Skip to main content

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

Popular posts from this blog

Seeking Hope

In the last year I trained myself well to focus on the task before me and not worry about tomorrow. However, somehow in the middle of this self training, in the forcing of tunneled vision I lost sight of one of the most basic things. In my quest to make it through the day I left behind the inspiration, the sustaining of hope that breathes life into tired hearts. It hurt too much to hope. The fear of having a child die is overwhelming. And so, I was just surviving and for a time survival mode is absolutely necessary. I needed to just finish one more piece of paperwork. I needed to call one more government official and not be emotional. I needed the fortitude that survival skills bring. Once in China, faced with more trauma then I even allow myself to remember right now, I needed to survive. I needed to bathe my daughter, make rice cereal, walk to the store, avoid the human trafficking rings, block out the rude stares, wipe a runny nose. I needed to survive on little to no sleep. My he...

This I Know

Where can I possibly begin to explain to you what this year has been? The last post on my blog was many, many months ago. I share my personal stories on my blog and somehow they resonate with people. But I entered a year where I wasn't sure what could be shared, what couldn't, who would be hurt, what legal action could come against me, or what was even true. It hasn't been just one area of life, it has been all areas of life. We moved to a new town. Kids entered new schools. We attended a new church. It was an intense year politically. (perhaps the understatement of the century) My mind and heart have been spinning, trying to find where to land.  I learned first hand about discrimination. I watched as churches denied my children access to VBS because they were blind. I watched workers take the canes away from my daughters because it wasn't safe for the other kids. I lifted a limp, severely overheated daughter into my arms and removed her from a school building ...

The boy who called me mama

The hallways were stripped bare and I heard every flip of my flops and the nearly silent swish of my long, navy maxi skirt. My hair was pulled up and braided to avoid lice, my stomach trying to hold onto breakfast. The lights in the room were yellowed and cast a strange brightness to all of the chipped tiles on the walls. I stepped through the threshold and saw a small children's couch on my right side and noticed how few children were in this room. They scooted, crawled, demanded to be scooped into my arms. As my knees found the floor the very air seemed rife with knowing. The word "mama" escaped the lips of a small child. "Mama." Before recognizing the moment and closing the doors to my soul, I scooped him up into my arms and breathed him into my memory. I willed the tears not to fall. "Mama." My heart would have spilled over into a prayer if my lips had cooperated. I remembered just enough not to tell him I loved him. It would cheapen those word...