Sometimes angels walk among us. They first appeared to us as kindergarten teachers after a long road of constant battle.
For two years, every parent meeting with her teachers and day care providers had been the same. A retelling of the latest things that happened in class, a list of the undesirable behaviors, and ways we could address them at home.
In daycare she infuriated her teachers. After a few months I could feel the resentment ooze from them at each afternoon pickup. "You're going to big kid school next year. You can't act like that there," they'd say to her. It left her with nightmares and potty regressions. "Mommy, I don't want to be sent away to the big kids. Big kids are scary. Please don't make me go." Eventually, she was separated from her peers and spent her days with the infants instead. I would pick her up and find her playing teacher to a group of "students" in high chairs. I was always amazed by the compassion and patience she had with the little ones. The teachers smiled at her, thanked her, and told her all the ways she amazed them that day. And although she was experiencing success and appreciation, I wondered if she was lonely.
In preK she had a daily behavior chart that tracked her progress toward a list of goals: joins the class for circle time, cleans up toys, stays on line, and one or two more that escape me now. I remember the family meetings we had. "You got two check marks today! Good job! Now let's try for three tomorrow." I wondered if she even knew how.
We grew angry. How on earth are we supposed to address school behaviors at home? There are no lessons to sit through, no other kids to practice social skills with. It's apples and oranges.
Looking back now I can see why it all failed. Sitting with Ms Becky and Ms Alyson made it all clear to us. Parent conferences with them were different. They followed a different pattern. "This is the behavior we observe. This is when it happens. This is why we think it happens. And this is how we are going to address it." No mention of home at all. I cried during the first few meeting with them. They said things like, "We see this all the time. It's totally normal" I was just the validation we needed. All of us.
Normalcy. Something none of us had felt in her education. Everything until now had been a mess.
We had follow up meetings that focused on her progress instead of her failures. They suggested new goals, "Her self-esteem is the most important thing." They prioritized her joy and sense of belonging. They wanted her to love school.
But what does this have to do with elementary school mathematics?
Our story is a common one. Years of trying to fit an exceptional child into standard expectations. It brings back trauma from our own childhoods.
We needed to set our priorities for our daughter first. Just like Ms Becky and Ms Alyson did. My husband would say "The teachers are looking at the battle. We are focused on the war." Our job was to focus on skills that would benefit her in the long term. What foundation could we put in place that would eventually help her with her academics?
We decided that one was perseverance. We put her in after school activities that she enjoyed. In gymnastics she learned that she could set goals and meet them. (Hand stands are hard work!) In nature camp she practiced being brave when handling the animals. (The snake was bigger than her!)
Another was self awareness. We gave her the words to describe her feelings and her disabilities. Words like impulse and frustration, ADHD and dyslexia. We normalized taking medicine. We helped her understand her triggers. When you play too much on your iPad, you get angry. When you have too much sugar, you can't listen to mommy. We exposed her to others who had the same disabilities. She was amazed by how many adults were just like her. Her over generalizations were adorable. "Everyone at my school has ADHD! Even all the teachers!"
My advice: Begin by choosing the war.
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