Why Inclusion? Musing thoughts, part 1

This school year I'm at a new school as an inclusion coach. It's part time so I am still running my consulting business, but I am extremely excited by this inclusion work. To respect the school and my new amazing colleagues I won't be writing about any of the specifics of the job, but as I think about inclusion as a whole I suspect I'll be finding my way to this space to write.

One of our back to school professional development speakers talked about the importance of telling people your why, and it got me thinking about the why behind inclusion.

So why Inclusion?

Can't special education give students with unique needs the exact services they need, without slowing them down, stressing them out, or forcing them to learn teaching strategies that only help "typical kids"? As a special education teacher I've often made that argument - that kids with special needs can be better served in their own rooms because they'll get what they need.

But why can't we give them what they need in the inclusive environment where they have the opportunity to experience grade level content, expectations, and peer models?

~ ~ ~

Years ago I was working on transitioning a child from a special education preschool program to kindergarten. It was my job to determine if the child's needs would be able to be met in the general education classroom, how many hours of support he'd need, and how we could best support him in the next year. I spent time in his preschool special education classroom to observe him, and met with his teacher to hear her concerns. There were many of them. She was extremely worried about this little one, who did not talk in her room. He was non-verbal, unresponsive. She suspected he had an intellectual disability and that he would be lost if he was placed in a general education classroom. He'd do better in an intellectual disability program where he could receive personalized instruction to learn at his pace and on his level. In her classroom I could see what she meant. His psychological testing reflected a low ability level but it was notable that he spoke another language and was shy.

Yet. He also spent half his day in a headstart classroom that served general education students. In this setting he was quiet and reserved, but was learning his letters, could write his name, and appeared to be typically developing. The headstart teacher was concerned why he was receiving special education services at all. In this setting, with peer models, high expectations, and structure that allowed him to feel safe and included he literally appeared to be a different child.

We placed him in the general education classroom for kindergarten, and by the end of the year he was exited from special education. Later on he was identified for the gifted program.

What if he hadn't been in headstart? What if we'd agreed with the special education teacher and placed him in self-contained classroom? What behaviors would have emerged? What would his confidence level have been? Would someone have realized his potential, or would he have continued to meet the expectations in front of him?

I think about this story often, and use it to remind myself that sometimes even my professional judgement does not recognize a child's true potential. I saw what the teacher saw. Although I suspect the little four year old boy did too. In that environment he became what the teacher expected.

Sometimes we don't know what kids can do, and if we never give them the chance we'll never fully allow them to reach their potential.

I have many thoughts on inclusion, the pros and the cons, the difficulties that may come, and the benefits that exist there for all students when inclusion is done well.

My own first grader was placed in an inclusion classroom this year and so far I'm thrilled. It seems she's going to benefit from great teaching strategies, extra support, and the ability to make friends who otherwise she might not meet. I'm looking forward to seeing this journey from a parents' perspective.

An Alternative View on Sensory Storytimes

As I chatted with a children's librarian to get book recommendations for my upcoming sensory story time a nearby woman listened intently. She began making suggestions herself, and as she talked she shared that she really didn't see why the library would put such a story time in place that would actively separate children with autism from typically developing children.

For a moment I was stunned. That wasn't the purpose of the story times at all. Our hope is that the story times will have the opposite effect- parents will feel comfortable enough at the sensory story times that they will see the library as a place they can bring their child- and that they will eventually bring their child to the traditional story times as well. Yet as she talked I could understand her point of view.

In her eyes we were saying that we didn't think these children could handle going to a traditional story time. By creating a story time to cater to specific needs, she seemed to feel that they were sending the message that children with autism and developmental disabilities were not welcome at other events. "Why can't parents just bring their child to any story time?" she asked.

The conversation was eye opening because until that moment I hadn't realized that hosting a specific sensory story time could be interpreted this way.

The story times are becoming increasingly popular and the feedback we've gotten from parents is that they appreciate a welcoming place to bring their child, and that it's a relief to come to the library and feel comfortable that they aren't being judged. After the story time you can see most of the participants and their families selecting books from the stacks. Our mission seems to be working- we are giving parents a place to bring their children and encouraging a love for books.

Listening to the woman's perspective was a good reminder that we shouldn't just stop at offering the separate story times- there is more we can do to make all story times, or really any event that welcomes kids to be good for all kids- not just the typically developing. Hopefully the parents will also notice the busy bulletin board with flyers from all the different story times offered and will begin to think about bringing their child to those as well. We can even encourage them to look at the bulletin board and remind them that their child is welcome at any of the sessions.


If you are in the Northern Virginia area the next sensory storytime will be at the Kings Park library on Dec 5th at 10:30 in their meeting room space.

The Messiness and Beauty of Inclusion

As I was walking down the hallway toward my office the other day I walked past a group of fifth grade girls gathered around the published writing I had displayed from my fourth and fifth grade students with intellectual disabilities. The authors of the writing had been so proud of their animal reports that I had to display them in the hallway. They beamed when they saw their colorful illustrations and typed words hanging up for everyone to see. Part of writing is about having an audience, and they were proud to have an opportunity to share their work.

My heart stopped as I heard the fifth grade girls giggling and pointing to the words. They were reading the reports line by line to each other, pausing after each period to giggle some more. I immediately wanted to take the work down to protect the authors. I fought the urge to gather up all of those beautifully illustrated reports, hug them to my chest so no one could ever laugh at them again, and yell at these girls. Instead I took a deep breath to remind myself that I was the adult and no longer a fifth grade girls (why is a large group of almost-middle-school girls so intimidating?) and said in a low, hushed whisper that I hope expressed the horror I was feeling, "Are you laughing at someone else's hard work?" The girls turned, looking sheepish. "Um, no," they feebly said, "We were learning from them."

Yeah, right.

The girls stared at the ground, not meeting my eyes. I think I said a few more sentences about how would you feel if someone laughed at your work, and I walked on, seeing red. I struggled with whether or not to take down the writing. If  I did, the authors would want to know why. And what would I say? I'm protecting you from the mean kids you didn't see? I'm hiding your work so that other kids won't know that you don't write like they do?

Later in the week I started bringing three fourth graders in the intellectual disabilities program into a general education fourth grade classroom for the writing block. We wanted to see how they would do in the general education classroom since writing is more open ended. I spent time pre-teaching the lesson to the students, prepping them for what was to come, going over the teacher's smartboard lesson ahead of time, and starting them on the writing assignment so that they would know exactly what to do in the classroom. When we got to the classroom the three students sat on the carpet with the rest of the class, listened to the lesson and raised their hands to participate. Their understanding of the lesson remained very literal and their comments reflected that. I held my breath while Sarah shared, worried about how the other students would respond to her very simplistic and seemingly illogical thought. The mean fifth grade girls weighed heavily on my mind. Please don't laugh at Sarah, I prayed. Please. The room was quiet and I thought everyone was going to move on with the lesson when Jane, a quiet girl in the front row raised her hand.

"I agree with Sarah," she stated firmly, "and respectfully disagree with Johnny" referring to a general education student who had previously shared his thoughts (which were correct). Jane went on to justify her statement of agreeing, searching for some sort of logic chain that would connect my student's comment with the truth.
Sarah and her two friends sat up a little straighter, beaming with pride that they were a part of the discussion. Other hands went up around the room, each respectfully debating whether or not Sarah's comments were correct.

And just like that, the three visiting students were a part of the class.

Inclusion is messy. We can't make all students fit in, answer questions correctly, and produce the same quality work. We can't protect them from all the mean comments out there. But we can foster students like Jane and positive classroom communities that respect everyone despite different opinions and abilities.

Why the idea "Differentiation Doesn't Work" Doesn't Work

Ed Week published Differentiation Doesn't Work last week, which has shown up all over my Feedly and Facebook feed. Just the title itself is jarring and causes a double takes as it goes against so much of what we are being taught. The sentence that keeps getting quoted is, "It seems to me that the only educators who assert that differentiation is doable are those who have never tried to implement it themselves: university professors, curriculum coordinators, and school principals." 

I can imagine this would be a very popular thought. If true- if differentiation doesn't work and it's being shoved onto teachers by those who have never done it- then the game just changed. Teachers can be excused from the expectation of providing differentiation, and can actually be angry about being asked to do it. Not having to provide differentiation makes lives easier. 

Except I can't agree with this at all. 

 The biggest problem is that I don't agree with their definition of differentiation. They write:

• It (differentiation) seeks to determine what students already know and what they still need to learn.

• It allows students to demonstrate what they know through multiple methods.

• It encourages students and teachers to add depth and complexity to the learning/teaching process.

I'd agree with the first and third bullet. For the first, that's what I thought teaching was. If it isn't then I've been doing something wrong. If I don't know what the student knows and needs to know then I'm not sure how I am supposed to do my job. For the third bullet, sure, that's great. I'm not quite sure what they are saying there, but there is nothing wrong with depth and complexity as long as you are constantly going back to the first bullet. Is what you are doing working? Are the students learning? If not, then do you need to get more complex or less complex? What can you change?

The second bullet I believe is referring to learning styles, which have been proved time and time again to be a myth. However, it is hard to say they don't work. They do work, if only because the repetition used when teachers use them is often beneficial to students. They may be a waste of time because teachers could use a more effective method, but there is a reason we believed in them for so long. 

Taking out the learning styles, I believe that differentiation is teaching so that you are constantly adding growth to all students, taking them from wherever they are and moving them forward. Telling teachers that differentiation doesn't work is a dangerous slope.

1) It works. And it isn't that difficult. 

I've used differentiation time and time again in my classrooms. I never once thought it didn't work. I've always wondered why teachers felt it was so hard to implement. It doesn't have to be overly difficult or taxing. It's often a matter of asking thoughtfully tiered questions during focus lessons that drive home the different skills one wants to teach to each group. Or providing open-ended tasks that allow students to approach the assignment at their level. Making three types of similar worksheets- a reteach, a grade level, and a challenge- so that the students are all practicing what they need to practice. Teachers who set up their classrooms in the beginning of the year to provide structures that allow for differentiation will find that it comes seamlessly throughout the year.

2) Not differentiating is predetermining what students will do well and which will fail.

If schools don't differentiate, the alternative is to assign students to tiered classes based on their abilities. This is extremely unfair to the students, and sets us back in closing the achievement gap. Setting up classes based on abilities does not allow students to grow from one ability set to another. It limits the exposure the students in the "lower" groups have to higher level thinking tasks, and removes them from the peer models who are accessing these tasks. Schools will limit a student's ability and opportunities in life by boxing them in. Often a student's language level and socio-economic status will contribute to a student's current ability, but those background factors do not predict future ability. Given the right supports and opportunities students grow. Students meet our expectations. If we limit what we give our students and our expectations for them then we are limiting how high our students can succeed.

3) Students grow and change.

In my current school we are constantly grouping and regrouping our students based on their needs. The grade level team meets with the reading and math specialist every six weeks to look at every student's progress and re-assess the small groups. After being at the school for three years I have seen this be extremely powerful. The students are exposed to the same expectations regardless of their ability during whole group lessons, but are also provided small group instruction based on their current performance. This small group is only for six weeks where the student is given the targeted instruction he needs. After six weeks the student's needs are re-assessed. Students are constantly changing. Their educational growth has spikes, plateaus, and dips, and being flexible as a teacher allows us to meet the student's needs at any given time. Under this model I have watched student after student be exited from special education because of the growth they have made. Students labeled as having disabilities have proven that the disabilities do not impair their ability to work on grade level when they are given the instruction they need.

4) We've lost sight of the outcome.

What do we want from our schools? If we are working on passing tests and nothing more, then yes, putting students inside tracked classes that remain set are a good way to go. We can focus on test prep and learning material that will move students towards passing the tests to the best of their ability. This method forgets that we are looking at creating citizens who will one day run our country. We are not just prepping students to pass a test. We need to give our students every opportunity to succeed. Are we teaching all of our students to be problem solvers, capable of challenging themselves, overcoming obstacles, working independently and in groups, and being motivated learners? All of those skills can be taught in a differentiated classroom, along side the knowledge needed to pass tests.

Perhaps instead of throwing differentiation out the window we need to look at the support we are providing teachers to help them differentiate. Do they have the resources they need to make it work? Are we hiring quality teachers who see differentiation as valuable? Do teachers have time to build quality lessons and reflect with their colleagues on how to reach all their students?

Deciding on the Least Restrictive Environment as a Team

One of the hardest parts of my job is trying to determine if a child fits into our Intellectual Disabilities program or not. Students whose IEP teams decide (and go through a lengthy process) are bused to our school to be a part of our program (we are not their neighborhood school). So as the year goes on we are asked to go observe students at other schools whose school teams feel they may benefit from a different placement.

Of course it isn't our decision alone to make, but we are a part of the discussion on whether or not a child will benefit from a more restrictive environment. It isn't a decision that can be taken lightly because deciding to move a child to a more restrictive environment has long term consequences. It means the student will use a different curriculum, be exposed to different peers, will attend a whole different school, and will have an entirely different school experience.

Even in the most clear-cut case I feel it should be a decision that is agonized over because the team should look at the student's needs, not what paperwork and procedure imply.

How do you decide a student is ready to leave his or her base school and be a part of a self-contained setting? Are the students learning in their current environments? Are they engaged? Are lessons meeting their needs? Are they making progress? Do they have peers? 

What is best?

The tricky part is it is easy to look at a student in their general education environment and say "this isn't working- the student isn't making progress- this setting isn't appropriate." Yet it is harder to look into the future and see whether an ID placement is the right place for a student. There are no crystal balls to predict how a student will do and what the right choice will be.

Will the child have peers in the new placement? Will they make progress? Will their behaviors improve? Do they absolutely, without a doubt require intellectual disabilities services that can only be provided in a self-contained setting to make progress with their life skills? These are questions that are difficult to answer- an IEP team can only speculate. But if a team does not truly look at these questions and ask "will this placement truly be better than what is in place now?" a child can get lost in the wrong placement.

ID classrooms work at a different pace, focus on different skills, and approach lessons in different ways. For some children it is exactly what they need, and for others it can be limiting. The team has to consider whether or not moving a student will actually limit the child's academic ability, or enhance it. 

As a member of the team I always feel better about the decision when every step of the placement process is done in a full-collaborative discussion- where everyone, even those members who strongly believe a student belongs in one placement or another- take the time to discuss every option available. Even in the most extreme cases- when it is obvious to everyone at the table what the "right" decision is- it is reassuring to have a team openly and genuinely discuss concerns. No decision is ever going to be perfect. If a team is willing to recognize concerns with every side and then come to a decision I personally feel better about the decision a team is making for the student's future.

It is hard to always remember as an IEP team that we are talking about a child. Often we can get caught into "the child's label says x so we need to do x". Or, "My principal says x so that's what we have to do." It is hard to break those mindsets down and turn them into a discussion about what is best for the individual child- the child that will one day be an adult- a child whose future belongs to us. 

Lately my program has had numerous students come up as candidates for our program. When we go and meet each student we fall in love- they are the students we were meant to work with- they are the students we got into teaching to teach. Of course we want them. But we also want to have a true discussion on what is best for them. It is never an easy answer, and constantly becomes a nagging question we struggle with late into the night as we try to determine what is really best for the child.

Inclusion?

For any of you who have followed this blog over the years you know I have an up and down battle with inclusion, that usually ends with the closing thought "there are no easy answers. Each kid needs something different, inclusion can't be something we just do, it needs to be thoughtfully put into place".

After a year teaching in a program for students with intellectual disabilities I've seen even more shades of gray within the inclusion movement. I've seen children thrive because they are now in a small environment getting the exact instruction they need, while I've seen other children lose out on an opportunity to be exposed to more academics. And if we aren't exposed to something- aren't taught something- we will never learn it. So not including children can put an automatic cap on their ability to learn.

Then again, if we include children for the sake of inclusion we overlook other skills they need to be able to be successful with higher level academics. This in turn lets us have low expectations for them because we think "Great, Johnny can sit on the carpet with his general education peers and look at the teacher. We don't think he'll actually learn it because they are talking about reading strategies and Johnny still doesn't know his ABCs, but at least he's with the group."

Inclusion shouldn't just be for the sake of social interactions with general education peers. If we are able to be deliberate in our opportunities for inclusion we can build academic and social skills in a gen ed environment. We may need to pre-teach some academic skills, we may need to spend time strengthening essential knowledge so that our children can be successful when they are pushed in. We may need to look at how we can take a higher level general education lesson and put in deliberate questions, an off-shoot activity, and adapted materials that will make it work.

What I saw this past year was that children we didn't think would ever be able to be included during the school day- in music, PE, or art- rose to the challenge because we gave them the challenge. We set the expectation that they would be a part of the school community, we gave them the support they needed, we pre-taught skills and analyzed what wasn't working- and our kids shone.

Because of their inclusion in the gen ed specials our students learned how to behavior around their peers, how to handle loud noises in larger environments, and how to deal with distractions in a way that allowed us to push them into their general education classrooms for actual, meaningful academic blocks. Successfully. And often my students did better academically in their gen ed environments than they did in my room working on the same academics.

We have a limited amount of time during the day when we can reach our students- and we have so much to cram into those hours. Every moment is accounted for, whether it is teaching life skills, learning to learn behaviors, or academics. We don't have time for inclusion for inclusions sake, but we also don't have time to not include because it doesn't fit into our schedules, or is too much of a threat to our current working models.

It's something every school fights- the right balance between including all students and meeting each students' needs. The balance can't lie within the school policy, but instead within the students themselves (what do the students in front of me need?) with educators making meaningful and informed decisions about their students' growth.

Using Author Studies with Children with Intellectual Disabilities

Recently my team started planning with the general education kindergarten team. We try to do the same activities and lessons they do, just adapted to meet the needs of our students. This sounds like a no-brainer, but sadly I'm finding that this isn't the case in many schools with programs for students with intellectual disabilities. It took us until March just to figure out coverage so that we could attend the kindergarten team meetings. 

The kindergarten team decided to do an author study on Kevin Henkes. While I loved reading Lily and the Purple Plastic Purse to my gen ed kindergarten students I've found his books a bit painful for my current students. They are long and the little jokes he writes in his illustrations often get overlooked by my students. I probably would have chosen something more like Mo Willems or Jan Thompson, but I'm determined to make this common planning work. So instead of tossing out their idea and doing my own I took a deep breath and embraced Kevin Henkes.

 The thing with author studies is that it really doesn't matter who you do- you can manipulate anything in the text to fit the needs of your writers. Check out our "What Kevin Henkes Does" chart.

I know you're shocked by our observations. He uses WORDS. And Pictures! And he writes so we can read it! That's EXACTLY what we work on as writers! (Imagine me passionately pointing this out to my students over and over again.  Imagine me holding up a student's book and saying, "Johnny used words JUST LIKE KEVIN HENKES. Johnny said his words slowly and wrote down the first letter so that we could read it, JUST LIKE KEVIN HENKES". Powerful stuff, the author study.)
Since identifying emotions is also something we work very hard on I decided to draw our attention to the fact that KH uses emotions all the time in his books (Wemberly Worried, Sheila the Brave were the books we focused on). After reading Henkes books and making our anchor chart of what he does as a writer we started in on writing our own class text. I prepared the words and board maker symbols ahead of time. Every student got to make their own page and select what animal they wanted along with what feeling. Then I gave them the four word cards and asked them to sequence the sentence (The animal is ...). My higher students were able to write their own words in the sentence.

Everyone illustrated their page and then we put it together into our own class big book, inspired by Kevin Henkes.

 Our next step is to write our own individual texts. Some of the students are given the board maker symbols and just like our class book they can choose the animals and feelings. Then they are responsible for sequencing the words and gluing them in order on the paper.

Other students are able to write their own Kevin Henkes book that is much more open ended, they just need to have an animal or feelings in the book.

Next week we'll share with the general education classrooms and we'll all be able to talk about Kevin Henkes and our own interpretations of his work.

Talk Moves Success

Back in March I wrote about trying to use "talk moves" with my students with intellectual disabilities. Talk Moves are the new teacher-term for ways to get your students engaged while teaching. Asking your students to turn and talk to one another, asking them to justify their thinking ("How do you know?"), or to restate what another student said. 

I'd loved using these when I was a general education teacher and I was excited when I came up with a way to use them with my class. I wasn't sure how it would work and exactly how beneficial it would be, but I knew I'd seen growth when using them in the general education classroom. If nothing else it means that my students would know what was going on when they were in their inclusion settings.

So for three months now we've been using these strategies during morning meeting, particularly when it comes time to discussing the weather. Every day we turn and talk about the weather. Then I ask how they know what the weather is. At first I had to give them a prompt "Did you look in a book or out the window?"

On Thursday the weather was iffy. It was kind of cloudy, kind of sunny, and maybe a bit rainy. Each talking partner pair came up with a different answer. When one student said "It is cloudy" Rock Star loudly said, "NO! It is sunny." I asked her to politely restate her opinion by saying "I disagree" and then I said, "Why do you think that?" not having any idea what I'd get from her. Why questions are usually not met with any logical reasoning in my class. 

"I looked out the window!" she said confidentially, and pointed out the window, justifying her opinion to her friend.

It seems little, but oh, in that moment I gave her a huge high five and we all cheered. 

1) She'd answered a WHY question. Appropriately

2) She'd justified her thinking- something we try to get kids to do in gen ed

3) Unprompted she was able to tell me how she knew something. She's starting to get it. She's starting to understand that you don't just KNOW things because your brain tells you them- you can actively find them out.

I was on cloud 9. Of course, when I turned to her friend and asked her how she knew it was cloudy she said something about Halloween, so I didn't stay on cloud 9 for long.

But it's working. Slowly we will get there. My kids, our kids, they are KIDS who benefit from the same strategies used with gen ed kids. 

Genuine Friendship

At the very end of last week we found out one of my students was moving. We were all shocked and heartbroken. This student is absolutely incredible and she is the poster child of what having high expectations and a good balance of general education inclusion and a special ed placement can do for a student. She surpassed all of our  of expectations academically, socially, and with her general language. She is incredible.

At the end of the day today one of the students from her gen ed kindergarten class was brought into my room crying. We were in the midst of end-of-day chaos and were trying to get book bags and jackets on without complete losing our minds (this is a daily adventure). When this little kindergarten girl and her tear-streaked face entered the room we all stopped and stared.

The teacher with her explained that the girl had a card at home for our friend who was leaving but she had forgotten it. I looked at this little five year old crying and felt my own eyes fill with tears. This little one was truly sad to see my friend go. Their teacher had done such an incredible job including her in the classroom that her kids didn't see her as "that special girl". She was a part of their community and she had true friends in there.

My friend hadn't shown any emotions yet during the day and we weren't sure how much she was processing her move. Yet when her friend walked in crying her expression immediately changed. "Oh no! What's wrong?" she asked. Although she hadn't been concerned for herself, she felt empathy and concern for her friend. They had a real friendship.

Friendship is something we can teach about, model, and encourage, but it isn't something we can force. Kids are "friends" in our classes, but whether or not they are genuine friends is up to them.

These girls were genuine friends.

I hope that wherever my friend ends up she will find other genuine friends, as well as teachers who are able to foster these relationships.

Mulling Over Least Restrictive Environment

Lately we've been chewing on the right placement for my kiddos. Every time this comes up it is tricky to figure out. How do you decide what is the least restrictive environment?

Will putting kids in a gen ed environment not allow them to work on the basic skills they need to succeed?
Will keeping them out of the gen ed environment hold them back from achieving their full abilities?

My position this year is a funny one. Last year in my non-cat classroom I went into the year making my goal to get everyone into the gen ed environment for the following year. Whether or not that was reasonable, I made everything I did with the kids fit into that goal. What were we doing at every moment of the day that was getting them ready to move on?

This year is different. I'm in a "center" now and so many of the children have been placed in my room after their base schools decided that a center would be the least restrictive. We don't know what it looked like at their base schools, we don't know what led to those decisions, we don't know what conversations the school teams had with parents. Now that we're writing the new IEPs we have the opportunity to re-look at placement decisions.

What was behind a decision to place a child in a center? Was it the right decision? What led a team to decide a student had an intellectual disability? Was the testing valid? Is it certain that this student will never achieve at a typically developing cognitive level?

There is so much to think about. Not just how our IEP decisions will impact the child's next year, but also how these decisions are setting the child up for success later in life. Are we making decisions now that will impact whether or not the child is able to earn a regular diploma? Are we giving the child every chance to meet high expectations? Or are our high expectations forcing the child to leap over needed prerequisite skills?

Every child is a different puzzle and no conversation on a child is ever the same. It's a lot to think about, especially at this time of year. I have no real answers, other than to consider each kid individually.

And we're.... READING!

Today wasn't my favorite day. I was frustrated with myself, with my profession, with just...  everything. I spent most of the day feeling like I wasn't a good mommy, a good teacher, a good friend or a good wife. The pieces of my life felt like the jumbled left overs of a puzzle that you spend time trying to jam together, bend the cardboard a bit, and make them fit, but never quite work.

Then, one of the awesome kindergarten teachers I work with stopped me and told me that one of my friends was included in her guided reading group today and rocked it!

This seems small, yet- this is a student whose been put in an "intellectual disabilities program" because she wasn't thought to be able to handle the general education curriculum. She's worked and worked and we've worked and worked and we slowly realized that she maybe COULD at least spend time in the general education classroom. We pushed her in for morning meeting- a low key, community building, no stress time of day.

Then it was reading workshop. Reading centers are another low stress part of the day where she could work in the classroom with her gen ed peers but not be under any pressure to perform. That went well, so the kinder teacher and I decided to take a leap of faith and push her in for actual guided reading.

Guided reading may be the most important part of our day. It's a small group where we as teachers work our little readers hard- not letting one moment slip by without squeezing in some teaching point or chance for academic work. It's right beside peers, working along with them, all reading simultaneous to themselves.

And yet, she rocked it. She apparently sat with a group of other students, listened to the book introduction, read the book to herself, and answered questions about the book. She wasn't given lower material than the other students just to be included- she was doing what they were doing.

I could dance on the clouds.

The rest of the day still felt like trying to make a puzzle from lost pieces, but every time I think of my friend I have to smile.

We can do hard things.

The Inclusion Dilemma

On Friday all three of my second grade students were absent for various reasons. These three girls also happen to be my most lively and talkative. When I plan my lessons I frequently plan with them in mind and then think of ways I can differentiate for the other students. This way I'm holding out high expectations for all my kids and the kindergartners and first graders benefit from the strong examples the second graders set.

Without our three class leaders on Friday we were struggling. I hadn't even realized how much I rely on my second graders for class discussions, choral reading, and just general liveliness. Typing this sounds like I only teach my high students and I leave the rest to just watch, but that's not what happens (at least I hope not). I do, however, structure my lessons so that my higher students are pulling the other students up. One of my kindergarten students, who came in unable to recognize her name in print and didn't know any of the numbers or letters of the alphabet is now flying because of how much she works with the second graders. They model more than I could teach without them.

When they were gone on Friday it brought a huge downside to self contained programs like mine to light. When there are no language models, no one to giggle with the story, sing along to the repetitive learning-rich songs, there are less opportunities for the other kids to learn.

And the other question to ask is- if the second graders are pulling the other kids up academically, who is pulling up my second graders? In the case of all three of them I would argue that they are in the right placement for their learning needs, but it is still a good question to ask myself- am I giving them opportunities for learning growth? Am I keeping high expectations for them like I am for my other students?

I fully believe in self contained programs like mine for certain children. I have seen it be the absolute best learning environment for some children- I have seen these children thrive in these smaller environments as opposed to flounder and be forgotten in the bigger, faster-paced classrooms. However, on Friday, with my four quiet, reserved students my class felt pretty restrictive. Kids learn from one another and there wasn't much of that going on without my second grade kiddos.

Two of my kiddos are making a ridiculous amount of progress- progress that no one ever expected them to make in such a short time- and I truly believe it is because they are in with these second grade language models. If these older girls were not in our classroom the younger students would remain as they were when they came into my classroom. The rooms they'd been in the year before didn't offer the language models and high expectations my second graders provide. This meant that no one even knew to push these kids or give them the opportunity for growth. It's not my teaching that's driving them ahead- it's the opportunities and models they've been given.

It once again reminded me of what a serious decision it needs to be when a child is placed in a self contained school setting. It can be the absolute best thing for a child, but it can also be limiting depending on factors outside of the control of the IEP team. I know I've written this time and time again, but it just isn't a decision that can be taken lightly. I just wish every school system and every IEP team takes the time to consider the decision in every possible light.

Curb Cuts

Until this year I've never seen curb cuts as anything but a good, adapted measure to make our communities accessible for all people.  A design that allows people in wheelchairs to safely and easily access the sidewalk. I've never seen them as anything more or less than that.

Until now.



Now I see them as a brief yet necessary torture device for one of my friends.

One of my little friends is in a wheelchair and in order to access his bus everyday he must drive his wheelchair across the sidewalk, down a bumpy curb cut and to the bus. That's what the curb cut was designed to do, right- make it possible for him to be able to access his bus?

One day earlier in the year we were walking to the bus, chatting away and my friend drove his wheelchair around the curb cut. Instead of safety and gradually rolling down the sidewalk he fell right over the edge. I panicked, of course, imagining my friend catapulting out of his chair, or even worse, having his chair fall on top of him (it didn't, of course, but the possibility was there). Stupid me, I thought- my friend needs to be taught to use the curb cut. If I don't teach him this skill he has no idea to look for the gradual incline.

So the next few afternoons I made it my business to teach him how to look for the ramp. He continued to tried to avoid it, and I just chalked that up to him not being able to see. The motor planning it takes to project your chair in the right direction is actually pretty tough. When he's in the chair his visibility is limited and he can't see what's right under neath him. So he has to look ahead and plan where he'll aim his chair for when he gets there. Think of how this was difficult to learn to drive when we were 15- remember our parents yelling at us about appreciating the size of the car and planning ahead so that we wouldn't roll over the sidewalk? Yeah- he's 6 and he has an intellectual disability. Aiming his chair down a ramp is actually hard work and involves a lot of executive functioning.

But after watching my friend for a few weeks I realized his aiming his wheelchair around the ramp has nothing to do with his executive functioning. He hates the curb cut. He drives his chair up to it, stops, takes a breath, says "Here we go" and then, holding his breath drives down it.

The curb cut is bumpy, as all new curb cuts are, which I am sure is an ADA regulation  But for my tiny friend in his big wheelchair these bumps are killer. He bounces around like a rock in the back of a pick up truck. When he gets to the bottom he stops his chair, wipes his brow, takes another deep breath, and moves on.

It's a few seconds every afternoon, but my heart goes out to him (and he still needs to be watched closely because otherwise he'll choose to drive his chair straight down the sidewalk- one big bump is preferable to him than the many little ones).

There really isn't anything we can do. It's how he gets to the bus. It's so sad to me that what we've put in place to make our environment safer for him is actually working against him. Until watching his little face go down the bumps I never would have looked at the curb cut and thought anything but, "Oh good, I'm glad that's there." Now all I see is what he must see- a momentary torture device he must conquer every afternoon before he can finally go home.

One Boy, Two Perspectives

A few years ago I joined other educators around a table to discuss a preschool student transitioning to kindergarten. Two of the educators at the table were the student's teachers- one had him in the morning in a small special education class with five other students. The other taught the student in the afternoon in a general education preschool class with fifteen other students. As the meeting progressed the two teachers stared at each other in disbelief and horror. They each described a very different student. The special education teacher described a young boy with no academic skills. A boy she felt may need to be placed in an intellectual disabilities classroom down the line. The general education teacher described a bright, though shy boy with many academic skills- a boy who could write his name, count to 10 and knew his alphabet. Neither teacher could believe that the other one would be so blind toward the child in question. They each truly believed they knew the child- they'd taught him all year. They were both experienced educators who have a good understanding of child development. Yet their years of experience gave them each a different perspective on the child.

The following year when I supported the boy in his general education classroom I found a very bright yet shy boy who was able to count to ten, say his alphabet, build anything anyone put in front of him, and write his name. I watched him shut down when the speech pathologist worked with him and I watched the speech pathologist form an opinion of him much like his preschool special education teacher's opinion. From her years of experience she saw a boy with limited functioning. Eventually we helped the student get comfortable enough with her so that she too could see his bright sparks.

The special education teacher and the speech pathologist were not wrong- they made their judgments based off of what they observed. In the special education setting the boy had never been asked to count to ten, write his name, or say the alphabet. He was never given the peer models to show how to behave and therefore his shy, quiet mannerisms morphed into what appeared to be a cognitive disability. Yet in the general education classroom he followed his peer models, overheard the alphabet song being sung, and attempted participating in classroom activities like writing his name. He was given the chance to try these activities so he rose to the challenge.

This experience haunts me this year as I watch the students in my class. I fully support the intellectual disabilities self-contained program but I also realize it has its limits. I worry that my students will not be exposed to activities and lessons their general education peers are exposed to and that this lack of exposure will further separate them from their peers. They may be fully capable of learning and performing academic tasks that their peers can perform, but since they are not being exposed to it they never will learn how. 

Last year I tried very hard to model my classroom lessons after what was happening in the general education classrooms. I wanted it to be as similar as possible so that my students would be exposed to everything their gen ed peers were exposed to. I differentiated for them so that the lessons met their needs, but I also followed much of the same lesson structures and demands of the gen ed classrooms. Last year I was a part of the gen ed kindergarten team and so I was able to follow the gen ed curriculum closely.

This year, sadly, I am not a part of any of the gen ed teams because of time-demands. I am teaching specific, scripted programs that do not allow us to follow the gen ed curriculum. I am terrified that all of this limits my students and that I am becoming that preschool special education teacher who believed a student was not capable of activities he had mastered solely because she never asked him to do them. 

I hope that merely being aware of the problem will help me remember to constantly challenge my students, but I have the sinking feeling that it is not enough. 

Promises to Parents

After my series of Saturday home visits this fall I've been struck by the former school experiences of all my families. They have so much to tell me- so many disappointments or frustrations, so many times they've been disillusioned by our school system.

In order to be in our program for students with Intellectual Disabilities the IEP team must decide that the least restrictive environment is a different program that the neighborhood school can provide. It's not a decision that should be taken lightly by any team, and one that many times is come to after the neighborhood school and the student have proven to not be a good match.

The stories are heartbreaking from a parent perspective. In many of them the school did nothing wrong, but the situations were still not ideal. I cannot imagine how it must feel as a parent to hear that your neighborhood school- the one you watch all the other kids in your neighborhood come and go from happily- is unable to meet your child's needs. Stories of teachers admitting they don't have the answers- of frustrated parents wondering what's happening when they are not around- of students trying to fit into a situation where they do not feel comfortable.

Most of these are situations where no one did anything wrong. No one is at fault. It's not lazy teachers or bad administrators or overly demanding parents. The situations just are what they are. Families try the neighborhood schools first. It's how IDEA, the federal special education law is written- the least restrictive environment should always be in place, and many times in order to determine that environment a student has to try being at their neighborhood school in the general education population first.

My heart breaks for these parents and their stories. It's also terrifying as a teacher. I want to give my families the most positive school experience possible. I want them to have that happy, confident child who comes off the bus bursting with achievements to share and stories to tell. I want to communicate all their children's strengths while also being completely honest about their growth areas. 

Beginning to reflect on the year- placement decisions?

Now that the year has ended and I'm enjoying my summer vacation it's time to start reflecting on what worked really well this year and what didn't.

Last summer I wrote that my goal for the year was to get the majority of my students into full inclusion settings by the end of the year. Of the nine that started in my room in September here's the final breakdown:

Three students are moving on to more restrictive settings.
Three are returning to the non-categorical classroom for next year.
Two will be in full inclusion next year.
One is moving to another school but will continue to be in a non-categorical placement.

When I look at the numbers I have to admit I feel a sense of failure. I would love to see the children either go into full inclusion or stay in a non-categorical classroom instead of a more restrictive program. But if I'm honest I want that for myself. I have to look at what is best for the individual students. On a case by case basis they are going on to what is best for them at this time and I wouldn't change their future placements at all.

Could I have done more to help more of them work toward full inclusion? This is something I'll be trying to sort out all summer. There is one student in particular that I would have loved to see move toward more hours with her gen ed peers.What could I have done differently?

If I could go back I would re-look at the reading program I used with her. Although it was a strong program it was scripted and I let the program lead us through most of the year. It gave her a lot of foundational skills that I most likely would not have spent as much time on if I hadn't been using it, but it also may have held us back. If I had been teaching guided reading the way I did in a gen ed classroom I may have pushed her further along instead of being satisfied with following a teacher's manual.

I also wish I'd spent more time attempting to integrate her into her gen ed classroom. I'd hear reports from others about her struggles with whole group lessons when she was in her gen ed room and when I was able to get into her gen ed room I'd see them myself, but I wish I'd done more to sit with her and help her adapt to the environment. She may be ready for strategies that will help her learn in a whole group but since she was with me for her main academics we never touched on that.

On the other hand, because she was one of two students for math and writing she most likely made more progress than she would have in the gen ed room. She primarily received one on one instruction and we were able to truly focus on those essential early learning skills she'll be using the rest of her life.

What would have been more important? Having her with her peers feeling frustrated but included? Or having her with me where she could work on the skills she needed and truly master them? When you compare the student's achievement in academics and self-regulation to her kindergarten year when she was in a full inclusion classroom she made tremendous gains. Yet could I have done things differently that would have given her a least restrictive yet successful placement?

It's not an easy question to answer and it's the reason that we spend so long on IEPs going over the legal definition of the Least Restrictive Environment and a Free and Appropriate Public Education. Placement decisions are never to be taken lightly and should never be done because of a school's general policy. It comes from a team of people putting their heads together, looking at the facts and deciding what is best for the student. And even then we're not always sure that we found the right answer. I have a feeling I'll keep thinking about what else I could have done for this one all summer.

teeth grinding anger

This is one of the most horrifying articles I've ever read about education. It's about the published test results in NY and how the press reacted to what it saw as the lowest performing teacher- an ELL teacher who was screwed by the statistics. The cold numbers don't tell the full story- and the cold numbers are all anyone looked at. Read it yourself- I can't begin to summarize it without getting myself worked up and irritated. It's the classic example of the damange statistics can do in the hands of people who do not understand statstics and numbers.

Here's an excerpt:

"As in many other cases, the story of Pascale Mauclair and P.S. 11 begins with a tale of the flawed methodology and invalid measurements of the Teacher Data Reports.

P.S. 11 is located at the epicenter of a number of different immigrant communities in northern Queens, and over a quarter of its students are English Language Learners. Mauclair is an ESL teacher, and over the last five years she has had small, self-contained classes of recently arrived immigrants who do not speak English. Her students arrive at different times of the school year, depending upon that date of their family’s migration; consequently, it is not unusual for her students to take the 6^th grade exams when they have only been in her class for a matter of a few months. Two factors which produce particularly contorted TDR results – teaching the highest academic need students and having a small sample of students that take the standardized state exams – define her teaching situation."

How did we get here? And how do we get back?

measuring success

Over dinner one night this summer my husband, with his practical MBA thinking, asked me how I'd know whether or not my non-categorical class was successful. Perhaps if I had been sipping a glass of wine at the time I would have been able to laugh it off, but since I've been sans wine due to the upcoming baby, I was momentarily frustrated with his question. What is his MBA thinking doing questioning my class? 
 Not picking up on my frustration he went on to ask if I had clear ways to measure whether or not the class was successful. How would I be able to go to the administration and say "look how well this worked, we should do it again."  I knew he meant well by his question, but for a moment I was taken aback.

I immediately went on a spiel about how in special ed every child has their own set of goals written into their Individual Education Program (IEP) so that how I measure success is easily laid out for me. Did my students meet their goals?  I of course made this sound much longer and more drawn out than that to keep him from getting a word in edgewise and questioning me again. He nodded and sipped his wine (the nerve).

But I kept thinking about his question. How will I measure the success of my class?  Part of it will be in my students' progress in their IEP goals, but that is how I measure success every year. Are they able to meet the goals we set out for them? To be honest, in my head I always tend to aim higher than those goals. The goals I write are the realistic goals I want the child to accomplish. They are goals I have a clear plan of accomplishing. But in my head, no matter who the child is, I always overshoot them. My goals for my students always go above and beyond what is written on that paper. We don't always meet the goals in my head. Sometimes we don't meet the goals on the IEP. It's not for lack of trying. I feel that we get as far as we do because I am always working on my unspoken "shoot for the moon" goals.

The IEP goals themselves do not seem to be enough to measure whether or not my class structure was successful. How will we know whether or not they would have met those goals in the general education classroom? 

So how can I measure success?

After mulling over the question I realized that for most of the students my goal- my measurement of success, will be that the child will be able to transition into the general education classroom smoothly the following year.

For a few it will mean they will have a better handle on their language skills and will be able to communicate with peers and teachers in a way that does not require the support they currently require. They will be able to advocate for their own needs, no longer needing prompts to go to the bathroom, get a tissue, or to ask a friend to share a block.

For others that will mean they will be able to follow the routines in a general education classroom in a way that will allow them to access the material. Their general education teachers will not have to spend time agonizing over their behaviors, but instead will spend time working on their academics.


For a few others whose disabilities make it unlikely that they will transition to a general education classroom, my goal will be that they can stay at our school. We will give them the skills they need to be able to continue attending their neighborhood school, and will not need to be bused to a center that specializes in students with their disabilities.

For all of them success will be measured with their academic progress, of course. Whether or not it is that they learn their colors, their alphabet, or the word wall words, I will want to measure success by what they have learned from their baseline data, regardless if that academic goal is in their IEP or not.

So there is my overall goal for the year. To transition quite a few of them to general education classes. If the class is successful then maybe we wont need the class next year. I kind of feel like I'm setting myself up to put myself out of a job.

My morning meeting conundrum

As I'm getting to start the school year with my non-categorical special education class I'm finding myself completely stuck about what to do about morning meeting.
I LOVE morning meeting. I love morning meeting so much that when Michelle Rhee was quoted in Time as saying that teachers needed to stop wasting time with cute things like morning meeting I immediately lost all respect for her. To me, she clearly was far removed from education if she didn't understand the significance of the "cute" morning meeting.

 If you are unfamiliar with this teaching method I'd recommend checking out Responsive Classroom's Morning Meeting book. The idea behind morning meeting is to start each day by building a community in your classroom. It gives the beginning of your day structure, allows you time to teach social skills, helps children feel safe in your classroom and gets your students ready to start the day. There is always a clear daily structure.  My partner-in-crime holds some of the best morning meetings I have ever seen. Her class is practically perfectly behaved during the entire meeting because her structure is so clear. Her games are creative and fun, and her calming voice during morning meeting seems to completely set the tone for the entire day.

We start each morning meeting by sitting in a circle and greeting one another- on most days each child takes a turn to greet the child on each side of him/her (there are tons of fun greetings you can switch in once the children are comfortable with traditional greeting).

For my children with special needs this beginning of morning meeting is essential. They need to know how to shake hands, look someone in the eyes, and speak the 3 word phrase "good morning ______".  It helps them remember each other's names and sets the expectation that we talk with one another during the day.

After the greeting portion of morning meeting we read the morning message together. Again, for my children with special needs this is critical. I keep the same structure to the message everyday so they can all "read" along- they all know exactly what it is going to say minus some routine changes like the day of the week and who is line leader. It gives them a common text they feel they can read, as well as helps reinforce known words.

Inside morning meeting most of us at the Think-Tank embed our calendar routine, which is again the same simple routine everyday, giving the children repetitive math practice outside of math time. Then there is time for share and an activity- usually a silly song and dance that gets everyone up and moving and on their toes so they are ready to start the day.

Did I mention I LOVE morning meeting. It's when you get to see who is having a rough day and who is overly excited about something special happening at home. It's where the classroom community is built. It's where I see my children with special needs find their comfort in the classroom.

So, back to my problem. My children will all have home-room classes they'll start and end their days with. Some will only come to me for 3 hours a day, while others will be with me for almost the entire day minus music, art, and PE. I am torn on where I want my children to attend morning meeting. I see three huge benefits from morning meeting- the community building, the social skills training and the academic repetition.

 I want my children to be comfortable in their home-room classes. I want them to have friends there so when they go into the classroom for specials, lunch, and recess that they wont be looked at as "those weird kids who aren't with us all day". Being a part of their classroom's morning meeting will be essential in making them a part of their classroom community. They will feel more comfortable in their home-rooms and their peers will see them as a part of the class.

Of course, on the other hand, the amount of social skills and academics I can get done during my own morning meeting with my children is huge. In just the two weeks of jump start I saw a huge improvement in their social skills, confidence, and even in their counting. We counted the calendar numbers everyday, and by the end they were all counting loudly and (almost) correctly. In my own room I can slow down the academics to meet their needs, give longer wait-time for them to answer the question, and ask questions they will know the answers to in order to build their confidence (without the other children wildly waving their hands with the answer to the most simple question). The small environment allows them to come out of their shells when practicing social skills, and gives us more time to encourage participation. When you have 20 other children starting at one child who refuses to use eye contact it's much easier to move on than to simply wait and repeat the eye-contact expectation.

So I am completely and utterly torn. I want them to be a part of their home-room classes, but I also do not want to miss out on opportunities to build language, academic, and social skills. Morning meeting is essential in so many ways- any choice I make is taking away one benefit of morning meeting.  Perhaps it will need to be done on a child-by-child basis, but even so, when I think of the individual children there are some I am stuck on. I have another two weeks to figure it out, so any advice you have I welcome with open arms.

I LOVE my job

It's Friday afternoon after our first week of jump start. Grant it, it was only 3 hours a day with the kids, and not all of my class came, but I had an amazing week. The kids are bonding with each other, giggling and becoming friends. A community is starting to form and I'm loving how it is turning out. They are already looking out for each other. I'm also loving having my own classroom after 4 years of working in other rooms. I love singing silly songs, doing read alouds, and planning the day. I'm especially loving being able to slow the pace down to meet the needs of my kiddos. Most importantly, I am already in love with the kids.


I've been nervous all summer about taking these children away from their general education classes and limiting their social interactions. I've been struggling with wondering whether or not my classroom is the best idea for them. I don't want to limit them in any way.

After two days, I knew that it is going to be a great thing. After a week I'm really excited about the potential progress we can make this year.

One of the little girls is Rock Star, who I have worked with for the past two years. She has an intellectual disability and I've enjoyed watching her grow and develop since she first came to us. I don't think I've ever heard her utter so many spontaneous words in those two years combined as she's said this past week. Her confidence level seems to have sky rocketed. She's constantly commenting on read alouds, telling her friends what a great job their doing, and is seriously working on her academic skills because our classsroom focus is able to be at exactly her level.

In fact, yesterday she pulled the letter M out of a box and yelled "M" to show Magical. I've never heard her spontaneously identify any letters, and M is not even in her name. I've also never heard her raise her voice above a horse whisper. And there she was yelling across the room, trying to show Magical that she'd found his first letter. I didn't know if I was going to cry from happiness or pass out from shock.

Another friend is able to get the repetition and structure she needs when she needs it (which is immediately and frequently). We're quickly pulling her back into her academic work when she gets off task. I worked with her last year as well and I've already seen that the frequent reinforcement we can give her in the smaller class size is paying off with her behavior.

Magical is back with his huge smile, and I have other new students who are also adjusting well to our environment. It's not going to be an easy year by any means, but I think it's going to be a great year in a lot of ways. I am sure my behavior management will improve out of necessity, and I am sure I will have some little ones that will give me a run for my money. Managing the high levels of individual  needs has already been tricky, and it will constantly keep me on my toes. But I think it will be good. Really good.

It's been four days, a total of 12 hours, and like I said, not all of my kids have been able to come. So I am sure my high will quickly change, but at the moment I'm excited by what this week may mean for my kiddos. The possibilities of what we may be able to do academically are racing through my head constantly. I'm ridiculously excited for this school year, even if I only get one more week of them until I come back to them in December.