades himself a bit like Mary Poppins.

I have a bad memory of some teacher who had me evaluate myself, and upon looking at my low-ish evaluation and his/her? much better scores, gave me an "ok, if you think so" and applied my own grade to me.

Like Pook, I think you give yourself a few lower grades, acting humble, on things you really could work to improve, then go for it and give yourself "exceeds expectations" like Bug for the rest.

_____
On a different rating scale, look at this!  Wouldn't it be nice if we could be proud of this record breaking scorecard. As it is, people are full of mixed feelings. We're enjoying the 80 degree temps, pulling out the shorts and sandals, a bit worried about the potential for having lots of bugs this summer (who weren't killed by any cold weather this "winter"), nervous that we'll still be having 80 degree (or higher) temps in September and, of course, sneezing and wheezing and feeling miserable.

*Anything over 200 is considered "extremely high."

it's a boy!

I've been too occupied with mice and critters-who-cannot-be-named to talk about The Paid Job here.

I have a boy!  (He will hereafter be referred to as The Pope.) The Pope started in a two day preschool class this fall. And lasted two days.  He was referred to our program and it was suggested that his parents take him to a developmental pediatrician. His parents were given the diagnosis PDD (Pervasive Developmental Disorder) for him, and speech and occupational therapy were recommended.  His parents got both those therapies going and enrolled him in our preschool with me as his support teacher all in one month. Oh, and a feeding specialist is already getting involved too.

Go parents.

The Pope turned three in October, but didn't use any words to communicate. He'd whine or take their hand and drag them to the item he wanted, and he'd use words to himself, randomly, in his play, but never to another person.  He made no eye contact, even with his parents.  His regular pediatrician told his parents he was "a late bloomer."  Why? Why? Why?

Clearly they suspected something was wrong. They certainly got busy quickly when it was confirmed for them.  While it is never too late, I'm sorry that his parents didn't get him professional help sooner. Early intervention!!!

So anyway, The Pope and I have had three days together. He's a bright little guy with a mop head of dark curls. And he's snuggly. And he's whiny.  But I can do something about the whiny.

He started using a picture communication system with his speech teacher, and took to it quickly.  I'm pulling a similar one together for school.  When he figures out how to get the things he needs, the whining will go away.

I have a baby!

in my DNA

I spoke of my Paid Job last night in the context that it feels good to get back into my field.  CD noted that really, it isn't just my professional field, it is ingrained in my DNA.  He's probably right.

In 8th grade I had a weekly Social Studies assignment (given by a teacher who had a face like a shrunken apple and was reported to smell like bourbon - had I known what bourbon smelled like I could confirm or deny this, but I did not and cannot).  The assignment involved cutting out articles from magazines or newspapers and writing a response to them.  Good assignment really. 

One of my articles was from Time Magazine and was titled "What Do Babies Think?"  It explained how researchers could use babies' eye gaze and behavior for insight into their pre-verbal thinking.  I was fascinated.  I still have the article.  My future profession was cemented right then.

I managed to get into a college psychology class taught in my high school, which gave me a semester of college credit before starting college.  I became a Psychology major and because I was one semester off from all the others, my class sizes were smaller.

"What does one do with a degree in Psychology?"  Same as someone with an English degree.  We go to grad school.  There, or rather here in Georgia, I received a diploma which reads (due to lack of space):  "Major Mental Retard."  And so I met my destiny.

BC (Before Children) I taught a self contained class of Special Needs Preschool students.  I had a diverse group of kids, gradually becoming a class of non-verbal or violent children with Autism.  I was the teacher who took the kids the other teachers of special needs kids didn't want.

And now here I am.  Still floating, but I've spent most of my time with two particular children and I'm learning how to get into their brains. I've been given two pictures drawn by little girls, and hugs and waves from lots of children who now know me.  I'm back.  And it feels great.

already?

It seems to be October. Very October even.  Where has the time gone?

The temperature has improved.  No heat on yet; windows open sometimes but sometimes too chilly at night.  We've even had a few drops of rain.  Not much, but enough to provide me with bad hair and the plants with a little relief.  I put in pansies and filled in gaps with some mums just before the rain Monday.  I also bought a new gardenia to replace the one by the dining room that died over a year ago.  I think I need CD to dig the hole however.


I reported on my bum shoulder ages ago.  I had the Lidocaine injection and it was important to doctors that injecting all the way (ow!) into the joint helped so much when injecting near it had not.  They knew the problem was inside, not any type of tear of the rotator cuff.  I continued PT for what felt, by calendar and by wallet, to be forever.  Nothing good happened.  I was asked to make another appointment and this time they said that due to the lack of improvement, they were blaming the problem more on the arthritis.  The "early onset" arthritis.  (I should insist that this phrase always be used when describing me!)  The doctor explained about a lubricating "motor oil" type of injection that might help, but also explained that not much could be done and that I needed to space out the few treatment options over the next fifty years.  What he did not mention until I went back in, thinking I was getting the first of the "motor oil" shots (but was not) was that the FDA has not approved this shot for a shoulder, only a knee, and that they are not covered by insurance.  Oh.  Several thousand per shot, thank you very much, goodbye.

So, I'm on my own.  PT doesn't work, so I'm out.  Doctors have dismissed me.  I'm trying to get back to exercising, but I can't do many of my former activities.  I can't raise my arm above my head anymore, and some days I can't lift much at all- even pressing the soap pump hurt yesterday.  My yoga teacher is a saint, and is helping me come up with alternative activities if I can't do the one she's leading.  The good part (the silver lining!) is that I've been forbidden to do anything with shoulder compression.  Ever.  So, no pushups, ever. Ever.  (The gym class me is so terribly excited that she is jumping up and down in her navy and white pinstriped polyester one piece snap over the shoulder gym suit.)  I mean, can you think of anything better than a Get Out of Push Ups Free Card?  The negative part of this is that I also can't dig in the dirt very well.


In comparison, Pook's elbow is healing well.  He had weekly x-rays for three weeks to be sure it was all in alignment.  Had it not been perfectly straight they'd have gone in surgically to insert pins.  Fortunately it is dong well and the cast will come off in two more weeks.  This is good because it is filthy and disgusting.  And he misses baseball and covering his ears when his brother annoys him.


I do not yet have "After" photos for the kids' bathroom. There is a good reason for this, not just that I have not taken them.  It is that there is not yet any "after" because it is still "during."  What is it with projects like this? Our contractor started out with full eight hour days, then it trickled down to four hours, then he skipped a day, then two, then came back for an hour one day....  We still owe him a four digit check, so I would expect he'd want to finish.  I am hoping this will be the last week.  The drywall dust is still coating every surface of the house and it is begging to be cleaned.  The bathroom is looking good; I'm eager to share the photos.  Soon.


Did I mention the job?  I'm still "floating" although I've spent most of my time in two rooms, so I'm getting to know the kids and teachers in those rooms pretty well.  They've done five screenings on kids who need services, but none have signed up yet.  It'll happen eventually.  I did get my first paycheck. The first one in ten years.  It came in the mail the same day that the water heater broke.  Guess which sum was more?

So, a summary today.  I need to keep up to date here better!  Maybe I'll have the bathroom pictures to post later this week.

now change clothes

Day One of kiddies in the school.  I'm still a "floater" which meant that after helping with carpool I was asked to check with two particular classrooms to see if they needed help.  On my way to one of them I was snagged by a teacher of "barely 3's."    "Could I help settle this one down?"  Sure.  I made my way to Dominic, a silently sobbing boy sitting by but ignoring a table of puzzles.  Half an hour later he was still not talking but he was calming. (His caretaker had said parting words in Spanish and he had not yet been heard to speak either language, but it was believed that he spoke both.) 

Then the fire alarm went off.  Seeing as no one had known about it being a drill, it was taken seriously. The nursery tossed three to a crib and rolled the cribs out the doors. Toddlers everywhere were crying.   (Did I mention it was raining?)  I carried Dominic outside and then discovered he wasn't about to let me put him down.  He simply wiped his snot on my shoulder and continued his sobbing outside in the rain.

Once back in the room, he gently pushed away some attempts from other kids to interact and sat firmly on my lap, still with the silent sobs.  The rain turned to light sprinkles and the class decided to check out the playground.  The little guy explored a bit but then clung to the fence separating the carpool area from the playground. 

This was the same classroom in which I will substitute while the other support teacher is getting married, so I was trying to watch her tot too, so I could get a feel for his needs.  Mac has cerebral palsy and does not yet walk independently, so she'd been carrying him outside.  When Dominic was exploring, she asked if I'd hold Mac while she took a quick potty break herself.  He immediately started to cry, then gagged on his own mucus and threw up on my (other) shoulder. Seems he'd bonded pretty quickly!

I stayed with this group most of the day.  When I caught Dominic calm and interacting after snack time, I decided to take my own potty break.  On my return he was still calm and playing, so I kept out of his sight, then left the room to check on my original destination.

While that classroom needed all the help it could get (one child needing the support teacher 100% of her time and a second charge needing about 60% more of her attention) no one in that room rubbed either snot or puke on me.  I spent the remaining half hour of the day with them and will probably return to help them out on Thursday too.

Bodily fluids aside, I enjoyed my day a good deal.  I'll clearly be getting to know both rooms and all the kids.  No sign of a charge of my own yet.

floating now

They've lost my boy.  The paid-job school called and said that the little boy who I was going to teach has dropped out of the program.  The mom has been worried about sending her baby to school for the first time, so they didn't seem too surprised that she'd changed her mind.  No "cute as a button" for me any more.

But, they still want me.  I'm going to "float," help out and substitute until they have a student for me.  It'll happen; special needs kids get identified all the time. I think this is a desirable program, certainly expensive, and possibly hard to get into.  I'm sorry I won't be starting up on the first day, but I suppose I'll have a chance to do things like learn my way around the campus and get to know the teachers and routines better first.

I'm antsy.  I worked two days last week and spent part of one at the boys' school helping in the library.  This week I only go in once, to take another class there. I'm eager for my school year to begin, even if I still can't jump in to swim!

don't jump in yet

I spent my first day of work learning the philosophy of the school.  It was like going to your first SCUBA class, swim suit on, and learning that SCUBA stands for "Self Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus" but not learning how to put on the gear or to go underwater.

The school uses a "Reggio Emilia inspired." philosophy.  I'm sort of familiar with the idea.  Instead of being a teacher-led classroom, it becomes child-led as the interests of the children guide the group activities.  They talked a lot about how much planning it takes to make this work, but never said what exactly "planning" entails.  They explained that teachers had to be researchers to "learn how the children learn," but didn't explain how they take data.  Best I could tell "data" refers to photographing and filming the kids in action.

So, I'm a bit confused.  But there were about twelve of us who were new,  joining a preschool of 80 teachers and 20 facilitators (of which I'll be one) so I can't have been the only one who really just wanted to get in the water.  We have a few more dates for orientations, both with the preschool teachers and alone with just the special ed. facilitators. 

Another question.  When you toss a child into a child-led classroom, you expect them to explore.  Kids are curious and they'll mess with stuff, ask questions and see what their peers are doing.  All of that will lead them to do more exploring.  But, toss a special needs child into that room and s/he is likely to either (a) hide under the table (b) climb the bookshelves or (c) wander away.  How do you let a child lead when the child doesn't want to lead or leads inappropriately?

I will learn this all in due time, apparently.

I'm to be paired with a little boy whom I believe I will call "Danny" for purposes of this blog.  I have not yet met Danny, but was told he is "cute as a button."  (All I really need to know, right?) According to his file (which I was given on my way out of the meeting) he is three years old. He has a thin corpus collosum, poor fine motor abilities, sensory issues, hypotonia (floppiness) and feeding problems.  His mother and father are well educated and mom writes that he is "high functioning."  He sees a developmental pediatrician, a GI doctor, a neurologist, two feeding specialists, a geneticist, a speech therapist and a physical therapist.  I have now learned that I will be part of an established team as his two teachers and I join that long list.

Also in my file folder is blank assessment form.  The Hawaii Early Learning Profile, which I have seen and maybe even used before.  Cool, I get to assess him then.

See what I can learn all by myself?  Who needs orientations? Throw me in the water; I can swim.

stay on the sunny side

It is hot as hell here in Atlanta, although as they say, "It's not the heat; it's the humidity."  And to be sure, we had hotter weather in South Dakota (104°) and in Texas (Dallas, 108°) on our trip. Here we feel as if we are swimming through the air.  Thunderstorms now and then but it seems as if the rain barely falls before it is evaporated back into the air.

The boys start school in the morning.  Yes, it is early August.  The 8th. Bug is headed to second grade and Pook to fifth.  He will be a Big Man on Campus and has even pointed out to me that "next year I'll be at the middle school."  (Slow down, child, I'm not ready.)

I've asked them how they feel and don't discern any worries.  I'm worried for them though.  Neither is in a room of good friends this year.  We aren't sure of all the classmates for Bug; there may be someone he enjoys who never had a chance to become a good friend, but those he knew to check were not in his class.  There are a whopping six classrooms of second graders, the largest group in our school.  I think it will go fine.

Pook has definitely been separated from all the kids he's been with for years, some since kindergarten.  There are only three teachers and two of them taught him in fourth grade last year.  I thought he'd have one of them as his homeroom teacher again this year for sure- I thought the point was the continuity.  Not only is he not with one of those teachers, but he's down the hallway from the two, who kept their fourth grade classrooms.  I wish his friends were with him.  I'm a bit worried for him. He claims to not be concerned. I wish I could be more of an optimist for him.

I taught the boys the words optimist ("We can climb Mount Everest!")  pessimist ("We're all going to die!") and pragmatist ("Let's pack some granola bars.")  Cautiously optimistic.  Is that the same as pragmatist?  It describes me.  I'm generally optimistic, but I'm not leaping into action, counting on good luck. I expect to plan a bit and be prepared 'just in case'.  Yes, I would suggest granola bars on a long hike, but I'd probably nix Mount Everest.

I haven't said too much about it here, but tomorrow is my first day too.  I start my new job tomorrow.  There are a half dozen orientation dates, plus a CPR/1st aid day, before the school starts, after Labor Day. I won't meet the little guy I'm teaching for a few weeks. I'll have to pick a name for him so I can tell about him here.  A new topic!

As a pragmatist, I have the route (to a busy part of town) mapped out.  I have my paperwork ready.  I even have my lunch packed.  (I haven't picked out my clothes, although I had the boys pick theirs.)  The pessimist realizes that I will be meeting piles of teachers whose names I will (mostly) forget immediately.  The optimist thinks, maybe they'll all have name tags!  It has occurred to the pessimist in me that most of them may be twenty-somethings, as I was when I began to teach, but surely not all.  The optimist in me says that I will find a few whom I can enjoy spending my time with. The pragmatist says, get at least one name learned tomorrow! (Perhaps the two of the teachers whose room I will be sharing!)

New adventures await us all.