He’s going into Kindergarten and she’s going into third grade… academically, he’s more advanced than she is.
Category: Families with Special Needs Children
These days, most of my time is divided between wishing my toddler would talk more, and silently willing nearly everyone else to shut the f*ck up. You see, my beautiful, bright, sweet little boy has a speech delay – which, while both common and curable, is not without its own set of trials and tribulations.
I’ve never felt passionate enough about anything to get a tattoo. But this may be it.
We should not have to defend ourselves to each other. We are free (and encouraged!) to make our own decisions, to be inadequately, incorrectly, or even overly informed.
We had no idea when we transitioned to the new daycare that not only would we find all of that but that we would find an extension of our family in the teachers and directors of the early learning center.
The perinatologist started talking about missing fingers. About how she sees this at the hospital once or twice a year. How there’s nothing else wrong with her but they want to refer me for more scans at another hospital.
Because then at some level, I’m admitting she is and will always be different.
This mom’s frustration with her local school district just bowled me over completely. This is my client population: parents who are tired of being dismissed by their children’s educators as crazy, money-hungry, or power tripping. Parents of kids who burst into tears because a 30-minute homework assignment takes three hours. Parents who are ready to
Within five minutes of observing Gavin, she (and the rest of the team for that matter) said “the issue we have here is this super smart kid is in the wrong body. So we need to fix this.”
When I was sixteen years old, a series of poor choices resulted in my getting arrested. The punishment designated by the court was 100 hours of community service, overseen by Reverend William T. Federici of First Congregational Church. Unphased and unrepentant, I showed up (late, of course) for my first day of service straight from the beach: barefoot, sand covered, and bathing suit clad. Rev. Federici said not a word about what brought me to his office, and set about drawing me a diagram detailing the direct connection between the mind and the heart. He explained something called “the heart of the perfection of wisdom,” and advised that I needed not just to open, but to empty the negative thoughts cluttering my mind. For a disaffected teenager, it was quite a concept.
