Nothing Short of Amazing

When you have a child who qualifies for special education, you get to attend meetings with a number of people, sometimes several times a year. These meetings are called IEPs, for Individualized Education Plans, and they spell out the accomodations your child will recieve through the school system. They can be tedious, intimidating, overwhelming -- or affirmations of joy and a shared sense of purpose.

At an IEP, goals are set in different areas -- academic, social, etc. -- and at the next meeting you go over each goal and determine if it was met. (An example: Thomas will create three sentence paragraphs with minimal help and modeling as observed and reported by teachers and staff by 3/10. When March of 2010 rolls around, papers Thomas has written in class are handed around and we read, "Mommy likes to eat popcorn. Daddy likes to eat popcorn. Megan likes to eat popcorn. I like popcorn." Goal met!) 

When Thomas entered the school system, he was three, and it was only a few months after he was diagnosed with autism.  He began attending a SDC (special day class) preschool that was geared toward meeting his educational, social and theraputic needs. There was a speech therapist who came twice a week to work with the kids; an occupational therapist -- which at first sounds like something to do with a work-related injury, but in fact means helping your child stablize their sensory input so that they can function in the world better -- who came once a week; and an adaptive P.E. teacher, who works with the kids and gets their motor skills up to par. As with a "regular" preschool, Thomas also painted and played with playdough and splashed in water tables, but the focus was on interacting with his peers and with adults, and on communicating. (By the way, this is the same sort of preschool I am now working in, helping children like Thomas... gotta love the circle of life!)

When he entered kindergarten, we had a special transition meeting IEP to discuss the options available. We could choose to send him to a regular ed classroom, with a full-time aide assigned to him; we could choose to have him in the SDC, with an option to go into a regular ed class in the afternoons; or we could choose to send him to a special ed classroom that dealt exclusively with kids with autism.

There are pros and cons to each decision... In a regular classroom he would be overwhelmed with the noise, colors, and sheer numbers of other people in the room. He'd most likely end up needing to leave the classroom on a regular basis, walking around the campus with his aide. In the SDC he'd be in a smaller setting, but it would be "special ed." (Some people have a hard time with that "label," but it IS specialized education, so I have no qualms calling it that. I've never seen labels as something that define; I choose to see them as something that acts as shorthand to give insight.) The specialized classroom for autism ended up being taken off the table because Thomas was "too high functioning" for that particular class, which was for children who were mostly nonverbal, behaviorally challenged, or otherwise more significantly impacted than our son.

We went with the SDC at a regular ed school, and we were happy with the choice. It seemed like a good blend of academics and social opportunities, and we worked closely with the staff to help make Thomas's experience as successful as possible. The teacher was great, his aide was great, and the community within the school was great -- but Thomas challenged everyone. We had to set up a Behavioral Plan (yes, in caps) at a specially-called IEP, and the teacher and aide had to collect data every day to show if Thomas's behaviors were improving under the plan. (They were not.) At one point we had someone in the district say something about "if this is the correct placement for him," and my ears perked up. It turns out there WAS another option, one that had not been apparent to me: a private school, expressly set up for children on the autism spectrum.

This was midway through Thomas's kindergarten year, and while we weren't able to get him into the school for first grade (the primary classroom was at capacity, and the process to get a child enrolled -- through the school district -- takes time), we did get him in for second grade.

Let me tell you now, this has been the absolute best move EVER.

Thomas is thriving at the new school. He's gone through the testing phase, and he's moved into the stage where he trusts and respects the adults around him enough to settle down and do the work set before him. All the goals that were set (based on his classroom performance and assessments) were revised to reflect the "new, improved" Thomas, and to shore up areas that he needs more work.

On the IEP paperwork the school is designated a NPS (Non-Public School), and it is paid for through our local school district, because it has been determined to be the best fit for our child's educational needs.

The school uses all sorts of therapies -- behavioral, occupational, speech, etc. -- in conjunction with specially-trained teachers and staff who all work together to meet the kids' needs. The academics are tailored to each child's level, but they are rigorous -- if sitting and writing a three sentence paragraph is too difficult to do in one sitting, they are commited to finding a way to make the task possible. Maybe they take the child for a brisk walk, or a stimulating swing, or toss a ball back and forth in between sentences. Maybe they let the child sit on a rubbery ball instead of a chair. Maybe they give the child earphones to drown out the background noise and let them focus on the task at hand... The paragraph gets written, but the child's needs are met as well.

At our last IEP we heard glowing reports from all the therpists and teachers, and we shared some fun stories about Thomas -- like how he wanted to skate in the center of the roller rink at classmate C's birthday party, under the disco balls, so he could dance! -- and everyone agreed that this placement was absolutely the best fit possible.

Our son can't run fast enough to get on the bus in the morning, and he comes off the bus happy and calm each afternoon. In between magic happens... and we couldn't be happier.