You will make new friends. You will learn new things. You will listen to new stories. You will create. You will recite all the letters and count all the numbers. You will eat lunch in a gigantic cafeteria. You will play on the play scape at recess. You will laugh. You will cry. But most of all, you will be okay. And, so will I.
Whatever 2018 brings (which I am sure will be more ups and downs – although hopefully more ups), nothing will be able to come close to the moment three weeks from now when Gavin gets his voice.
It was not until my experience as a parent of school-aged children that I realized some of the greatest values of their educational journey were not in the academics, but in the Social Time.
If you’ve spent more than 5 minutes with me around IEP time, you know this process is the bane of my existence. It starts with a fundamental dismay that I must fight for my daughter to have the basic right to an education that my son will be granted without question. But that’s a post
We started heading toward the front of the building when a school staff member looked at my son and shouted to us over a sea of children (who looked much larger than my five-year old), “Kindergartener?” I nodded yes, she motioned him forward, and off they went into the building … And my tears came. And they came.
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
I have to be super stay-at-home-mom, not just regular great stay-at-home-mom. Just don’t make me stay at home…
I had been focusing so much on my soon-to-be Kindergartener that I almost forgot about my soon-to-be second grader’s testing for gifted and talented services. In the rush this morning, I found a sealed envelope in my older daughter’s backpack. In it, I found the form letter explaining that my child is not eligible for services.
One of our cats is diabetic, and I found myself in the vet’s waiting room late one afternoon with my two uniformed children, freshly retrieved from their magnet preschool/early elementary school. Their blue and khaki outfits informed the woman sitting across from us of the district they attend. She knew because it turns out she
…and it begins. In the first post I ever wrote, I told you how a stranger warned me not to blink or it would be over. At the time, I was struggling through the “Terrible Threes” with my Jacky. I told you that I wasn’t going to wish the time away because I knew it