The Anatomy of an IEP

Days before, weeks before, you begin to research.

Because, frankly, you are an awesome, rockin', momma.

Because you have these amazing kids who

deserve every ounce of who you are

to help them become every ounce of who

they can be.

You beautify and try to look professional.

Probably changing a million shirts because they

all definitely have some sort of kid stain.

And then, THEN, you remember to forget it all.

Your kid is at stake. Time to gear up and

take on this IEP

Like.A.Boss.

You arrive to the meeting place.

You inevitably find these members:

The one who looks like you did before your third shower.

The one you feel sorry for in the way that you

are sure she has had the kind of day that you probably call normal.

Still, your sympathy is with that one.

The one who is geared up and ready to fight with you

and for you

and against all the others who dare to cross paths with her.

The fashionista. Enough said.

And the one who is totally, 100% off their rocker.

And you secretly think to yourself that this

more or less sums up the group of you.

You work together.

At some point around the halfway mark your mind wanders.

Around the one hour mark you see this happening around

the table.

And then this...

which ends in this...

The two hour mark finds you feeling like this.

Then just as you are about to give up on life...

The objectives and goals begin and the end is in sight.

Which is good because you have resorted to this.

And wondering if there are any of these,

And you feel as old as this...

And then you remind yourself why you are there and

what you are working towards, your child's future.

So, you find yourself thankful for all the time everyone

has taken to put into this.

And you get in your car to go home.

Which actually looks a lot more like this,

At long last you arrive home,

To study everything you just learned,

Because they are always worth it.

P.S. In case you think I exaggerate. I just came home yesterday from a four.hour.IEP.

My girls were and always will be worth every second of that time.

And I handled it,

Like.A.Boss.

Comments

Loving A Child Who Cannot Speak

I have a daughter and she is nonverbal. It is one of the most difficult portions of my life. When the tears fall it becomes a guessing game. When we miss the mark of the needs the tears become screams. The frustration that mounts for everyone is intense. That screaming can last for what feels like an eternity. What ends it? Her resignation. She has no choice but to quit. Nobody is answering her need. Because we don't even know what it is. Imagine all of your needs every single day and now imagine that you can never, not even once, tell one single person what you need. What a horrifying thing. Those dreams where you are being chased and you are scared and you try to scream for help but nothing comes out of your throat? That is her world. And we, as her parents, watch on in sheer pain and frustration. Just sign it!!! Just try to say something. Anything. And she does. Every single day this brave soul yells out, makes sounds, tries. Not a single day goes by when she doesn't try...

The Unchanged God and His Unchanged Call

The last few years my soul was just so doggone tired that I couldn't write, wouldn't write. I found myself too tired of the haters, too tired of being needed, too tired of advocating and seeing not one soul step forward for a child, a real child.I was sick of telling people about adoption and watching them go on about their lives as if there were not real children depending on their yes. I was tired of seeing the posts about a waiting child die. The anger was consuming me. I was tired of opening up about our reality only to have friends back away from us, from our needs. I was disgusted with people telling me I was too impassioned for the needy people in this world. I was filled with so many emotions. Frankly, I was tired of my own difficult road as well, tired of diapers, feeding times, bathing time, IEP's and teaching teachers how to teach. I wrestled with God about resting. Eventually, I heard him telling me to go to sleep, to rest in the shadow of His wing...

This Girl Can

There are moments in every single day that I want to quit. I want to throw in the towel. I want to quit being the mom who is shouting, "Yes, she can!" It's tiring. No, it's exhaustion that sinks all the way to the bone. It's laying my head on my pillow at night with one thousand thoughts scattering through my head. It's waking up, pushing power on my computer and starting to search for evidence again. It's meeting after meeting after meeting. It's laying my head on my pillow at night and praying for someone else to stand tall and take up this fight for one round so that I can rest. But I have a few things that keep me going. Every night when I do lay my head on my pillow, a memory reel starts in my mind. Every time that I question if I have lost my own mind, I see Ellie standing for the first time. I hear her counting to ten. I see Everlyse taking her first steps. I see all the times they have blown through every single low expectation the w...

Katie R. Hurst

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