The End of an Era

Ok...I'm going to be sappy for another minute here because really...I wasn't fully prepared for the feelings and emotions that came up today. Today being our last day of school...When June rolls around the excitement of being out for the summer fills my heart and life is good. But this year June rolled around and I was too busy. I was still excited but I had the normal end-of-the-year tasks that I have every year: progress reports, final evals and IEPs to wrap up, turning extra pay forms in, cleaning up paperwork. But we at Jackson Park had the added task of packing. Sorting through all of our things, deciding what we needed and what we wanted, and placing it into boxes for the great exodus to the other side of the fence. Talking about a new building and planning for the new building and touring the new building consumed our year. Watching it go up before our eyes and being a part of the process was so exciting. It was all so exciting. So, today, when I placed the last of my things in the last cardboard box, took my building and office keys off my keyring, and stood back to look at my empty room...I was shocked at the tears that flowed freely. And then I walked through the annex. And walked into the main building. And thought about the memories and the last 12 years in that building. How I walked through the door for the first time, so anxious and nervous to be starting my career, having heard so many things about Jackson Park...and not great things by the way. How I was the new kid so I just got Jackson Park...sorry. How that turned into "don't tell anyone how great Jackson Park is, they'll try and steal my building." for me. 

As I walked I remembered eating lunch with Bonnie and the wisdom she shared with me in my early years. How scared I was of Diane when I first started and I wasn't sure how to read her.  My first IEP with Melody (who I was also scared of) and how that completely changed my views on my services and how that would look forever. So many teachers and so many friends who had passed through the hallways. Paulette. Justine. Anna. Nikki. Shirley. Ron. So many people who have moved on and so many new people who joined our ranks. 

And then it got harder because I thought about all of the personal things that had happened for me in the safety of those walls. Announcing to the staff that I was getting married in the library. Melody announcing to the staff (twice) that I was going to have a baby. Baby showers and wedding showers. Melody holding Amelia for the first time when I brought her to work with me. Amelia at work with me in her first few weeks of life, asleep in a box under my desk in my office. My girls skipping down the hallways to see their "best friends", the teachers and principal that have become my family. Running to Kim when life started to unravel and her walking me through that day. And then knowing that my team, my friends would be there to pick up the pieces. Encouraging words from Mike occasionally when he would catch me in my office for a moment. Holding a crying Wendy and sharing an awful commonality. Having Jean walk in at just the right moment and give me a morning hug. Sending emails back and forth throughout the day with Melissa. Hearing Cece just across the hallway. Knowing I could count on Kim again to be my key buddy. Even having the safety and security of a plan if I have a seizure st work. All of those things flashed before me today. And tears fell. As someone put it, our stinky, couldn't even drink the water building grew on you...maybe like black mold! But it grew on you. And watching the people coming in to take away our lunch tables and desks and chairs and picking our school to pieces like vultures was just too much. Luckily I was done and checked out, and I left that school building for the last time, and I cried all the way home. 

And then, I thought harder about those memories and it wasn't the building. It wasn't the library or the annex or even my office that held those memories sacred. It was the people. It was the faces and the names and the people that made those moments. And although some people have moved on, and more of our friends moved on this year, and our kids keep getting older and moving up and on to better things, there will still be people. People for us to love and people for us to support. Kids to teach that need us desperately. People to help us through this-tougher-than-I-thought transition. Because who knew I would have these feelings? Who knew I would sob tears for the memories on the old Jackson Park?  The place where I got my start and where I've grown personally and professionally. But, there's a big brand new beautiful building and we're moving into it and new memories will form. New thoughts of my kids growing up with my Jackson Park family. New thoughts and new memories. New students with new problems and new strategies needed. New plans and new rooms and a new name! Jackson Park will always be a part of my soul, as it had a very important job of growing me up. And John Hawk Elementary will be just as glorious as Jackson Park was, for just as they say the church is not a building, but the church is the people, the same rings true for our school. Jackson Park is not just a building. It's the people. And I'm forever grateful for my people. They are lifelong friends...they are family...they are mine and I'm so, so grateful for my people!

Happy Father's Day

I just told my mom yesterday that I hate Father's Day. Not because I don't love and honor and cherish my dad because I absolutely do! But when your husband dies and leaves behind two little girls it makes for just one more day where stuff comes up that little girls shouldn't have to think about. So after going to church and hearing at church that it was Father's Day, we came home and the questions started. How did daddy die? How long has he been dead? Can he come back just for today? Should we be sad today? And a few more...I should be happy that my girls talk to me about this stuff. I should be pleased that they are at least processing. But it's hard sometimes when you are wishing it would all just go away and you're hit with another reminder, another day for them to struggle through. And then I thought about my sister. Today, in the midst of me being a brat about today, my parents and my kids and I went on a lovely day trip to Elbe and rode the steam train. We had a blast! And as I was posting pictures to Facebook and sending texts to my sister, I could read the hurt and sadness in her responses. She and her kids were down south, with no dad. No Pa for her kids and a daddy that has been out to sea for oh so long. And my heart was sad for them and I felt selfish and foolish. I had my daddy. I had my girls' Pa. And I was thankful. I watched all day as my girls laughed and joked and smiled and climbed on their Pa. And my whole thoughts about this day changed. My girls are missing their father. That piece is fact and there isn't anyone that will ever take his space in our lives. But, we have so much more than that! We have our Pa. My daddy. Who has been there for every step of my life. He has worked so hard and loved so much. His heart breaks when ours does. He rejoices in our victories. He quietly sat back and waited for me to ask for help in my grief and he carries me through on the days I need him. And he is the best Pa ever! He loves my kids and is there for them, filling that important male role model spot that they need. And I couldn't have anyone better for that job. And I'm thankful for the countless other kids he has filled in for. 

But, I'm beyond blessed! Because Pa isn't the only one. There are many men, many "dads" in our lives that have stepped in or stepped up or stepped over to help me out in raising my two beautiful girls...and helped to raise me too! There's Pa...my daddy. There's Uncle Ben, who loves my girls as if they were his own. Who, when we see him, plays and runs and jumps and is the best Uncle ever. The Uncle who reminds them of a daddy, and who treats them more like daughters than nieces. And we love him!!  There's Tom, who taught me all the important things like how to burp and fart and drink beer and kick start a motorcycle. And also how to never judge a book by its cover because the harshest biker exteriors are really just big teddy bears, and make for some pretty awesome fill-in dads and grandpas. And we love him!!  And then we have Bruce who is pretty much the gold standard when it comes to godfathers. He fills in around the house wherever he can and always has a second to teach the girls how to fly a kite or wind up an airplane. And he loves us and we love him!  There's Gene who will have to be the one to teach my girls about sports. I have football covered but the other ones not so much. He's taught me lots about roses and respect and religion and I know that will be passed down and we love him!  Grandpa Clay came along a little later in life, but he is no less important. He let us borrow a big chunk of his family for a long time, and took us in as his own. He's my other dad, and Grandpa Clay to the girls. He loves them with all his heart and has taught them important lessons like playing the drums, skee ball, and Gray Wolf and we love him! And even Jared who took ten minutes and laid on the floor with my kids and will forever be known as Spider Man...he gave my girls something that day that they still remember and embrace and we love him too! And there are many more!

So, looking at all that I am blessed!! So, so blessed!! I have lots of reasons to love Father's Day. And just because one is missing doesn't mean that we haven't had a hundred more step in to help us out! We are so grateful to all of our dads!! And all of our grandpas!! You all hold such a special place in our heart and we are forever grateful for the part you've played in who we are today!  Thank you! And Happy Father's Day!!

Welcome to Holland

It was never my intention to work in special education. My whole entire life I knew that I was going to be a doctor. Up until my junior year of college, I knew that I was going to be a doctor...a pediatric oncologist. And then God has a funny way of nudging you in a different direction. One night, I got my nudge, and my plans changed, and shortly after I found out that the University of Washington offered a Bachelor of Science degree in Speech and Hearing Sciences. So, that door opened and I walked through. I continued on and got my Masters in Speech-Language Pathology, followed the path back to Central Kitsap School District and have been working for them ever since as a speech-language pathologist. It was never my intention to work in special education. When I started my college years I was immersed in chemistry and physics, cancer and oncology treatments. I volunteered all of my time in hospitals and read medical journals. I knew nothing about IEPs and Autism. Cleft palates and the latest stuttering treatments weren't something I even cared about. But that's all changed. So, I started my career in special education. I will admit that I was intimidated. I was scared. There was so much I didn't know. So much I had to learn. But I work with an amazing team of SLPs in our district who are smart and highly educated and some of the best in our field and I learned. And I also work with special education teachers at my school who are amazing with children, and kind and compassionate and bring their kids further than any teachers I have ever seen and I learned. I love my job. I love the things that I have learned about IEPs and Autism. I love working with kids with language disorders. I love evaluating students and talking to parents about prognosis and plans and what we are going to do to get their kids from point A to point B. There was an aspect of special education that I was not prepared for, however. After Amelia was born Brian and I were the happiest parents in the universe. She was such a good baby. So smart. So special. So loved. I was ecstatic to be a momma to a little girl and loved having her with all my being. She was so smart and was meeting her developmental milestones ahead of time and doing so well. And then, around 18 months, something happened. She changed. She began screaming four to six hours every day. She began banging her head on the floor. She would tantrum over the littlest things. She would scream through church, to the point where we stopped going. She would injure herself, scratching her face and pinching her arms. She would hit and kick me. Something had happened, and being a special education teacher and seeing the students that I had worked with, in my heart I feared that she was regressing and that my daughter was Autistic. But, I also knew that there were aspects that weren't adding up. She was so loving to others when she wasn't in one of her rages. She was social. She was verbal and her language abilities were off the charts. She had other things wrong that we wondered if they were contributing: acid reflux, allergies, poor sleeping habits, night terrors...night after night of worrying, I finally, apprehensively, took her to her pediatrician, crying, sobbing...and told her that I thought Amelia had Aspergers. My doctor laughed at me for a little bit and asked me to tell her the diagnostic criteria for Aspergers, which I did, and I reassured myself right there in that doctor office that Amelia did not have Aspbergers. And I looked at her with tears in my eyes and said, "Then what is it?" My doctor wrote out the words "Sensory Processing Disorder with Obsessive Compulsive Tendencies" and wrote the name of an Occupational Therapist that I needed to call. She also wrote out a plan for medical "rule outs" such as allergy testing, visits to GI doctors to rule out continuing reflux issues, and we started down the path towards helping our daughter. Or, I should say, I started down the path. I waited up for Brian that night so that I could explain Amelia's diagnosis to him. I'll never forget the anger and pain in his eyes as I explained our day to him and told him what we needed to do. I'll never forget him standing up in our living room, walking towards the hallway to the bedroom and saying, "Why did you have to bring your special education into our home?" and then going back to bed. My heart shattered into a million pieces. Did he really think this was what I wanted? Did he think I wanted there to be something wrong with Amelia? Did he think I wanted her to have problems? My heart was racing and my thoughts were swirling, and I realized that I could do one of two things: I could either agree with him and let it all go and hope that it would all just go away. Or, I could take the reins for my daughter, run with the plan we had come up with, and figure out how to help her. Early intervention is key, right? That's what we hear all the time. I could close my eyes and plug my ears and pretend it was all not real. Or, I could scoop my little 18-month-old up, love her with all my heart, and figure out how we were going to help her the best we could. Help her function in a world that was just way too much for her. So, I walked through door number two, and I ran with our plan. We had her tested for allergies, which was the start of her allergy mess. We made numerous trips to Mary Bridge for x-rays and upper GIs and lower GIs. I called that OT and cried with the receptionist about how I couldn't get her to wear socks and shoes and they told me about Crocs. I took her for her eval and they did some pretty weird stuff with her and diagnosed her with sensory processing disorder. My faithful babysitters drove her to Gig Harbor once, sometimes twice per week for therapy and we listened to some pretty crazy advice. I brushed my baby's arms and legs. I got rid of a bunch of toys. I stopped her repetitive behaviors. We bought her rubber chew toys. We made her necklaces. We developed routines. I read and studied and poured over internet sites. I joined Facebook groups and read research. I petitioned to get the disorder recognized as a true disorder. I became an expert in a disorder that I knew nothing about, even working in the field of special education. It was never my intention to live in special education. In part of this process, I was crying to Amelia's OT about her diagnosis. And I consider myself to be very lucky. Even back when it was at the worst, I knew I was very lucky compared to what some of our families have to go through. But, I was still heartbroken. My baby suffers sometimes. When she is not regulated and she can't get herself to feel "just right" it is almost painful to watch her. I was crying to Amelia's OT and she handed me a poem called "Welcome to Holland" by Emily Perl Kingsley. This poem was written in 1987 and I would like to share it here. I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this...... When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plan lands. The stewardess comes in and said, "Welcome to Holland." "Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy! All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy!" But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven't taken you o a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine, and disease. It's just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would have never met. It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around...and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills...and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy...and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned." And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go way...because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss. But...if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things...about Holland. THIS! Amelia is beautiful...and special...and smart! With the help of her amazing OT, and my amazing friends and family...and all the work that she put in, and we put in...and all the work that we still put in, we have come to realize that our Holland is SO much better than Italy! And this is what I wish I could show all of my parents who are in denial, or all of my parents who are having a hard time. This year, more than ever it seems, I am impacted, our team is impacted, by parents who are struggling with their kiddos and their diagnoses. More often than not, I am hearing parents say things in meetings like "How will this look when they apply to college" or "I really don't want that label written in their file" or "It's all just behavior. They don't need a pill." or "They just need to be spanked. Then they'll sit still." No! None of this. I am not saying that I'm an expert on their child and I'm not saying the path that I took with Amelia is the right path, or the only path, but if you don't choose a path that best helps your child, if you don't try the interventions that are recommended, if the team doesn't first put things into place to help them be successful, then there is not way to know if and/or when your child can be successful. Early intervention with Amelia was a life saver! She has made amazing progress since that lost little 18 month old. She advocates for herself and she knows what she needs to regulate herself. There are so many kids that I have in my room that are even older than Amelia who don't get interventions, who don't have ways of being able to regulate themselves and I worry for them. I lose sleep over the kids who have parents who don't want their kids medicated so the kids have to suffer through their days, unable to concentrate on anything for any length of time. I stress over the kids whose parents tell me in meetings that they don't need sensory tools, they just need a spanking, or they just need to practice sitting or they just need to be yelled at. I cry for the kids who have parents who ask me for advice on what to do when their kids are chewing on their clothes, or biting other kids, and I tell them about the chew toys that we bought for Amelia, and then they tell me that they are not going to treat their kids like a dog, and why would I choose that? My heart breaks for the parents who I talk to and recommended speech and language therapy for their children, but they fear it will impact them getting into a good college so they won't sign consent for me to help them. I worry for the parents who are looking for the quick fix, who are looking for the miracle cure, who just want it go all go away. I know that we, a parents, have the right to choose how we raise our children. And I will say, once again, that I may not know what is best for someone else's child. But, when it comes to speech and language disorders, and special education issues, I might know something. And when it comes to sensory strategies, I again, might know something. I understand being in denial. I watched my husband go through that. And I let him go through that. But in order to save my daughter. In order to help her and give her a fighting chance to become a well-adjusted, wonderful young woman, I knew that we couldn't be in denial forever. We couldn't grieve for not getting to go to Italy. We needed to learn everything we needed to about Holland as quick as we could. It was never my intention to work in special education. And it was never my intention to live in special education either. But, since I am sorta doing both at this point, it's hard to separate my life from it. My hope and prayer is that God will open up the hearts and minds of the parents that are given the children that need them. God altered my career path for a reason. I didn't understand it at the time, but I know now that I am working where I am working for a reason. And I am working with the staff and students that I need to be. And I believe a piece of that life path was the prepare me for having my Amelia. Because if I had been a doctor in Seattle working at a hospital, I may not have had the knowledge or resources to know what to do for Amelia. Summer is coming...and change is always hard so for me, for Amelia, for my school babies. I'm excited to spend the summer with my babies. But I worry about my babies at school. I worry about my babies who are told to just sit and listen or be quiet or try harder or calm down. I pray for those kids. And for their parents...that someday they will learn to enjoy the beauty of Holland, and be strong enough to help their kids figure out how to navigate through Holland as well.

Good Grief!

"Aren't you done with that yet?" This is a question that I get a lot from people. I think that they are trying to be supportive. I think that they are trying to help me through something. I don't think that they are intentionally trying to be mean and hurtful. Three years, seven months, sixteen days, and about eight hours since my husband took his last breath. That's a lot of time. And a lot of things have happened since then. Good and bad! A lot of events have filled the spaces in between my husband dying and this moment where I sat down at the computer to resurrect this blog. It's not that it went away ever. Life just happens, and a lot of the time, spending time with my kids or washing dishes or just laying on the couch doing nothing seems way better than typing a blog post. But, this particular post has been churning in my head for some time now. And tonight, after a conversation with Amelia, I decided that it was time to write it. I was tucking Amelia into bed tonight and doing our usual "Just one more thing mommy moment" when she said, "Mommy, are you sad that daddy is dead?" I sucked my breath in for a second, sat at the edge of her bed, and said, "I am sometimes." "What? Why do you say sometimes?" "Well, sometimes I don't even think about it anymore. Sometimes I'm so happy with being your mommy and I'm so happy with being a friend and a daughter and a coworker that I don't think about not having daddy around anymore." "But sometimes you do think about him?" "Yeah, sometimes I do think about him." "Is it OK for us to still be sad about daddy?" "Of course it is! It might take us a long time to still be sad about daddy and as time goes on, there will be things that come up that make us sad about daddy all over again." "Isn't it time that we're done with that though?" And my heart fractured into a million pieces because my seven-year-old has heard this, and the most likely source is probably me. I shook my head at her and said, "No, Amelia. There won't be a time when we're completely done with it. There will be times when it is better. But, daddy was part of us, part of you. And he always will be. It gets easier. And it gets better. And the time between missing daddy and not thinking about him gets longer and longer. But there isn't a time frame to just be done. We're done when we're done. And we get as long as we need. This is our process. And your process is different from my process. And Emerson's process is different from our process. We can be here for each other. We can hug and kiss and love and support each other through. We can ask our friends and family to hold and carry us through. But we each have to go through what we have to go through. And it's all ok. And whatever pace we go through is ok." "So, what if I don't want to cry about it now, but maybe I want to cry about it when I'm a teenager?" I held her hand, and said, "Then, I will be right here to love you and carry you through that time when you need to cry. Because you probably will need to cry when you are a teenager. And that's ok!" "OK, mommy. I'm glad we talked about this. I was worried I was running out of time." "Nope. You take all the time that you need. I'm right here to help you through whatever you need." "I love you mommy! I'm right here to help you through whatever you need too!" "I know you are, Amelia. And I love you, with all my heart." I kissed her and squeezed her good night and walked to the living room for the night. They say there are five stages to grief. They say that everyone goes through the stages at different times. They say that people go through the stages more than once, or may go out of order. Some steps are skipped and not gone through for a while, or maybe ever. The stages are 1) denial and isolation, 2) anger, 3) bargaining, 4) depression, and 5) acceptance. When I read through these, I can certainly tell you which ones I've experienced. Anger was for sure the one that I settled in, and stayed in for much of the last three years. As I've stated before, I go to counseling, and my therapist and I have had many discussions about how easy the anger stage is for me. I settled there and I've stayed there for quite some time. And it makes it easy. Anger is easier for me than any of the other stages. I don't really like to cry. I really don't like to show emotion. I'm sure there may be a few select people that would disagree with this statement, but I don't like to be sad in front of others, so anger is easy. Even my best, closest friends are pushed away when things get hard. When I get to a place, perhaps in the grief cycle somewhere, where depression sneaks in, I am quick to push anger to the forefront and push my friends away. Anger is easy for me, because it hurts way less than the others. Things have been great. The stages of grief had died down, or so I thought. I was feeling good about things. Life was great. Things were going smoothly. And then there were some bumps in the road. Some news that was unsettling. Some pain and heartache for friends and loved ones. And there comes grief again. This time, it did not come with anger. It came with sadness. Depression. Tears and heartache. The feelings of not being able to breathe. The feeling of needing to lie in the lap of a friend and sob until my soul couldn't sob anymore. So, it got just before that point and the anger came back. And I pushed away. And I ran. And I felt cornered and angry. And I opened up and shared with someone that I was having a rough time, that I was sinking into old patterns, and that person said "Aren't you don't with that?" and my process came to a halt. I felt guilty. I was ashamed. They were right. I should be done! Three years, seven months, sixteen days, and eight hours is too much time to waste on this. I've had my time with grief. It's time to be done. It's someone else's turn. I can't keep cycling around to this over and over. So, I shoved it down and moved on. Put on a happy face and move forward because you're done. And then a seven-year-old voice of reason tonight gently pushed me over the edge that I needed to hear. She needed advice. She needed to know that she didn't have to be done. She needed to know that she could revisit this if she needed to. And I needed to hear that too. From me. From her. From whoever! Grief isn't just done. Losing a husband, a partner, no matter the circumstances behind that loss, is devastating. I didn't just lose a husband that night. I lost the father to my children. I lost my partner. I lost the second pair of hands for housework. I lost the second income for our family. I lost the second person to help with decisions. I lost the hopes and dreams for our future. I lost the guy that knew how to program the electronics. I lost the person that took care of the little crises in the house like broken toilets, or burned out light bulbs, or changing batteries. And I get to grieve for all of that. No matter what anyone says or thinks, I get to grieve...Amelia gets to grieve...Emerson gets to grieve. And if I can look for the blessing in any of this, I have learned to be gentler to my friends and loved ones who need time to grieve. Because it doesn't ever go away. It gets quieter...for a while. So, good grief! It's all part of the process. It's all good. It's all working towards what we need in that moment. It's all part of the process...any grief process. Whether it's death, or diagnoses, or loss, or whatever! So, if I want to be happy and not talk about it, honor that! If I want to sob in your lap and tell you how badly my heart hurts, please don't freak out and tell me I should be done. If you see me sobbing in front of the Blue Moon in the grocery store, know that that was Brian's favorite and I still can't really walk down that aisle without thinking of him. And if you are one of the super unlucky ones and I push you away and show you my angry side, just know that I'm so sorry...this roller coaster ride is not fun for any of us! We'd like to get off anytime, but all we can do for now is hold on and pray for the operator to slow the ride down for just a while. Good grief!

Spring Cleaning

As much as I would like that hour back that we lost this past weekend, I really love getting more daylight in the evenings! It just makes my heart happier! The dreary winter is done. Spring is on it's way! The geese are coming back. Birds are chirping. The frogs are croaking at night from the ponds. I love this time of year! Along with the changes of spring and the change to our time, comes the change to how I feel about the house...spring cleaning needs to happen! And spring cleaning has been happening already! I have taken lots of time in the last few weeks to purge and clean and get rid of and just get the house in order in general. Much of the cleaning that has already taken place has not only been good for decluttering the house, but has also been crucial to decluttering my soul. So much "stuff" I have been carrying around, clinging to, waiting for...what, I'm not sure! I finally decided it was time to clean and purge and get rid of stuff! So, that's what I've been doing. Cleaning and purging and getting rid of stuff that I don't need, stuff that is unwanted, stuff that was just wasting space! I have taken boxes to Goodwill, sold things, given things away to friends. I have rearranged and rethought and reformed. I have boxed up stuff, made some very tough decisions, and followed through on things that I knew would be better gone than to have in the house. I got rid of things that I felt needed to be gotten rid of. And, then I got rid of my car...Brian's car. It never really was MY car. I've always been a truck girl, and I'll continue to be a truck girl. After Brian died I didn't want to drive the car for a long time, so it sat. And then, I forced myself to drive it because the gas mileage was WAY better, but I never felt settled driving it. It wasn't mine! So, I made the decision to get rid of it! What a weight was lifted off of my shoulders when the new owners drove it down the road. I felt happy...I felt free...I felt like it was the best decision I'd ever made. What a relief! And what money I would be saving with it off my insurance policy, and not having to buy tabs for it anymore, and not driving it and using gas, and not needing to service it. It was gone! And I was free... And then...Anxiety. Fear. Panic. Sadness. A whole flood of emotion came rolling back. The girls and I went for another staycation this past weekend and although I had a blast with my kids, there was this underlying feeling that something wasn't right. Something seemed off. Something was different. And old thoughts and feelings started creeping in. I was scared and confused. What was different? What happened? Things were going along wonderfully and now this?? What had changed? I've mentioned a few times that I go to therapy. So, I went in to see her on Monday and we started talking about how things were going and as I was talking, I began to have to fight back tears. Fight back sadness. Fight back floodgates and I wasn't sure what was happening. For those of you that know me, you'll know that I HATE to cry! For those of you that know me better, I'm sorry! HA! Crying and emotion is hard! I don't do it well. I just like to be left alone. I don't like to cry in front of people. I don't like to show emotion or let people know that I'm having a hard time. So, I've gotten very good at pushing it down. Ignoring it. Stifling it until I can get somewhere not around people. It's hard. So hard. Even when I'm paying someone to watch me cry. I HATE it! So, I was having a hard time trying not to lose it in therapy. Because even there I have a hard time. I apologized for crying and struggling. And then the words my therapist said next caught me off guard. "You're grieving." Um, excuse me? Why would I be doing that? I'm cleaning! I'm purging! I've done a lot of work to rid my life of things that might make me cry. What do you mean I'm grieving? (I didn't actually say these things They stayed in my head.) I finally mustered a comment, "Well, I don't want to do that, so make it stop." My therapist who knows me very well by now chuckled and told me that wasn't possible. That I needed to go through this process. That I need to grieve. That I haven't finished my process and pushing down and not grieving only postpones that event. So, at the end of our session, she told me to go home and grieve. Grieve and cry and process and do all those things that you do when you grieve...and then to get lots of rest because grieving is hard, exhausting work. So, I left her office, and I've been very busy since. I've avoided the people that I know would help me grieve. I've ignored the fact that I'm supposedly grieving. I've felt my anxiety sky-rocket and I'm very good at just blaming work stress, or kid stress, or progress report stress, or stress of change. Not grief! Not sadness! Not where I want to be right now. There is no time to grieve. I've done all that I need to. I'm over that part. As I'm tucking Amelia into bed tonight, I lay down next to her and snuggled for just a minute. As I'm leaving, she looks at me and says, "Mommy, something's different with you. What's wrong?" "What do you mean, Amelia? I'm fine!" "Yeah, you always say that, but you're not. I can tell. Something's wrong." "I'm not sure what you mean, but I'm really fine." "Well, I just wanted to let you know that if you need to talk about anything, I'm here for you, just like you're here for me!" "Thank you, Amelia! I really appreciate that! I'm OK. Sometimes I just get sad." "Are you sad we got rid of daddy's car?" "No, honey. I don't think so. Are you?" "Yeah, a little bit. You know I get attached to things. Just like you." I laughed and said, "Yeah, I know. But getting rid of the car was a good thing." "I can tell you're not sure. It's ok to not be sure, isn't it?" "Yeah, it's ok to not be sure. I'm glad I got rid of the car. We really didn't need two cars. I think I'm just sad about other things about the car." "You mean like daddy?" "Yeah, maybe just a little." "It's ok if you're sad. I'm sad too sometimes. That's why we're family! We can help each other!" "You're absolutely right, Amelia. We are family and we will help each other! Now, you need to get to bed!" She threw her arms around my neck and squeezed tight. "I LOOOVE your truck, mommy." "I love my truck too, La. But I love you and Emerson even more!" She smiled and tucked under her covers. I turned off the light and walked down the hallway. I know how important it is to grieve. I know that those steps are important. Not grieving and not relieving stress is how I got into the whole seizure mess in the first place, I believe. But, being a rather guilty person, I then think about my babies and start to feel badly about grieving. How could I grieve when I have two beautiful, amazingly special little girls just down the hallway? I have a great job, a nice house, fun little pets running around. I have the best neighbors in the world in my parents. I have the best babysitter. My kids go to a great school. I am blessed with the best friends ever! I get to do fun things all the time. I am blessed! I am blessed! I am blessed! I shouldn't be grieving! I shouldn't be in this space. But, I should be. Grief is a hard, wicked process. And grief complicated by a backstory too public for my blog at this point is even harder, more wicked, worse to process. I'm sad, but don't feel I should be sad. I get angry at silly things. I'm jealous of the grief process of others who maybe have uncomplicated grief. I wish I was one of those people that could just work through it and be done. Why did they have to call it a cycle? My type A personality would really like it to be a line, moving from point A to point B and being able to assign a timeline to when you will get to point B. But, it's a cycle...a process. And I'm still in that process. You would think after three and a half years that I would be done with the process. And I felt like I almost was. And then I sold and got rid of and gave away a bunch of stuff. And here it is again! So, I'm do the best I can to process and grieve and move back into the phase of grief where the roller coaster track highs and lows aren't as bad. And I'll hug my babies, thank my sitters, praise my kids' teachers, thank my district for a great job, continue taking care of my house, love on my puppy and bunny and chickens, tell my parents how much they mean to me, and continue to thank God for the people He has brought into my life to bolster me up and carry me through this crazy thing called life. I will grieve and I will get stronger and I will move forward and someday be able to help someone else through their process. Bad things happen to people every day, and I can only think and hope and pray that God has carried me through this process to be able to help someone else in the same kind of situation. I certainly hope not, but I know that I'm equipped and ready, because that person will come to me someday. Good grief!

There's Just No Time

March is a bad time to be a teacher, but more specifically, March is a bad time to be a special education teacher. April 1st is the magic deadline for the big counts that determine funding for the following year. Teachers begin to panic that we are 2/3 the way through the school year and Johnny isn't making progress like he should, so our referrals go up. Parents are freaking out that their kids are behind so our referrals go up. It's closer to when preschool parents start thinking about Kindergarten and realizing that maybe their kiddo needs a little extra push, so they go to the district's preschool evaluation team to see if there are supports to help their young one. All of these things happen every year! So, not only do we have this year's flood of kids coming in, but we also have last year's kids and the year before that. Needless to say, this logjam of students makes our jobs insane! I completely sympathize with our general education teachers. I don't feel like I'm under the same stress that they have been all year. Implementing common core standards, working with new report cards, worrying about the new teacher evaluations...walk into any school building and you will feel the tension from the demands that have been put on them and I have been lucky in that regards. I too am implementing common core, but in small pieces. I don't do report cards. I do, however, complete fifty plus progress reports every trimester. OSPI doesn't know what to do with people like SLPs so we're still on the old evaluation system. So, not as stressful of a year as it has been for our poor teachers. However, March is the month where special education shines in terms of being stressed out. In order to get your child into special education, you have to start a referral. A referral is a minimum of 4 documents, not including the teacher input form and the parent input form. Then, once we get consent back, we can start assessing a student. A child with articulation concerns? Maybe that will take the thirty minutes of standardized assessments, plus conversations with the classroom teacher, the child, and the child's parents. The student that I just finished that has difficulties with receptive, expressive, and pragmatic language? I gave that student five standardized assessments and probably spent at least four hours just in testing. Then we write our evaluation paperwork which is three separate documents, and is usually between 10-15 pages. Then we meet with the parents to go over the results. If they did not qualify, we are finished at that point, but if they qualified for services, then we write an IEP. That is also three separate documents, and also averages 10-15 pages for a speech-only kid and required another meeting! And that's just my caseload. I serve around 50 students at my school. About 15 of those students are speech only, so I am solely responsible for those students' paperwork, testing, programming, etc. Then, I have a primary (K-3) special education teacher that I work with. She and I share around 10 kids. There's also an intermediate (3-6) special education teacher. She and I share around 10 kids. And there's also a special education preschool at my building. He and I share around 15 kids. Does that add up to 50 yet? All of those teachers have annual IEPs that are due every year. Then, there are re-evaluations that are due every three years. Then, there are referrals that are constantly coming in and those are initial evals, plus many of them qualify for IEP services. Also in March, the trimester ends, which means that progress reports are also due...all 50ish of them. Starting about a week ago, my calendar has a meeting on it everyday from now until March 28th...the day before spring break. Some days have more than one meeting. Some days, like conference days, have THREE or FOUR meetings... Why am I sharing this? Am I looking for sympathy? Maybe just a little!! Am I looking for a change? Absolutely! I'm not sure if this change comes in the form of a change in career...haha!! Or if it just calls for a change in how we do business. How the state and federal government conducts special education. How the demands of paperwork are thought around because I am drowning! We are drowning! And it's not just at my school It's across the district! Across the state perhaps! Across the nation! When I began my career as a speech-language pathologist, I did not intend to spend my days writing paperwork. And yet, that's exactly what I am doing! I spend a majority of my time working on paperwork. Whether it be writing evaluations and IEPs, sending home meeting invitations, tracking down signatures for Medicaid consent, filling out preschool COSF forms, amending IEPs, completing buy-offs of paperwork that comes into the district, editing our monthly count...the list goes on and on. I don't think I've seen the top of my desk since November...maybe September because it's buried in paperwork. Why? Why do we have so much paperwork? Why do we have so many forms? Why do we have to have documents that are 15-30 pages long stating what a child needs, or where their program is going to take them. You know what? Quite often, their paperwork says I'm going to do great things! And I typically do my best to do great things. But, there's just no time! There's no time to be able to complete all the paperwork, see the kids for the time they need, plan for the next day, and actually enjoy the job. We're too busy! There's just no time! Something that I have always tried to stick to was leaving my work at work. I might stay until 5:00 every night, but I've always been pleased with myself in being able to leave my work at work and just be able to be a mom at home...until recently There's just no time! So, every day I'm dragging home files and assessments and paperwork and working at home. I refuse to take time away from my children, so I put them to bed, and begin to work on the reports that usually take me anywhere from 2-5 hours to complete. And sure, I could write less, or only give the student one goal as is suggested that we do. But, I just can't! I throw my heart and soul into that document, knowing that if I get sued, that's what the courts are going to look at. THAT'S what the courts are going to see. They aren't going to see the cute lesson on social skills that I worked through with a student. They aren't going to see the thirty minutes I spend with a student every week as he talks to me about memories about his grandmother because she died over the summer. They aren't going to see the little boy with Autism who head butts me every time I work with him because I'm a slow learner and get a little too close, but who sat in my lap today and said all of the cards we were working on this morning. They aren't going to see my tears flowing in meetings when I worry and fret and am anxious as we discuss transitioning a student to junior high. They aren't going to see the love and care that our special education teachers take with the students. They aren't going to see our teachers eating lunch with the students who have sensory issues and can't stand going to the lunch room. They aren't going to see that we give up our lunch or our planning or our breaks to deal with behaviors that the general education teachers send us. Nope, they're going to be checking that document. Those evaluations and IEPs that mean so much to them. The paperwork where you miss one sheet, you have five more sheets to put in explaining why you missed that one sheet. I understand accountability. And I understand that there are some teachers who don't care, and who those documents were probably made for, but in the meantime the rest of us suffer. Special education teachers suffer, and because of the stress and pressure we are under, our children suffer. It's not fair! This is NOT why I got into speech. This is not what I wanted to do when I signed up to work with special education children. I did not go to school for six years to turn my children over to my assistant while I sit at my computer and write reports. But, this is where we are, and it seems to get worse every year! In a time when people seem to consistently be outraged with teachers, as a teacher I'm pleading and begging people to just stop and take a breath. The common core that I see plastered all over Facebook and Twitter and news stories? The anger and bad feelings towards where we are headed? Maybe don't me mad at a teacher for that? Have you asked how we feel? And the teacher evaluations? I hear that people want accountability. That we are responsible for teaching children and getting them college ready, workforce ready...but evaluating our performance on how a student performs on a test? Really? So, I know that I'm not on that evaluation right now, but I'm pretty sure that I will be! So, if we look at my student population and determine that my job will be based off of how they do on an evaluation, I better pack my boxes now. Because as hard as I work, and as fast as I teach, many of my kids will not pass the test. Pessimistic, huh? Maybe! But, my students don't come to school worried about performing on a test! My students come to school with empty stomachs. My students' have such dire language concerns, that we work on things like "This is a cow. It is a farm animal. It eats grass and gives us milk. Baby cows are called calves." We're not worried about using complete sentences on the writing portion of the MSP. I wish we were, but we're not. My students come to school sad because their mom ran away. My students have parents in denial about what is going on and they are left to flounder rather that get answers and assistance to help them be successful. My students are angry or tired or sad or anxious. My students are on medications that slow their processing down, make them not want to eat, make them sleep poorly. My students have had siblings pass away. My students want to be heard and hugged and helped, not with math or reading or writing, but with listening, and problem-solving life. And the bottom line? There's just no time! My co-workers and I today talked about writing our legislature about the demands of the paperwork on our jobs. And then we laughed that there was just no time! I'm not certain that any congressmen read my blog, or much of the public that seem to hate educators right now. But, something has got to give! Unfortunately for me, the give was the sanctity of my home, and having to cave and bring work home. For three nights in a row now I've worked on IEPs and Evals from home. I've spent 2-3 hours typing every night. I just finished before I decided to vent here on my blog. Last night, Amelia lost her stuffed turtle that she sleeps with every night. Rather than take a minute to help her find it, I snapped at her, told her to go to bed, that I had work to do. This isn't what I signed up for either! Because now, the paperwork is not only impacting me at work, but it's encroaching into my home life. During the time that I need to shut out work and just be a mom, I'm being an SLP. I'm thinking about 50 other children, while I tuck my own in early, hoping to get a few extra minutes to write. And then, when I'm done writing, I lay in bed and think about all of the students that we've met on. How I can make their paperwork better. What I can do differently to support them in the classroom. How do get them to stop hitting their classmates. How to explain something as abstract as emotion and feelings to students who are pragmatically impaired and language impaired. As I was tucking Amelia into bed tonight, I asked her if she had Slowpoke (the turtle that was missing from last night). "Yes, mommy. I'll try not to lose him again." "Amelia, I know that you didn't lose him on purpose. We just misplaced him. It's Ok!" "No, it's not, mommy. We don't want you to get fired!" "Um, why would I get fired?" "Well, if we keep you up looking for turtles and babies and blankies, then you won't have time to do your homework and you might get fired." "Oh, Amelia, I'm not going to get fired. I bring my work home because there's just no time!" "I know, mommy. You say that a lot lately. I'm sorry you're so busy." "I'm sorry too. I need to leave my work at work like I used to." "Well, you gotta do what you gotta do. And we love you, no matter how much time you have!" I kissed her good night and told her I loved her and I left her room, to go to the computer and start my report for the night. And I did it. I completed one report. Only three more to go for this week. But as I'm writing this, tears are welling up in my eyes because I'm stressed to the max! There's just no time. There's no time for the things that really matter. And, like I said, I work all day and come home. I cook dinner for my kids, do homework with them, bath, reading, and then tuck them into bed. And then my mind is back at work. I'm so busy thinking about the 50 kids I leave at work everyday, that sometimes I forget about the two that are living with me in this house. And I know that this is true for any teacher. We carry our students' burdens with us. We try to fix them and everything about them, and when we can't it's frustrating. You won't read about those things in any report though. So, to my teacher friends, I'm sorry that we are ALL stressed to the max! It's a rough time to be in this rough profession, and it doesn't seem to get any easier. But, at least in March, if you could take a second and think about your special education friends. Because we are stressed to the max right now, just with paperwork. And we do our best to keep up with the everyday stuff that your kiddos throw at us too, sometimes literally! And to my friends that aren't teachers? Pause and give thought to those people you know who are teachers, whether they teach your own children, or are friends that are teachers. We get a raw deal when it comes to the media. And I know there are bad eggs out there, but don't assume we all are! As I'm typing this, there are hundred of teachers right now doing something for their classrooms for tomorrow. So, hug a teacher tomorrow and thank them for the countless hours and time and love they put in to teach your students! And bring chocolate to your special education teacher friends... :) There's ALWAYS time for chocolate!

Tonight at 11:00

I'm a fairly naïve person. I was raised to think that the world was wholesome and good and that there weren't too many horrible things that happened. We didn't watch much news growing up. We didn't watch anything that was over a PG rating for the most part. I grew up thinking that everything was safe and secure. Then, as I was growing up and entering junior high and high school, I began to realize on my own that life wasn't as grand and glorious as my little sheltered mind was thinking. I remember sitting in the cafeteria in ninth grade and watching a drug deal go down right at my lunch table. In high school, there were huge problems with gangs and fights, to the point where school was almost cancelled because of threats that were made. When I left for college and was out on my own, my eyes were opened even more to the fact that I did not live in a safe, secure world, but made the excuse that I had moved to Seattle. From a small farm in Bremerton to a University that is almost more than the entire population of my hometown was an eye opening experience. My six years in Seattle further demonstrated that we do not live in safe, secure times. Then, I moved back home. Oh home! Tiny, safe, secure, small-town home. And then I married Brian. Brian was a dispatcher for the Washington State Patrol for part of our marriage, and eventually was a dispatcher for Cencom. He was also a volunteer firefighter and EMT. And my small, safe, secure world shattered into a million pieces. Scanners were always on in our home. His pager was with us wherever we went. I heard call after call. I listened to him vent and cry and worry about things that happened while he was at his job, and I was horrified. Surely, these things weren't happening in my hometown. Not here. I live on a farm. We are a smaller town. Surely, this just wasn't possible. But, it was. And my eyes were opened even more. It can be frightening to realize that you are not as safe as you thought you were. Being a teacher in an elementary school, we often have drills. They used to just be fire drills and earthquake drills. Eventually, we started having lockdown drills, and we seem to practice those more often than the others anymore. As a teacher, it makes my skin crawl and my heart sink when our principal comes over the intercom and announces that we are in lockdown, even as a drill. With all of the school shootings that take place, my mind races to those visuals that we often witness over and over again on TV and it takes my breath away. It makes it worse when I look at the babies sitting around my table and start to play through the "what ifs" during these drills. What if someone was in the annex? What if someone somehow got into my room? What if I had to make a split second decision of how to best protect these children, these little people that their parents entrusted to me? Ugh...just typing these things out makes my stomach churn because I'm torn. Although I know that I would sacrifice myself in a heartbeat to save any one of the babies that I serve in my office, I know that my heart would be breaking in two as visions of my girls would come into view. What a choice to have to make! And I just can't even think about this anymore. My heart rips in two thinking about lockdowns and why on earth this is even something that we have to plan for! Our jobs as teachers should be just that. To teach! To teach our children to the best of our abilities and not have to think about potentially risking our lives to save theirs. To simply help them learn reading and writing and math and not have to worry about all of the impacts the unsafe, cruel world put on them anymore. I typically don't get to pick my girls' up from school unless I have a day off. However, their usual babysitter was not available this afternoon so they went to the child care. I had a meeting at work and when it was over I began making the drive to their school. As I got closer and closer I noticed helicopters hovering in the sky from a distance. "Huh," I thought, "I wonder what's going on." The next intersection another helicopter was flying in. "Sheesh! That's strange. Something big must be happening." The next intersection pulled it into perspective a little bit more and I realized that the helicopters could be hovering over the school, but I wasn't sure so I began making up scenarios about what could be happening. The next intersection it was painfully obvious that the helicopters were right over the girls' school and my heart set to panic. I hadn't heard from my mom, who works at their school so everything must be fine. But, what if it wasn't and she couldn't call and let me know. And then the images started going through my head. Shootings and bad guys. People injured. Amelia scared and wanting me. Emerson being stuck in daycare where she didn't want to be in the first place. My parents...and then I shoved those thoughts aside, tried my best to think more positively, and drove as quickly as I could. Then, I started passing police car after police car. Police cars parked on the side of the road. Police officers walking down the street and the panic began to set in again. I got to the school, got out of my truck, and noticed that the helicopters were indeed right over the school. I slowly walked into the school, which I took as a good sign that I could do this, and found my mom. I just looked at her and said, "What's wrong? Why are there helicopters?" and she told me they had been in lockdown at the very end of their day. That everything was fine. That the police had called and put them in lockdown because there was a stabbing and that they hadn't found the suspect. That my dad and the school principal stood guard outside the school, watching for a stranger, for an intruder while all of the kids were tucked safely away in their classrooms with their amazing teachers and daycare workers. Trying not to cry, I walked as fast as I could up to the daycare to sign my babies out and take them home. They ran to me and chatted about pictures they'd drawn and games they'd played, people that were in daycare and why did I have to come and pick them up so early. My heart rate slowed as we walked hand in hand back down to the school to finish our evening together. As I was tucking Emerson into bed tonight she said, "Guess what, mommy? "What, sweetheart?" "Ms. Rita, I mean MomMom, came on the intercom this afternoon and said some things. The daycare people told us that we were going to play the quiet game for a long time and guess what? MomMom said that we won the game!" Tears came quickly to my eyes. Tears of thankfulness and joy. Tears of gratitude to the amazing people that work with my children. My sweet Emerson was playing the quiet game. And she was so excited that she won! "Emerson, that's great! It sounds like you did an amazing job of playing the quiet game! I'm proud of you!" "Night, mommy!" "Good night, Emmy. I love you!" And then I walked to the next girl's room. "Amelia, how do you feel about what happened today at school?" "You mean the lockdown?" "Yeah, are you ok with everything?" "Yeah. It was kind of boring. We had to sit in our classroom in the dark and be really quiet. But, it was just a drill. Ms. D said we were just practicing." And then the conversation turned to drills and asking if we have drills and wondering if the white board in her room would stay attached to the wall in an earthquake because she's right next to it and checked it out and doesn't think she stands a chance being next to it. And once again, my heart was relieved! Those teachers did what the teachers at my school would do. They protected my kids. They walked them through a lockdown and they kept them calm and everything was fine. I am blessed! I have a school that my children love where the teachers love and care for the children. And I get to be a teacher in a school where I get to love and care for my children. It makes going to work and playing through scenarios such as lockdowns so much easier when I know that while I'm protecting other peoples' children, there will be people protecting mine for me. We live in scary, scary times. Stabbing and shootings. People killing innocent children. Rapes and pornography. My eyes are wide open and there are many days that I wish they weren't. Remember at the beginning that I said I'm naïve, but I just cannot wrap my head around the idea that one human would look at another human and have the desire to take their life. Or how a teacher can look at a student and think that sleeping with that student is ok. Or how people could look at innocent little toddlers, and infants too anymore, and kill or beat them. It's hard to think through some of the things that happen. And it is scary times. I wish I could go back to thinking the world was safe and secure. It makes our jobs as parents so much harder. Finding a balance between teaching the girls that they are safe and secure, yet also instilling in them that people can be bad and to not trust everyone. Do I go around paranoid and worried? Actually, I don't. In fact, sometimes I think that I am too far on the other side of that in that I myself am still trusting and naïve and not really afraid of anything. That can be a dangerous mix! Things have happened in my life that has tested my trust and my fear, and perhaps these things should have made me more cautious, but it didn't. I think that part of it is that I don't want to live my life in fear. I don't want to be one that pulls my kids out of school and stays home and hides from everything in fear. I can't live like that! And I think that my faith in God brings that into perspective for me. I know that there is some sort of plan out there for my girls and for me. Does this mean I'm not cautious? Absolutely not! I am careful. I follow the rules. I try to be smart about things. But, I also don't live in paranoid fear. If I'm driving to my daughters' school and something seems amiss, I will have fear. But I'm not going to stop living for fear! Amelia's parting words to me tonight were, "Mommy, I'm glad that we practiced the lockdown today. Now if a real one happens, we'll be ready!" I smiled and told her I was glad they practiced too. Life is practice! We learn from the experiences that we have. Good and bad! Things happen to us and we react. We can either grow and try to do it better next time. Or we freak out and bury our heads in the sand and we're still no more prepared than we were to begin with. So, I'm choosing to practice! I've made lots of mistakes, but I can guarantee when they come back around again, I won't make the same mistakes. Learn from your mistakes! Have faith that there's more to your plan! Don't live in fear! Except for maybe when the helicopters are hovering...