November 16, 2010 by Marj Hatzell
IEP month is winding down and everything is pretty much set and ready to go. Bugaboo’s teacher sent home a draft so we could look it over ahead of time (I love it when they have their act together like this because it saves SO MUCH TIME at the meeting!HOLLAH!) and make sure we agreed with the goals. You know, to be sure they are appropriate and whatnot.
We agree with the goals.
They are appropriate.
It’s just hard to swallow that the goals are appropriate.
See, Bugaboo is working on things like, “request bathroom” and “identify letters in his name” and “increase color recognition from 60%” and “will decrease self-injurous behavior(biting) from 7 to less than 3 bites per day” and it’s just...haaaaaard.
Hard because Bug Boy at this age was reading on a 7th grade level. And capable of doing high school algebra.
Hard because most kids Bugaboo’s age are riding two-wheelers, beating the crap out of each other in their backyards and getting big, fat holes in their pants when they fall on the sidewalk.
Hard because almost-eight-year-olds these days are into soccer/football/tennis/golf/hockey/insert sport here.
It’s just hard. As well as he is doing and as awesome as his school is? I sometimes wish that we didn’t know all of those amazing, fabulous, wonderful people there because Bugaboo would be going to our neighborhood school and would be friends with my friends’ almost-eight-year-olds and we’d be shuffling to soccer instead of therapy and we’d be buying him video games and books and magnetix and marble runs for Christmas and birthday instead of one, big, fat sensory toy out of a special needs catalog.
And don’t get me started on diapers and potty training and the fact that I’m still steaming carpets on a regular basis because of it.
I know, I know. He’ll develop at HIS pace. He’ll do it in HIS time, not everyone else’s. Don’t compare him to Bug Boy because it’s comparing apples to oranges. Sports aren’t the most important thing in the world. Etc, etc, blah, blah, BLAH.
It’s still hard.
I love who he is. I love that he is happy. And he’s making progress. And this weekend? One of the easiest ones yet. Tonight? Calm and happy. In bed on time, sleeping much better, cooperative, no biting himself, ate well. Went bowling at a bowling alley for a birthday and he LOVED it and cooperated and listened and didn’t completely lose it or run away a hundred times or run up and down the oily lanes (yes, he’s done that. Ask me how much fun it is to get him back from the pin setters). He’s doing better. He is better. We are better for it.
But it’s still hard.
I want to hear his voice. I want him to read something to me. I want to hear him sing, off key, just like his Pop Pop and Dad. I want him to argue with me and stomp his feet and slam his door and tell me I’m the meanest mommy ever (well, he DOES stomp his feet and slam his door. We’re halfway there). I don’t think it’s unrealistic. I’m not wishing for anything. I’m hoping.
Hoping that someday it won’t be so hard.