Remember Magical?

I saw Magical today!

I can't even tell you how much I've missed that kid. He's the same- two years older- two years wiser. I can't stop thinking about him. I even missed his robot.

There are some kids who truly change your life forever and he is without a doubt one of them.

looking for love

Today was one of those days that is reserved for torturing special education teachers. The type of day where I didn't get to work with kids but spent a lot of time in tedious meetings working on paperwork. Many times I can reconcile the paperwork and the meetings with the fact that in the long run it truly supports what is best for kids, but...  not today.

Despite the utter grossness of today there were moments that made me remember why I teach. And as I sit here sipping my beer I desperately need to remember what each and every moment was.

1. My whole class rocking it to the 'We've Got a Whole Pizza!' song, flashing their pizza halves as they sang about their pizza, the fraction. (Thanks Splatypus!)

2. One of my little friends very clearly explaining to his table-mate why two halves were equal even though I wasn't sure he'd paid attention to the lesson.

3. My friends lighting up when I came into the room after my meeting and asking how it had gone.

4. A friend using a calm voice to ask a friend to leave her alone (progress!!)

5. Magical's smile

6. Magical and his friend holding hands in the hallway because, "They are best friends" as they emphatically explained to me.

7. Rock Star rocking out to the new CD I bought the classroom and using long phrases to tell her friends that we have a new CD.

8. One little girl helping her "baby" (a stuffed Curious George) cut squares and circles in half. Her caring language showed so much empathy and understanding of others.

9. Watching one of my friends who usually chooses to play alone decide to go to a center that he'd rather not go to because he'd rather play with his friends than by himself.  (Amazing progress!!)

10.  When Magical explained that the special ingredient in his play food sandwich he brought me was water and then proceeded to explain the merits of water bread.

I do love my job. I absolutely adore these kids. Now if I could just find time to work with them!

Writing Workshop Conference

Me: Magical, what are you drawing?

Magical: My feet.

Me: Hmmmm.  Those look like a lot of lines. How many feet do you have?

Magical: I don't know!

Me: Well, let's look at your feet.

Magical: I can't- they are in my shoes!

Me:  Ok, well let's count your shoes.

Magical....  Hmmmm....  ONE.... TWO....  I HAVE TWO FEET!!!


I heart my job.

life experiences

Magical joined us about an hour late yesterday, just in time for snack. We quickly made a place for him at our snack table where he could join the conversation. (We've been having snack all together and asking everyone to sit at the table until everyone is finished with snack so that we can "chat". We're working on our oral language skills at every moment of the day.)  

As soon as Magical pulled up his chair one of my friends mentioned that we'd missed him the day before when he was at the hospital receiving his treatment. He nodded, "You missed me," because, when you're 5 and 6, you have no reason to be humble. 

"But I was at the clinic. I got an IV. See, right here?" and he went on and on, mentioning the nurses, the procedures, how he's fallen when he got up, and how he still felt sick.  

A boy sitting at the table began pounding on his own chest and nodding. "Have you been to the hospital?" I asked, and he nodded very furiously. This little one is confined to a wheelchair and although he has probably not spent as much time in the hospital as Magical, I am sure he's spent more time there than I have. 

"You've been to the hospital?" Magical asked with delight. "Me too!"

The other friends shared stories of going to the doctor's, but my boys suddenly seemed to grow a special connection between their hospital visits. Both boys must feel so different and alone in large groups of children where they are the only one with their experiences. There was something special about being able to watch them connect. If they were adults I'm sure the conversation would have been greater than, "you too?" with the response of "Me", but their little exchange seemed to be enough for them. Somehow they knew the other girls at the table were not talking about the same type of doctors they were. At five their life experiences have been so different than the typical childhood, and yet, I wonder how often they actually get to talk about it with a peer.

Of course, ever wanting to get in on the action at a lull in the conversation I shared that I would be going to the hospital soon when the baby was ready to come out.

Magical eyed me and my stomach.  

"Oh, your baby is STUCK in you," he diagnosed. "The hospital will have to get it out." 

Yes, stuck. Let's hope not.

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.

The great inclusion debate (part 1)

 This past winter something interesting happened. Normally in January we receive a list of the 12 or so upcoming preschoolers who will be attending the Think-Tank for the next school year. I get to work observing them, meeting with their teachers and families, and making sure that everything at the Think-Tank will be ready for them the following September. It is a process I love. This year, however, we began hearing rumors in November that one preschool would be sending us a total of 14 children. 14 from one preschool. That doesn't include any of the many other preschools we usually receive children from...

In January, when I got the total list of upcoming kinders I stared at a multi-page booklet containing information on 22 children who would need special education services from the Think-Tank in kindergarten. 22...  As the winter and spring went on that number continued to grow. And grow. I believe we transitioned a total of 27 students, some will not be coming to The Think-Tank, but most will.

I really enjoy the transition process (although this year took much, much longer than years' past), and I love getting to know the children in their preschool classes. As the winter went on and I met the children, their teachers and parents, it became clear we would need to be meeting the very different needs of all of these children next year. We needed to begin thinking about how we were going to meet all of their needs, what we may need to change or adapt in our own program to make sure we give the best education to each of these little ones. We had a lot of reflection to do.

For years The Think-Tank has been a full inclusion school. Our children with special needs have always been included in general education classes at almost all times. It is very, very rate to pull out a child or a group for any reason. In fact, in some ways any sort of pull out was discouraged. In many ways this is a good thing, but at times it can have its downfall. There are some children who have the complete ability to perform on grade level if they are given differentiated instruction in another environment. At times (certainly not at all times or for all students) it has been frustrating to work with a child, knowing they have the potential to perform on grade level, but are not yet achieving at that level because of the restraints within the gen ed classroom. Again, most children with special needs do wonderfully in the gen ed classroom, but there are times a child may benefit from instruction delivered outside the traditional classroom.

As we got to know the upcoming kindergartners and talk to their preschool teachers we realized that some of their needs would be best met in a smaller environment. Not all 20 something children, but some. Just a few. Their preschool teachers expressed concern that they would be placed in a full inclusion setting it made us step back and look at the incoming students and our program. What would meet the needs of the children in what is truly the least restrictive environment? Some of the preschool teachers would prefer for the students to be sent to another school, yet it didn't seem fair to send so many children to another school simply because we have a policy that we are a full inclusion school. In special education the school must make the program meet the needs of the student, not expect the student to meet the needs of the program. In other words, sending so many children to another school simply because their needs did not fit into our model would not really be fitting within IDEA. Like so many policies in education, it's important to look at the child in question and not just the overarching policy.

So we began looking closely at each of these children. What are their needs? Could we meet their needs at our school if we had a classroom just for them?  Would that let them stay at their neighborhood school and be in an environment that meets their needs? What would we need to put in place to change our full inclusion model into one that includes what is known as a non-categorical room (or non-cat)?

It wasn't an easy decision. There is a lot to be said about inclusion, and starting a new room for children with special needs could be a slippery slope to shifting backwards toward having more children in pull out programs than in full inclusion. Whenever I talked to my principal about it I could hear her hesitation, and her very valid reasons behind it. Our school is very collaborative- every teacher has a co-teacher, which helps ensure that children are receiving the absolute best, research-based, reflective instruction. There would not be a co-teacher in the special ed room. Would there be a risk of lowering expectations for these children? Would teaching practices slide? Would these children be seen by others as "those kids" instead of a part of our general community?

But the more we looked at the children's needs the more we realized that what these children needed was a smaller environment. And we could provide that for them.

For a few of them this class will give them an opportunity to be in our neighborhood school longer than they would otherwise. Some of their disabilities are so severe and demand such significant adaptations in curriculum that they will one day, most likely, attend one of our county's centers for children with severe disabilities or intellectual disabilities. But right now, before the gap in their performance is too far away from their peers, they can have the opportunity to be at their neighborhood school, and spend time in a general education classroom. These children will spend about 3 hours a day in their special education room, and the remainder of the day will be in with their general education peers, giving them those important opportunities for social interactions.

Other children I have high hopes for transitioning them back to a full time general education placement in a year or two.  Right now a small classroom for kindergarten will be best where they can complete their potty training, get a firm, direct language foundation, build up early literacy skills using teaching methods that may not be easily accomplished in the gen ed classroom, in a small, safe environment. If all goes well and we can build those strong foundation skills early on, I hope we will be including them in their general education classrooms more and more by the end of the year. This will give us time to slowly scaffold them into the larger setting.

For each child it has not been an easy decision. At times I have listened to the parents and the preschool teachers discuss the child's strengths and needs at the IEP and truly wondered what placement would be best. Would this child benefit from the language models in the general education room, or is the smaller placement more beneficial? It became a weighty responsibility- deciding what would be best for each child. I also had to carefully examine my own motives. Do I want this child in a non-cat class because I want to work with them? I was pushing for Pixie to be included for a week or so before I realized that there was no reason for Pixie to be in the class- it would only be for my needs and not for hers.

In the end the class will have 10 children. 7 rising kinders who I transitioned over the past year, 2 rising first graders I worked with last year and will equally benefit from the small environment, and then Magical, who will be repeating kindergarten because of all he missed due to his illness.

I cannot wait.  Of course, I am disappointed that this class overlaps with another huge change in my life. If only it was a year earlier or a year later. I hate that I will be out on maternity leave at the very beginning of this new adventure. But sometimes we can't control timing and I have an amazing long-term sub. I will also be starting with my class in August, and will have them 2 weeks, 3 hours a day, to get us use to our routines and to one another before I abandon them for Baby Lipstick.

finding the end

It's hard to believe that we only have one more day of school and then this year is over. Between focusing on getting ready for my new role next year, trying to wrap my head around being gone for maternity leave, and just finishing up paper work from this year I haven't actually sat down to process that this year is over. My year of Pixie, PJ, and Magical has ran its course. I have to say goodbye.

It's almost hard to remember that this fall was a part of this year. As much as we loved PJ our school wasn't the best place for him, and it was a long 9 weeks of keeping him safe. We lived on such a different schedule then- everyday we came in on edge ready to react to anything that could come while trying to be as proactive as we could. Then he left and our classroom suddenly felt empty. We still see him in the hallways because he comes to our school for after-school care, and we love getting hugs from him and seeing his bright smile. He's doing really well at his new school.

A few weeks after PJ left we found out Magical was sick. I remember slowly crumpling onto the floor as I talked to his mother on the phone when she first gave us the news- I just could not understand how such a little person could be so, so sick. We walked around in a daze for the next few days feeling powerless and small. In our classroom we get to be the queens, but outside in the world it is scary to realize how little control we had. Lots of hospital visits calmed us down and let us know that Magical was going to be OK, although he had a long road ahead of him. In February, once he was home from the hospital we became his home-bound teachers and Mrs. Partner-in-Crime and I took turns going to his house everyday after school to read, write, draw pictures, and cram whatever part of the kindergarten curriculum we could into the hour he had the stamina for. Magical's doing well now and we're excited for him to join us again in the Fall.

Pixie of course remained a steady part of the year- everyday with her made us laugh. Even today, when she arrived in a candy-corn style salsa dress and desperately tried to jump in the rain puddles during the fire drill we couldn't help but absolutely love her. At one point we tried to retain her, but eventually realized that she would be fine in first grade, we really just wanted to keep her for ourselves.

The other children have been amazing and memorable as well. My kindergarten boyfriend who flirted with me until he found out I was pregnant and he ditched me to flirt with the unborn baby. My amazing morning group that became a tight friendship circle and brought out the best in one another. My readers who begged me for new books anytime they saw me, even if it was on the playground.  It's been such an incredible year.

Tomorrow I'll say goodbye to my kinders but also to the graduating 5th graders as well.  The last class of first graders I taught as a classroom teacher are moving on. It's hard to believe that after next year there will not be any students at our school that remember me as their main teacher. Watching them become fifth graders has been empowering as well.  They were actually my class when I first started this blog back in May 2007. They were an amazing class- there was never a dull moment. That was the year I was "poisoned" by hand sanitizer by a student, had a student bring in a raw egg and break it on the table during math workshop, I got married, a child threw chairs at me numerous times, and of course when I fell in love with my smart cookie. Ironically looking back at my blog posts from then apparently when I was engaged they all assumed I was also pregnant, so to throw a little mental math at them I told them I would be pregnant when I was 30 and asked them how many years they would have to wait before I had a baby. Apparently I kept to that promise.  I just can't believe it has been 4 years since they left my classroom as small, budding readers. Now they walk confidently around our school was rock-star fifth graders.

Don't get me wrong- I'm ready for summer. I'm ready for relaxing by the pool and sleeping in (it may be my last chance to sleep in for a long, long time) but I'm going to miss this year. I had great kids, great co-workers,  and a supportive administration. What more could a girl ask for?

Magical!

Magical came to visit the classroom today. It was the first time the class had seen him since he left us in the beginning of December when he was diagnosed with cancer. Partner-in-crime has done an amazing job of sending the message to the class that he is still a big part of the class and they frequently ask about him and what to know how he is doing. We tried to prep them yesterday for the visit, warning them that he would look different and asking them to do what is so hard for any five year- keep their shock and thoughts about how he looks to themselves. We practiced saying the phrase, "looking good!" if we feel like we need to comment on how he has changed. Still. Partner-in-crime and I were a bit worried about how it would go. Magical was excited to come visit, but if anyone made him feel bad it might make him hesitant to come back to school in the fall.

We were at a meeting when he arrived so by the time we made it to the classroom he was already sitting in his old seat eating snack with the class like he belonged there. He was beaming with happiness as his friends bounced around him, asking him questions and showing off new additions to the classroom. He remembered all our rules and may have been the only one who froze with the quiet signal when he heard the bell. He went straight back to his old seat on the rug and giggled through singing silly songs and reading Gerald and Piggy books. It was so, so good to have him back, if only for an hour. We have been going to his house for about an hour a day for home-bound instruction. We have watched him have a long, hard winter. It was amazing to watch him happily interacting with friends again in age appropriate ways. No five year old should have to suffer like he has.

Of course, leave it to Pixie to give the defining moment of the visit. She popped over to him, touched his arm and looked in his eyes. "Magical," she said in her most serious voice, "you fight those bad germs. Fight them!" Magical just grinned. It's what he's been doing all along.

If only we could all move to Australia...

Spring fever has unmistakably hit the think tank. There is not a child inside who does not seem to be infected by the wiggles. Even the shiest rule followers seem to be forgetting themselves and are being caught calling out in class or even, gasp, skipping down the hallway. It has been a long week.

Pixie was holding it together fairly well for herself, all things considering, until yesterday. When presented with a guided reading book about a frog playing in the mud she lost it. "I don't want to read that book!" she declared, slamming the book on the table. "I won't read it! This is a terrible, horrible day!" (we recently read Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.) She managed to read all but one page when she became overcome with emotion again. Her eyes filled with tears and her lower lip wobbled as she again announced how much she hated the book, how much she hated school, what a horrible day it was, and how she wished she had missed the bus. I ignored most of this and in the end she read the last page with long, dramatic sighs. She finished just in time to head to lunch with her class where she announced on the way that she was moving to Australia.

Thirty minutes before the day ended the office called to ask if we could send Pixie down for an early dismissal. The minute she heard this she wailed, "but I don't want to go home! I'll miss all the fun, I hate missing all the fun!" It took me twenty minutes to get her to walk down the hallway to the office. I am sure anyone that passed us thought I was forcing her to march to her one death.

That afternoon I went to see Magical. Our hour of work wrapped up and when I told him I had to leave he looked hurt. "But I still need you!" he announced. Then catching himself he quickly changed his tune. "you have to go now," he said, "I am very busy. I have a very busy schedule this afternoon. I have to shower and eat dinner and watch tv and cuddle with my mom and talk to my brother and play on the iPad and go to sleep. I do not have time for you."

In the upper grades I think spring fever shows up in the way of general misbehavior. In kindergarten it comes out through a lack of all logic and reasoning. Which may be why I love my job so much.

at a loss

On Friday I worked with Magical after school. At the end of our session his mom mentioned that they had something they wanted to talk to me about. Magical's been angry, she explained, and when he gets angry he is very mean to his family. She wanted us all to talk about it so that we could help Magical work on using nice words and controlling his anger. She mentioned that the doctors call it "chemo brain" when he and other patients like him become unreasonably or illogically angry.  I've seen his outbursts myself and can only imagine what it would be like to watch a child struggle with chemo day in and day out while overflowing with anger. Anyone would be angry. Some days I look at Magical and get angry too- not at him but at the situation and the world. How it it fair?

Helping children manage their anger is something I do (or at least try to do) frequently. But I've never been in a situation quite like this before. I've worked with children who had very, very good reasons to be angry, but somehow even those situations seem different. Those children still had moments of childhood during their day. They had friends and could run on the playground, and their bodies were not being pumped full of chemicals. 

I'm also use to giving discipline advice to parents. Yet that's usually for strong willed active children or impulsive little ones. One, Two, Three Magic isn't quite what this situation calls for. I can think of ideas and suggestions, but are they even appropriate?  I have no idea what Magical and his family are going through. Part of me is scared to make assumptions. Tell them to give him choices? He gets a lot of choices during the day. Insist on him using  a gentle voice? I've seen him become some unreasonably angry I'm not sure how he'll respond to redirection when he's upset. He stops seeing logic at a certain point. Ignore it and not react? Can you ignore a cancer patient screaming for food? When I'm there he responds to my redirection or my reminders telling him to use a gentle voice. But I'm there for two hours a week. I'm a change in his day, a friend stopping by. I don't think it has to do with me, but simply that I am a break from the mundane. 

I've been thinking about the family all weekend, wracking my brain for resources and recommendations to bring over. Do any of you have any advice? Any experience working with children cancer patients and how they emotionally react to chemo? 

Windows into their worlds

One of my favorite times during the school day is writing workshop. I love it because it gives you a tiny window into the children's little worlds- it's a chance to see what is really important to the kids you teach and hear about what they've been doing. Many times, especially in the warmer months, we get tired of hearing the stories about going to the park or the pool- over and over and over again. Still, that's what they did over the weekend that was important to them, and it's nice to listen to them chatter on excitedly about visiting playgrounds with their parents.

Magical's stories are also a window into his world, but I find myself wishing to hear about visiting the park or Chuck-E-Cheese for Magical's sake. With his chemo treatments and the lack of family resources his world is his apartment and the hospital, and that's it. Even within his apartment his world is his couch, his tv, and his food. On Friday afternoon he excitedly told a story about his dinner one night. On the first page he drew the dinner- it was all ready for him. On the second page he drew the bathroom- before he could eat dinner he needed to go to the bathroom. On the third page he drew himself on the couch- after the bathroom he was too tired for dinner so he slept while his food waiting for him on a table by the couch. On the fourth page he drew himself eating dinner- when he woke up his food was still there so he was able to eat it after his nap.

Magical found nothing sad about this story, in fact, he was thrilled that he was able to wake up and have his dinner ready for him. I tried to get caught up in his excitement as we went over his drawings and his story. It wasn't until I left his apartment that the utter sadness of the situation hit me. To most kindergartners that would be a very uneventful story- not to mention that it wouldn't even have happened because they wouldn't be too tired after a bathroom trip to eat. To Magical, it was the most notable thing about his day.

 Yet all this means that Magical is getting better day by day. The chemo is doing what it needs to do, and one day Magical will be able to return to us. When he's back hopefully we'll have more exciting stories- typical five year old "I went to the park" stories we'll eventually get tired of hearing. I can't wait.

I heart my job

In the midst of the excitement of walking around the bright red fire truck that came to visit for fire safety week one of my little ones exclaimed, "When I grow up, I want to be a FIRE TRUCK!"

**  **  **

Magical is too sick to return to school this year but partner-in-crime and I agreed to deliver his home-bound services. We take turns going to his house every night to read books, work on patterning skills, counting, writing his letters, and all the other fun kindergarten activities he's missing out on.

Yesterday we got to the end of a Piggy and Gerald book and Magical was in a great mood. He'd giggled over all Piggy & Gerald's silly antics, predicted what would happen next, and gasped when his predictions came true. I turned the last page to reveal the end pages, where, if you are familiar with Mo Willem's books, there is always one picture of the Pigeon hidden amongst the other illustrations. Most kids LOVE finding the Pigeon in Mo's non-pigeon books and act as though they just broke a cryptic code for the CIA when they spot the Pigeon where he doesn't belong.

Not Magical.

Magical waved his finger at the pigeon and shouted, "That LIAR bird!  THAT SNEAKY LIAR BIRD!  I HATE THAT BIRD.  I HATE HIM.  He doesn't go there. He's always where he doesn't belong. He needs to stay in HIS OWN BOOKS!  SNEAKY LIAR BIRD"

Magical's mother, who had no idea who the pigeon was or why Magical was so upset looked horrified. I quickly closed the book to remove the offending bird from sight and asked Magical if he'd like me to bring a Pigeon book next time so he could see the Pigeon where he belonged.

"Yes. He needs to go back to where he belongs." he agreed solemnly, and we quickly moved on to our next activity that did not involve any sneaky-liar pigeons.

~~  ~~  ~~

In the midst of a very exciting game of Around the World Pixie could not stay in her seat. She bounced up and down so much that I ended sitting behind her to give her gentle reminders to stay seated. She responded to my prompts immediately but would quickly forget and would try to scurry across the carpet to see the flash cards on the other side.
The little girl sitting beside us whispered to me, "Mrs. Lipstick, it's like you're training a puppy."

I was initially horrified by this observation. What am I doing to poor Pixie that makes another child think of training a puppy??  But the more I thought about it she's kind of right. Pixie is just SO EXCITED by everything that she gets ahead of herself. She wants to do the right thing, but she forgets. It probably is like being with an excitable puppy who wants to please but is so overcome with excitement that she needs reminders.

Regardless, I'm going to carefully watch how I interact with Pixie to be sure it's not dog-training-like. I'm not using any method with her that I wouldn't use with another child, it's just a lot more frequent. We're not doing ABA or rewarding her with treats or anything that makes me think of puppy-training. Still, I absolutely do not want to be giving the other students the impression that Pixie is a pet, pet-like, or needs to be trained like one.

Magical's (1st?) Christmas

On Christmas eve Mr Lipstick and I were headed out to see my parents but we first stopped to visit Magical in the hospital. We arrived just as volunteers came to take him to see Santa. We followed behind Magical as he walked down the hospital corridor with his IV trailing behind him. As we past some sort of other portable medical machine Magical stopped to check it out. "I want this one!" he announced, already losing interest in Santa's visit with his machine-fascination. We marched on, eventually finding Santa waiting just for Magical. As we walked in he ho-hoed and welcomed Magical by name. Magical wasn't overly impressed. This might be the first year Magical has ever celebrated Christmas seeing that his family traditionally celebrates Ead at the end of Ramadon. Magical eyed the large man in red skeptically. He barely let us take his picture- his eyes nervously jumping back and forth to each adult, looking for reassurance that this large, red man wasn't suddenly going to kidnap him.
I was amazed at the generosity and organization volunteers brought together for the children on the oncology ward. We arrived prepared to be saddened by children stuck inside a hospital room on Christmas Eve but instead found happiness and excitement. None of the adults were truly relaxed but the children seemed to be carrying the holiday spirit with them. Magical was excited by the visitors, vast amount of sponge bob gifts, and the attention. Although he wasn't sold on Santa or the confusion of being handed gift after gift by volunteers he was in great spirits.
What's struck me most though on every visit I've had with Magical is his appreciation for pictures and news from school. On Christmas Eve he sat in his bed, surrounded by new toys clutching a class picture we'd brought him. Despite the piles of sponge bobs at his feet his attention went from friend to friend, naming each as he went, ignoring all the adults chatting away about the holiday around him.

wrap around services

One of my former co-teachers from when I was a classroom teacher sent me a clip of Arne Duncan. (A minute on this awesome-former-co-teacher- she's who I try to be as a sped teacher, and I keep trying to get her to come back to the think-tank... )
Back to the clip...  I have my own issues with Arne and am frequently frustrated by him and the way the Department of Ed is going, but occasionally I hear him say something that is dead right. He manages to do that a few times in this clip. 
One of the issues he talks about is the need for wrap-around services for our kids. He acknowledges that what our children from poverty need isn't just fabulous schools but also quality health care and good early intervention. Can I get an Amen?

This week I've found myself thinking over and over again about how much our children need access to good quality health care. In the craze of the health care debate last year I realized that nothing that was being debated was going to make any difference to the kids I teach. No matter how much we pay to give people health care and insurance it doesn't magically make it easier for our families to go to the doctor. It doesn't magically mean the doctors will listen careful to the parents' concerns and give a thoughtful diagnosis. It doesn't mean that our parents will suddenly learn how to read the directions for giving their children medication, or will easily be able to get off work when their children are sick. It does not free up a doctor's schedule so our children can quickly get the care they need when they need it.

Over the years I've run into so many children whose pediatricians have utterly ignored parents' very valid concerns. Children who should have been referred to Child-Find and yet were not because the doctor overlooked many of their developmental delays and told the parents that the child was "normally developing" when in fact they were not. I don't know how many kindergarten children have come through our doors with severe delays and every time the parents told us that the doctors said they were fine, despite the fact that the parents themselves were gravely concerned. In many of these cases if the children would have received early intervention they could have caught up with their peers by kindergarten, or at least greatly increased their verbal abilities.

This week one of my co-teachers and I sat down with a family to share our concerns for their little five year old (not Magical, this is another child all together) and learned that the family shared the same concerns. The parents had taken him to the doctor twice because he's stopped eating, only to have the doctor say he was fine and refuse to run any tests. The five year old has lost significant amounts of weight and yet the doctor would not give the parents the time of day to run the tests. We had to write a letter from the school stating our concerns in order to back the parents up. This happens time and time again. I cannot tell you how many of these letters I have written begging doctors to simply listen to the parents. It's not an overly-worried mother, there are true concerns.

Do the pediatricians see our parents as immigrants with no common sense or second class citizens?  Do they look at our parents come through the doors and make broad assumptions that keep them from truly diagnosing our children? If we are held to standards to meet every one's needs in the school system why are the doctors not held do the same standard?

Don't even get me started on how difficult it is to get our children in to see a neurologist. We basically have to sign them up for clinical trials so that they have access to brain scans and the doctors.

And it's not just the doctors' fault. Many of our parents do not have cars and have to rely on the bus to get them to and from the doctor- something you do not want to do in the winter with a sick child. Many of them do not get paid if they take the day off to work and many work 7 days a week just to pay the rent. They want to make sure their child is really sick before they sacrifice a day's pay to go to the doctor (who may or may not listen to their concerns). Many are fearful of questioning anyone in authority and so do not ask the doctor any questions when they are concerned.

The combination of all these factors leads our children to suffer through something as simple as chronic ear infections to something as grave as cancer. Would wrap-around-services change that?

I'd love to have medical clinics walking distance from the subsidized housing most our children live in. I'd love to have medical clinics that have a partnership with the schools, so that we are all working together to support these families. We know these children- we see them daily and develop relationships with their parents- wouldn't it make sense for us to work together with the doctors in some fashion?  To be honest I'm not sure what that would look like, and right now I can hear Mr. Lipstick shuttering at my socialist ideas- but there must be a way to provide wrap-around services that will protect the privacy of our families while also giving them easier access to medical care, allow all the children's care takers to communicate concerns, and allow doctors to see the whole picture behind each of their patients.

sorrow

Magical is sick. Really sick. Hospital sick. 

When we first learned about this I walked around in a fog- I tried to make it through my grad school Christmas party, gossiping about who the good professors were & how to best get through their classes, yet somehow following the conversations. How could someone so little and so magical be so sick?

Yesterday around nine thirty the first flakes started to fall and in the midst of all the kindergarten squeals of delight all I could think was, "this better not interfere with getting to the hospital to visit Magical!"  Usually I am leading the snow dance. 

Partner-in-crime had our class hurriedly make cards for him and we rushed off, braving the snow & the drivers in our area who seem to panic at the first snow flake. As we approached the door to his room we could hear his happy voice chatting away with the nurse, and as we entered we were greeted by his happy squeal of, "My teachers!"  

Wow, I love that kid.

He ignored the gifts we'd brought him but analyzed the pictures his friends drew- "they miss me?" he asked, over and over. "They miss me?"  

"I am not there" he told us, "I am not there. I am in the "not here" chart. I am not in my class. I am lost." 

When we got up to leave, explaining we had to make sure the kids all go home safely since it was a two-hour delay he looked straight at Partner-in-Crime and said, "You need to go back to my friends! You need to be in class!"  wanting to make sure his friends were taken care of too.

Seeing him all happy and perky was a magnificent gift, but I still cannot get him and his illness out of my mind. Partner-in-crime and I are both still like ghosts, our bodies walking around but we're not really in them. How can any of this be true?  How can we return to our happy children in class pretending everything is going to be ok?  And we feel all of this for a child we've known for 4 months. Our crippling agony of knowing he is sick is nothing compared to his family's. I've felt sorrow like this for children before- homeless children, or abused children. I've felt the sick-to-my-stomach-can't-have-a-conversation-depression for children but many times I can put my angry toward someone- the abuser- the landlord who faked legal documents that led to the family being ousted from housing- even child services when they don't remove a child from the home before something horrid occurs. But in this case my anger has nowhere to go. Sickness happens. 

Today we have a two-hour delay and I hope by the time the children hike to school, knocking the snow off their shoes and giggling about snow men, sledding, and their snow-adventures simply reaching the school door I'll have my kindergarten-happy face on. For now all I can ask is to keep Magical and his family in your prayers!

really?

Me:  Magical, this is a numeral 3. Can you find the card with 3 dots?

Magical:  Hmmmmmmm

Long pause

Magical:  HMMMMMMMM

Me: this is the numeral 3. Can you find the card with 3 dots?

Magical: (moves hand toward the cards and then stops suddenly while making an electrical dying noise) oh no! My computer just died. The batteries are dead. I have to recharge. Can't find it 'til I recharge.

Me:  Guess what?  I have the secret power of being able to re-charge kids!  Ready?

I put my hands over his head and made some noises.

Me: All re-charged.  Now, this card has the numeral 3. Which card has 3 dots?

Magical:  Oh no! My hair is too long, I can't see, I can't see- my hair is falling in my eyes, oh no, oh no.

Me:   Why don't I help you?

I pull his bangs back (which are not long at all and are no where near his eyes).

Me: There, now find it.

Magical:  Here it is. 3 dots. Phew, that was a close one.

****  really? Some days I think it is amazing that my head does not literally explode. ***

*it's friday*

Monday afternoon we sat down to hold an IEP meeting for our friend with the magical stroller. A lot of people were involved and there was a large agenda so as the meeting began we settled in, knowing we'd likely be there for a few hours. Magical, of course, had joined us at the meeting since it was held after school hours and we were the only option for child care.

For the first half hour he sat on the floor, surrounded by toys, crayons, and paper, glaring at me. I've never been glared at by Magical before, so I wasn't sure what was happening. It was one of those one-eyed glares, more like a stink-eye, as though he was letting me know he was watching me and he wasn't thrilled with what he saw.

Then right around the half hour mark the robot showed up. And we proceeded to have the rest of the meeting ignoring the fact that Magical was lively engaged in games with his robot. Do you have any idea how hard it is to seriously go over the legal wording of a Free and Appropriate Public Education, or the Least Restrictive Environment, while trying to ignore the fact that a magical robot is carrying on with one of your students? Yet none of us blinked an eye.

Somehow, to us it became normal.

Which leads me to question not Magical's sanity but ours.

It's meetings like that that make me love my job even more. Because without a magical robot, a meeting really is just a dreadfully boring meeting.

All in a day

Since I'm headed off to Boston for the Learning & Brain conference today was my last day with PJ.  Although it had sweet & endearing PJ moments it also included PJ telling me to "shut up", calling me stupid, and hiding from me on the playground while sticking his tongue out at me between screams. Lovely. Somehow none if it phased me though- perhaps at this point it's all par for the course, or perhaps it was knowing it was the last day.
I gave him his very own copy of PJ Funny Bunny. I'm going to miss that kid.

Outside of PJ today seemed to be one of those days filled with children being completely honest with their questions, expressions, and excitement. It was one of those days where you remember why we teach.

~~  ~~  ~~
I sat with one of my higher reading groups today prompting them to think about whether or not what they are reading makes sense. All four little girls are extremely high readers for kindergarten, but they mainly just sound-out the words since that's all they'd been taught to do by their parents. Today, however, I prompted them to stop and think "Hey brain, does that make sense?" if they read something that sounded a bit off, or if they struggled with a word.
One little girl didn't need a prompt, but she over heard me discussing this strategy with her friend. As she neared the end of the book she clearly decided to try the strategy out herself. "WOW!" she exclaimed, "THIS makes SENSE!"  she read it again just to be sure.
"Hey, this one too!" she read the next sentence. "This makes sense! That's what we'd say if we were talking!"

and that my friends, is why we teach children to read for comprehension in kindergarten. No one should be that shocked to discover the words on the page make sense...


~~  ~~  ~~
My magical-stroller friend was having another amazing day today. As we went out for our math group he began running up and down the hallway, twirling in circles with his hands flowing out at either side. He'd turn his body so he was leading with his right leg and then his left. "Magical!" I redirected him, "Go back and walk." so he did, but he continued his dance, just very slowly. For a moment I stopped and pondered whether or not I should ask.
"Ice skating" he explained. "Very dangerous. Very dangerous. But I go so fast. And then they'll throw me up high and I'll twirl, and flip. Then I fell. Very dangerous." He went on, but he was "skating" away from me as he spoke.
 Later on the playground he asked me if I could see his robot. When I reminded him his robot is not allowed at school he just pointed. "But he's right there" he said, "He's at school."

~~  ~~  ~~
Today we sat down as a class in the cafeteria for the "Thanksgiving luncheon" which entails processed turkey smothered in mass produced gravy, mashed potatoes made from flakes and water, and some truly horrendous green beans I can never bring myself to eat.
As my kindergarten friends dove into the turkey one of them looked at me inquiringly. "How do they cook the turkey?" he asked, "Do they saw it up?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do they saw it up?"
"Ummm...  they put the turkey in the oven." was all I could go with.
"Oh. for how long?" he asked as if he was going to go home and cook a turkey.
"Maybe 4 hours." (I have no idea- I've never cooked a turkey.
"Oh." he said, nodding. "So they saw up the turkey and then put it in the oven for 4 hours?"
I could almost see the mental picture he was making in his head of exactly how they'd sliced up the live turkey and then stuck him in the oven for 4 hours only to produce slices of meat.

~~  ~~  ~~
PJ was having a difficult time coming inside from music today. Since our music is in trailers by the playground PJ ended up curled up by a brick wall next to our playground. Some of our 4th graders came over to see what was up. To keep them from giving PJ too much attention I tried to chat them up by asking what they were learning in 4th grade.
"Oh, we're learning about James Town." they explained, as though it was the most boring thing in the world. "But," one went on, "did you know that in Jamestown they had slaves?" and she went on to tell me about the slave trade as though she was telling me about the horrid gossip from trashy tv the night before. She was horrified and seemed to really believe she was explaining something brand new to me. "Can you believe it?" was all I could say. How do you nod and accept slavery as though it's a common fact when someone is clearly filled with horror from learning about it for the first time.

~~  ~~  ~~
This morning in our language group Pixie burped. Loudly.
PJ gasped.
"That" he stated, "is disgusting"
"OH, sorry" Pixie said.

When PJ is gone who will keep Pixie in line??

some days simply are amazing

amazing in that 'I can't believe this is my life' sort of way.

It's been a long week. Actually, it's been a string of long weeks all backed into each other. Mr. Lipstick has informed me that my nightly teeth grinding hit a new level a few weeks ago, and I know I wake up with my jaw hurting. It certainly has been a challenging fall.

I was barely making it through Friday, going through the paces of the day, trying to be productive and not make any glaring mistakes. During math I settled in beside my friend with the magical stroller to play a number sense matching game. We started out working at his table, but when I realized he was a bit distracted by the other kids I moved us to the floor. Something about the move to the floor changed everything. Suddenly he wasn't just a little distracted, he was extremely distracted. But not by anything apparent. In fact, he kept stopping mid-sentence while talking to me to turn to his side and mumble words.
Finally I had to ask, "Are you talking to someone?"
"My robot" he informed me, mater of factly. "He's trying to talk to me. He's right over there." and he pointed under the table where we were sitting.

I took a moment and considered this. When I was teaching my smart cookie she started the year bringing her imaginary friend to school. Having been a child with imaginary friends myself, and having gotten in trouble in preschool for yelling at a real friend who sat on my imaginary friend, perhaps I have a soft spot for imaginary friends. With my smart cookie I simply informed her she was no longer allowed to bring her imaginary friend to school. The friend has to go to his own imaginary school, where he could have an imaginary teacher and imaginary friends. Being smart enough to pick up the fact I was playing her game along with her this strategy completely worked. Any time she mentioned her imaginary friend I just had to remind her of the rules. Imaginary friends stay at home. I did hear reports that she was late to school because she made her mother drive to the imaginary school to drop off her imaginary friend, but you know, at least he wasn't coming to my classroom anymore.

So I tried this same strategy with my magical-stroller friend.
"Your robot is not allowed to come to school" I said. "Robots stay home."
Stroller-friend looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and then glanced over at the empty space where his robot sat. "Did you hear that?" he asked the empty space. "go home."
Back to me he said, "He didn't go home. He went over there. He's hiding. He'll play with me later. He'll play with me outside." 
"At home." I stated. "He'll play with you at home. Now, this is the number two. Can you find the card with two apples?"
He looked down at the cards for a moment before he paused and tilted his head to the side. "I said GO AWAY" he announced to the air, and then shook a finger.
"Your robot went home." I said, "he' not here."
"No, he's right there" friend argued with me, pointing a table across the room. "He wont go home. He's waiting for me."

Clearly this wasn't working.

"Your robot is pretend and in kindergarten we only have children who are real." I launched into a real/pretend speech for a bit. Friend eyed me suspiciously. Mid-talk he turned and yelled at his robot. "Stop it!" he said. Clearly he did not care one bit if I thought his friend was pretend. He still wasn't going home.

Giving up I returned to the math games hoping I could just distract him, "Find two apples" I prompted. Just as friend was about to count a card with four apples he turned and giggled. "No, robot, not now" he said.

My head exploded.

"If your robot will not stop he is going to be in big, big trouble" I heard myself say, hoping that Friend's empathy would kick in and he wouldn't want his robot to get in trouble. We went back to math for a moment before once again Friend turned to his robot to whisper.

And now I had to punish the robot. The imaginary robot. I'd given him a warning, and now I had to follow through.

"Robot!" I heard myself saying not even realizing I wasn't speaking to a real human being, "GO HOME. No robots in school!  Friend has to do his math" and at that I got up and opened the door. Partly to pretend I was sending the robot home, partly so I could laugh out loud in the hallway. This was ridiculous. I'd just yelled at an imaginary friend.

The robot might have been imaginary, but my frustration toward the robot certainly was real.

When I re-entered the classroom, having assured myself that I was not going crazy, I found Friend happily chatting away with his robot. After several more attempts to get back to our math game Friend and I ended up walking to the office. Not because Friend was in trouble, although if I'd let it go on any longer I was worried he would be. I figured that 1)  I needed a walk before I started yelling at an imaginary robot again 2) Our amazing administration needed a good Friday afternoon laugh and 3) maybe, maybe hearing the "bosses" say that the robot was not allowed in school would hit home.

It didn't.



I think I bit my lip so hard it almost bled. As we walked back to class I felt myself relax for the first time in weeks. Robot just reminded me of exactly how much I love my job.

the magical stroller

I have a very special friend this year who has a magical stroller.

 Yes, you read that correctly.

A stroller.

That is magically.

Does this not sound like the beginning of an amazing children's book?  But no, it is not a work of fiction. We have a friend with a magical stroller. Like Calvin and Hobbs, but instead of a tiger Hobbs has wheels, a seat, and handle bars.

We were first introduced to the stroller at our open house. We were a bit concerned that a five year old was still using a stroller, but when he explained he needed to bring it to open house with him because it talked to him and told him things we stopped asking questions. Sometimes it doesn't help to question.

When his mother comes pick him up on afternoons when the weather is exceptionally nice, she sometimes brings the stroller with her. Our friend doesn't get into the stroller, but he pushes it home, talking to it as he goes. Who knows what special tidbits he's sharing with the stroller from his day, or, what adventures the stroller is sharing with him.

At our home visit a few weeks ago we asked what sorts of toys he likes to play with and his mother laughed, "Oh, his favorite" she explained, "is his stroller".
He immediately ran and got it for us. And then, right there, his stroller became a vacuum cleaner. He starting vacuuming the rug, but suddenly his vacuum broke. So he had to unplug it from the wall, turn it over, investigate the inner workings, get a screw driver, fiddle with some things, turn it back up right, plug it back into the wall, turn it on to test it, and then fix it again, all the while narrating his vacuum adventures with expression and concern that it may never be fixed. Finally he plugged it back into the wall and it worked! He cheered, we cheered, and we watched as he vacuumed the rest of his apartment.

The entire experience was incredible. Throughout his whole stroller/vacuum interactions we continued with the conference, fully aware that a full-out drama was being performed in front of us, yet also fully aware that it was certainly not for our benefit. He barely looked at us as he went about cleaning the floors, clearly this was a typically afternoon play scheme for him.

I've got to admit, as far as magical toys go, a stroller is pretty great. Not quite as comfy to cuddle with as a stuffed bear, or as easy to transport like a small blankey,  but it really does open the imagination to so many more possibilities.  I'm kind of jealous I didn't have a magical stroller when I was a kid...