People have mixed feelings about the start of a new school year. Parents are usually excited to have their kids go back, look forward to the return of steady routines. Kids, on the other hand, tend to mourn the loss of their care-free summer days, while also feeling excited about meeting new teachers and reconnecting with friends.
For a special needs parent, however, the start of the school year could mean a string of meetings, phone conferences, and freak outs (mostly the parents). It means meeting new teachers, rehashing what is in the IEP, and basically praying that all of the smiles and goodwill between you and the teacher lasts beyond the first month.
Today, I met with both of my sons' homeroom and learning support teachers. I have a good feeling, I always do. I know it won't last, though. The teachers may be wonderful, talented, and compassionate, but I can already tell that I will be doing hours of homework and catch up work a night with my boys so they can keep pace with their classmates and not fall behind (which is the reason I don't work full time). I can anticipate likely problems and have already made tentative dates to revisit their IEPs. I'm not the only one who feels the strain. Two minutes after meeting his teacher, Owen started ticking and visibly fighting the urge to cry.
So, although I adore my boys and wouldn't change them even if I could, I do daydream at the start of every school year. I wonder what it is like for the "other" parents, the ones who can just send their little darlings off to school on the first day and trust that everything will just flow for them. What a relief it must be to know they will learn their multiplication like every other child, get picked for teams at gym, laugh with friends at recess, and go to a language class instead of academic support (in Noah's case).
It sure looks easier. Not better because, for me, every day with my boys is a victory worth fighting for, but easier.
For a special needs parent, however, the start of the school year could mean a string of meetings, phone conferences, and freak outs (mostly the parents). It means meeting new teachers, rehashing what is in the IEP, and basically praying that all of the smiles and goodwill between you and the teacher lasts beyond the first month.
Today, I met with both of my sons' homeroom and learning support teachers. I have a good feeling, I always do. I know it won't last, though. The teachers may be wonderful, talented, and compassionate, but I can already tell that I will be doing hours of homework and catch up work a night with my boys so they can keep pace with their classmates and not fall behind (which is the reason I don't work full time). I can anticipate likely problems and have already made tentative dates to revisit their IEPs. I'm not the only one who feels the strain. Two minutes after meeting his teacher, Owen started ticking and visibly fighting the urge to cry.
So, although I adore my boys and wouldn't change them even if I could, I do daydream at the start of every school year. I wonder what it is like for the "other" parents, the ones who can just send their little darlings off to school on the first day and trust that everything will just flow for them. What a relief it must be to know they will learn their multiplication like every other child, get picked for teams at gym, laugh with friends at recess, and go to a language class instead of academic support (in Noah's case).
It sure looks easier. Not better because, for me, every day with my boys is a victory worth fighting for, but easier.