School

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A New Year and a New Teacher

needs: A new year and a new teacher, reinventing my girl’s wheel.

Teachers and nurses are the angels that keep me afloat. Conveying my girl’s needs in a way that inspires support is a 2-minute MasterChef pressure test. It’s made worse because I still worry about what people think of me. I am focussed on bringing the teacher up to speed and making sure they “get it”. Sadly, that zeal can obstruct the idea that this person, could bring a new map to a well-trodden path. Each new school year holds this terror and this promise.

Sometimes I wish school was like a spin class. You strap your feet into the pedal thingys and whatever speed she barks you pedal, when she says get off the seat – you lunge forward, and when she says give it all you’ve got, you do because you know it won’t last forever. In spin, if you do what you are told, you get to the same place as everyone else. The classroom its full of other kids, all of which have their own needs, and their own parents. There is also a massive range between teachers and their approaches. How my girl survives or thrives in a classroom is dependent on the degree to which her classroom experience is tailored to her needs.

Until Year 2, my girl had been pretty happy at school and then I noticed a gradual change. It began with ripping up work at home, ripping up colouring, and not talking about school. She was happy within the family but reserved outside of it. It was subtle, it wasn’t daily or dominant. We plugged on with readers but our girl became reluctant. Then, maths became a no-go zone. Her head was hung low at drop off and we didn’t know why.

I meet with the teacher (Baroness von Schraeder) and asked for extra worksheets and was told emphatically “No”. The Baroness revealed my girl wasn’t finishing class work. She gestured to a desk which exploded with random papers. The Baroness was vindicated by the chaos- “the unfinished work must be finished in class”. All I could see was a frequent reminder to my girl that she was out of control. When was she going to finish all this work? Would she be given extra time? No. I referred to the reports that indicated she would need extra time to finish some tasks, and finishing tasks was important for her self-esteem. The Baroness rebuffed me with “What reports?”.

Fast forward to Year 3. I walked into the pre-term conference ready to read the reports aloud. I had a classroom plan, and a list of do’s and don’ts and I even had a list of answers to possible questions. I was ready to make sure my girls needs were accommodated. I was an idiot. Mary Poppins had read the reports. Mary Poppins was excited about teaching my girl. I was disarmed as she easily extinguished my concerns and suggested her own strategies. Mary Poppins had a bag of tricks.

By year 4 my girl could understand and verbalise how she was going at school. She began the year buoyantly, riding the wave established by Mary Poppins. The leap in classroom independence was a challenge but she felt important tackling those challenges herself. 6 weeks later and her language about learning changed. “What happens with the things you don’t get right? When is that going to be taught to you?”, “I’m not learning like last year”, “I’m not smart like the other kids.” Then her room and bag began to read like discontinued, unfinished ideas.

We talked about the difficulties and strategies. Our girl came up with some, we came up with some and she agreed we could talk to her teacher (Richard Simmons). Richard agreed to limited accommodations but it was clear that Richard taught one way and it wasn’t suited to our girl. I made sure Richard knew we were prepared to support in any way and we bought a device at his suggestion. Then, we took a step back. We worked out a way to fill her gaps at home. We helped her in a way that was tailored to her needs. Our girl grew to see that if she wasn’t going to keep up in class, she could follow up at home.

My girl has had teachers she has thrived with and teachers she has survived. As a kid with medical and learning needs, she needs a tailored approach to learning. When learning is pushed forward without regard to her needs, the impact is lasting, and not in a good way. When learning is nurtured around her needs, the impact is a lasting, dazzling gift. Working between the gap is my wheel house.

means: Roadmap for coping with a new teacher

Start: Before term starts, we set up a learning jar. If there is something difficult at school, she writes in on a card and posts it in the jar. She has somewhere to put her worries and I have a reminder of what needs to be addressed, discussed or fixed.

Stop 1: If she needs 100 hits for a new concept, and her teacher is only able to give 5 hits, then it is up to me to find the other 95 hits. It is not all on the teacher, even if a report suggests it is. Those 95 hits can be divided between my beloved, YouTube, tutoring, grandparents, art, audio and me.

Stop 2: Try for a pre-term meeting at the start of the year. This way I can set a good foundation for testing, desk allocation and adopt any approaches or suggestions the new teacher may have. An early meeting gives me a quick view of the degree of differentiation in the classroom and access to the timetable to help schedule appointments.

Stop 3: I give them a copy of the personal profile, that highlights the reports AND a copy of the reports by email with a “greatest hits” 3-line summary. (For personal profile see post SCHOOL: Relief and specialist teachers)

Stop 4: Get across the classroom. I work out how it is set up, where is the desk, where are the books and the pencils, where is the heat and the light. Simple accommodations here have a huge impact on my girl’s function.

Stop 5: I ascertain if there are any school programs and if the teacher will support them being made available for my girl. This is where a helpful letter from a specialist comes in handy. If I spread some hits between the teacher and another program, there are less hits for me to pick up.

Detour: When there is a blip, I sort it the next day. I have learnt to give myself and the teacher some time to reflect. I don’t send an email in hufflepuff (anymore). I don’t poke my stress monkey in front of my dudes. This blip might be a growth point and may change things for the better.

Golden Rules

  1. Communicate with the teacher in the way that reaches them, be kind and give them rewards.
  2. Communicate with my kids in the way that reaches them, be kind and give them rewards.
  3. Communicate with myself in the way that reaches me, be kind and give myself rewards.

PS. Don’t you just love the Baroness? Her clothes, her imaginary food baby after the schnitz, her standing up for her love rights….If you need a laugh google Baroness von Schrader. There are some beautiful blog posts in defence of her.

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First Week of School Can Be a Kick in the Head

needs: first week of school can be a kick in the head.

Is it the delicious smell of a new pack of paper or rows of coloured pencils, or the news shoes or the new lunchbox? The night before a new school year comes with a tingle of anticipation, a few nerves and some excitement. I find lost essentials, label, contact, take uniform out and down and finally tuck them both in. I feel like we were ready.

Monday: they hit the car full of new news, mostly good and some not so good. New friends, new class, new teachers, so much information. And the bits of paper – that I need to sign, organise, volunteer for. The lunchboxes and the uniforms are needed again! I am fielding the information like the starship in Galaga. The laser beams are weaving around: school photos, swimming lessons, meet the teacher, the new lunch box can’t be opened, my teacher says I need fruit, that sharpener doesn’t work, I want to sit with Annika, my shoes hurt my feet, camp is soon and I am trying to catch it all. There is so much to report, because after being together all summer, we have been apart.

Tuesday: I missed the supermarket but planned to call in after school. That would be fine, we had been shopping all summer. But its not summer any more. They get in the car, and the bags won’t go and the hats are tight and the faces are tense. Something happened in class, a misunderstanding, a frustration, a not funny joke, some hot flash humiliation. Something happened in class, a new concept, a new lesson, a misunderstanding and a hot flash of humiliation. I cooed and soothed. We skipped the supermarket and headed home. There were tears before we got out of the car. I tried to push away some feelings of my own that I vaguely remember from last term.

Wednesday: How did I forget there was testing. There is always testing! Every year, schools take the sun drenched and the beach kissed babies and put their minds through a battery of tests to group them. How did it come from nowhere? Day 3 and they already feel stupid. All the gains have faded and the feeling of not knowing, not understanding and being behind has crept back in. How do you convince them to begin when they feel licked from the start?

Thursday: But I thought she was your friend. Didn’t we just spend the summer days with her? Somewhere over desperate sobs and a jarring uncooperative seatbelt, there was a problem with desk allocation and a missed chance to be with friends, leading to an inevitable end of friendship, solidified during PE when there was no partner. How did the pencil case, we loved become hidden in shame, or not the right now hair tie? How did this happen?

Friday: It’s my turn today as I sit at assembly. I hear mother chatter peppered with what was coming up, what we needed to plan for, what they were prepared for. My breath shortened. I didn’t know where to get the right thing, for the right task, at the right time. I had forgotten this feeling as well.

means: a useful reminder going into the first week of school.

It is a cataclysmic adjustment from summer holidays to school. See that week for what it is – a jarring change of space, sound and light. A shift from the predictable domestic space with limited social interaction to a circus of peers, teachers’ instructions and tasks. It is a sudden move, dressed in contact and tupperware, wrapped in sunshine and uniforms. The first week is a departure from comfort. It is the sudden arrival of expectations. It is not the time for me to dish out resilience pie. It is the time I lean in, nurture and love them. I remind them we do our own kind of wonderful.

The things I do:

  1. I remind the dudes, it wont feel so new this time tomorrow, this time next week, this time next term. Breathe, it will not feel like this soon.
  2. I don’t ask how the day went. I pause for them to get in the car, off the bus, out of class without rush or hurry. I pause and that’s hard for me. I tell them I am so happy to see them.
  3. I avoid after school errands- No shopping or post office, not a quick couple of anything. Just space to come down from the day.
  4. I plan for flexibility. After school brings urgent unforeseen needs for the next day.
  5. I get rid of whatever is not working asap. If the new lunchbox can’t be opened or the sharpener doesn’t work or there is some other focus of why everything is not working. I listen. I act.
  6. I take them to the water. If we are near a lake or beach, pool, bath, or shower, I put them in the water. It washes away the day.
  7. I leave their rooms open, for quiet-alone-play. I am nearby, and they wind down.
  8. I make sure the food is yummy. The kind of food, that just the smell or the name of it says, “You’re home and it’s all going to be our own kind of wonderful”.
  9. I follow a strict bed time. We all have less reserves to navigate change when we are tired.
  10. I make quick phone notes for anything that might need to be included in the new ILP- catching random crap like- smaller pencil case, move desk, maths shit.
  11. I make sure I am one step ahead of the next day so I am there when they need me. It’s just the first week after all.