love

At the end of each day I put one of my students on the bus and strap him into his seat. After I've given him his "high five for a great day" and am heading down the stairs he almost always calls out, "I love you, Ms. Lipstick."

And no matter how tired and stressed and overwhelmed I am my heart melts a bit.

It's at that exact moment that I know I have the best job in the world.

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. 

Say: Good Morning Students!

For 8 years I protected my students from teacher manuals. Every lesson I taught was based on what I observed the students doing, what I wanted them to be able to do, and the skills I knew they needed to get from where they were to where we were going. They were not half hearted lessons- everything was plotted out and analyzed from the intentional language I used with the children to the specific materials. In so many ways lesson planning (especially if it is co-planning) is my favorite part of teaching- creating the lesson plans, analyzing the skills, putting it all together so that children are able to learn.

I love looking at my data, analyzing where my kids are and plotting my next steps. It's creating a road map for student success.

Unfortunately, in special ed, I'm learning that the system of letting the teacher plan out the lessons is not how we roll.

I began to learn this last year but it was just in reading. I didn't like it, but I could see the value in bits and pieces. I could see how it was taking away some of my thoughtfulness as a teacher and in turn making my instruction less student focused.

This year it's a whole new ballgame- every subject has a program and is scripted. Even science. I find it physically painful to be forced to use a teacher manual. As though I'm not capable enough of determine what to teach when- or- for our scripted lessons- what to SAY when.

What did you hire me to do?

Apparently to read and turn pages.

Since I don't actually get a planning time or a chance to sit down with my team I can see where the scripted lessons have some value. Apparently special education teachers aren't expected to have time to plan, so instead we can just turn the pages of the manual. We're in the "don't think, just do" category of teachers. If we've been hired to be warm bodies in the classroom then nobody needs to worry about what we teach if they just give us a scripted lesson.

I began our scripted science curriculum on Tuesday. I dove into the lesson head first. It is my first year teaching students with intellectual disabilities. Who knows, maybe the lesson would actually rock. People spent a lot of time and effort creating it- it should be awesome, right?

I tried. I really did.  I read the script. I turned the pages. I spoke when it told me to speak and I waited for student responses when it said to listen for student responses.

When I looked up from the manual I was faced with the yawns and glazed-over eyes of my poor students desperately trying to pay attention. It was the first time I can honestly say I saw them bored. Even my aid was yawning.

The next day I taught the concepts but threw in my own spin and actual lesson. It went better- less yawning, more participating.

Today, after realizing the experiment they'd so nicely scripted out for us did not actually work, I created my own lesson. Much, much better.

I understand that special ed can be a scary place because of the legal ramifications  I understand that legally school districts get scared of what their teachers are doing and it is easier to give scripted "research based" programs instead of asking teachers to use their professional judgement. When we do that, if kids don't learn what they need to learn we can all shrug our shoulders and say, "Well, we gave them a research based program". It takes away some of the scary unknown of letting a teacher decide how best to approach a subject of a student. It makes everything nice and easy- literally fitting into a box that can be taken from room to room.

As teachers we are better than scripted teaching program and our kids deserve more than programs that encourage us to not think about what we're doing. The general education kids get teachers who are thoughtful about their teaching. While still teaching standards those teachers are trusted to analyze and plan their own instruction. They are able to get together as a team and decide how best to approach teaching a topic. They are given the task of bringing everyone to a certain level by using their professional wisdom. Why can't the special education students be given the same courtesy?

Why can't children with special needs to given teachers who also plan, collaborate, analyze, and are deliberately thoughtful about instruction?

Books, books, and more books...

OK, so I might have spent almost $100 on books this weekend. But in my defense, just look at everything I got! Our rainy Sunday turned into an adventure at the Green Valley Book Fair so the $100 includes a $5 big book of Where is the Green Sheep by Mem Fox, along with two copies of every paper back book I could find (paper back books ranged from $1.85-2.50).

My plan is to keep one copy as our classroom text and turn the other copy into a an adapted text. I'm learning a lot about how to adapt books to make them more accessible for students with intellectual disabilities so I'm excited to have two copies of each book to start experimenting. I plan to cut the pages out of the book, laminate them, and then put them in clear paper sleeves in binders so that we can attach board maker icons right into the pages of the book- almost making our own lift the flap books so we can match vocabulary words right in the text. I'm excited to start playing with adapting texts and making them friendlier more interactive. We'll see what I can achieve...

Bipolar Teacher

There may be nothing that makes me feel more bipolar than my job. The highs are oh so high and wonderful- and the lows? Oh my goodness. The lows make me want to run and hide under a rock and never ever come out. Not even for ice cream.

On Thursday I left school with an incredible high. One of my little ones was spontaneously communicating in ways he never had before. He wrote his name for the first time ever- independently- and I just couldn't believe it. Baby steps. Each little step is something, but in this line of work we celebrate every inch. Thursday I finally felt like I belonged right where I was- in this school, in this classroom, with these kids.

But Friday? Friday was a disaster. Friday I felt that I should fire myself as a teacher. The kids would be better off with someone else. My family would be better off if I let this job go. My teeth, oh my poor, grinding teeth. There may be nothing else left after this year.

The day started with realizing that my brand new building was lacking a very important, very expensive computer program that I absolutely had to have to complete extremely important paper work that had a very important deadline. So through emails we all frantically tried to figure out a way for me to run back to the think-tank on my lunch break so I could plug my data into their program. Of course while I'm worried about how I'm going to find coverage, make sub plans, eat lunch, and somehow manage to use this computer program one of my kiddos is having a BAD DAY. And it tends to be that when you have a bad day in my class everyone has a bad day because regulating our emotions is something everyone is working on.

So we are all trying our hardest to survive the BAD DAY. I'm trying to manage the email chain and talk to the adults coming into my room who are dealing with the computer software issue. I am scheduled to have one of the reading specialists come into my room to do a lesson that I am super excited about so I'm trying to keep us on task so that we'll actually be finished with everything we need when she comes in. I finally got one of the assessments that I was suppose to complete in September so I'm also frantically trying to assess everyone of my kiddos (keep in mind that it is a BAD DAY so the assessments are often interrupted with shrieks from across the room). 

I am trying to hold it together and one of my kiddos keeps telling me she's sick. She's very dramatic so I ignore this. Yes, I've learned this lesson a million times. When I was a gen ed teacher I was thrown up on after I denied a child a chance to go to the clinic. But- we all know what happens when you let one kid go to the clinic- the rest of your year is spent trying to figure out whose really sick and whose not sick. The child didn't feel hot- she seemed to be her normal self- so I ignored her request. "Let's see how you feel at snack time" I replied- because if they are still sick at snack time then you know they are really sick.

A child once drew this picture of me. Yep, me. And it is how I felt about myself on Friday.

So yes, at snack time I finally break down and send her. Yep- a fever. So not only did I make that poor girl suffer through reading workshop but I exposed the rest of the class. Teacher. of. the. year. I fire myself.

I manage to make it to and from my old school in minimal time and get the information I need. This means of course that I don't eat my lunch and I don't have time to prep for my afternoon lessons. 

As everyone stares at me from the rug and I wonder what we're going to do next I decided that we'll do some interactive writing because, hey, it keeps us busy and it involves minimal materials. I'm trying to manage the BAD DAY behavior while peppily saying "Hey kids, what sounds do you hear in 'time' Let's stretch it out like a rubber band? OK- ready.... ttttttiiiiiimmmmmm" when OH MY APPLE PIE one of my friends yells out "I hear a T"

I fall over. I didn't know he knew what a T was. I mean, I swear yesterday he saw a T and said "4". 

"Great!" I smile. "What do we hear next?" The same usually quiet and reserved child shouts out, "I" 

And then- "M, like mouse".

In the same moment I want to cry because the BAD DAY is still happening and we all have headaches and I haven't eaten and I have no idea what I'm going to do after we write the word time and I'm overwhelmed and frustrated and I don't feel like I am being the teacher these kids deserve. And yet- my friend matched sounds with letters. HE MATCHED SOUNDS WITH LETTERS. 

It's not even bipolar anymore- it's just confusion and craziness because I no longer know what to feel. The frustration mixes with pride and happiness. I hug my friend and high five everyone. I try not to cry and ignore my growling belly and all my stress.

We. are. learning.

Baby. Steps. 

We can do hard things.

ARGGGHHHHH

I put myself in time out today.

It wasn't pretty. I looked like Trixie in Knuffle Bunny when she can't communicate to her parents that she left her bunny in the washing machine (spoiler alert) and she's pissed because OH MY GOSH how is her father actually not realizing that they left the laundry mat without her special bunny?? Now that my own life is ruled by a "anda" (or panda for those of you who prounce your p's, I honestly don't understand. If you want happiness you immedietely check for 'anda.

Anyway. Yes, I had my own hissy fit.

The best part was that I managed to record it.

I was excited all weekend about finally starting voice thread with my kiddos. I've had it all loaded and ready to go all weekend, just ready for us to retell Mrs. Wishy Washy with all of our excitement. So I gathered everyone at the table, pulled up voice thread and hit record. Or hit what turned out to be 'please record in exactly 90 seconds'. So by the time it actually started recording us it caught"

GRRRRRR  I am SO ANGRY at this computer! What is WRONG with it?

In the midst of my outburst (remember- in front of all my kiddos) voice thread decided to start playing back what I'd recorded. Out of nowhere I hear, "GRRRRR I am SO ANGRY..."

We all fell silent listening to me yell at the computer. I felt their big eyes staring at me, wondering what had happened to their teacher. And so, I realized there was only one answer.

I marched myself to the thinking spot and had them coach me through getting myself back together. What do I do next? Deep breaths? OK. Here I go.

If I'm honest, I needed that break. I needed to take those breaths and calm my body before I did something crazy like throw my computer across the room. There are moments when it is wonderful to be in a place where it is completely socially acceptable to put oneself in time out in order to calm down. Perhaps I should do this more often. Like when I'm getting a list of all the mandated testing required for the month.

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.