kinder roundup blues
Kinder Round Up. Don't you just picture rooms full of children, exploring the environment, making new friends, getting excited about the new adventure that would start in the fall.
Here's the reality of the situation. Parents drop their children off with the teachers, and the parents go to a designated area to let the staff observe their incoming students.
And by observe, I mean take notes on a clipboard of the good, the bad, and "those kids."
Pretty sure Hunter was one of "those kids" today.
He eloped the minute we got to the kindergarten classrooms- he wouldn't walk down without me, even though my sweet friend at the school tried to get him to go with her. So I went with him
and attempted to show him how fun and exciting kindergarten would be.
He ran to the library, so we walked in for a minute, and then I did pull out the bribe- I told him we would get ice cream after we finished the kinder roundup. So we headed back down the hall.
The staff member was able to snap a picture of him at the door, and he did walk in and explore. He wanted nothing to do with the coloring table, the shape sorters, and avoided any interaction with other children. The room, noisily buzzing with excitement, flickering fluorescent lights, and a year's worth of art projects covering the walls created the perfect environment for disaster.
I didn't recognize most of the staff in the room, but I did see the clipboards and pencils. And I knew exactly what they were doing. You see, I used to do it, too. The staff gathers notes about all the children to determine how to split up the classes, and basically does a diagnostic of each child in the matter of minutes.
However, this time, I wasn't the one with the clipboard.
I was the parent observing everyone else observing my son.
I couldn't help but notice the raised eyebrows and knowing glances.
I also couldn't help but overhear, "The kid in the blue shirt."
Yep, that was my kid in the blue shirt. I wanted to individually tell all those holding clipboards, "Hey, y'all, don't worry...I got this. I'm clued in!"
Or, "It's OK! You can stop diagnosing after that hand flap! Yep, he likes to wrap his shirt around his body! Ding ding ding- you got it! He has Autism!"
But instead, I continued to feel the heat and just let Hunter do his thing.
The principal introduced me to the special education teacher, and she made me feel ten times better, with her quick wit and her welcoming, caring, and understanding personality. She attempted to get Hunter to interact with her, and I then left the room for approximately 45 seconds...until I heard the kicking and came back to his shoes on the floor and a discombobulated Hunter.
So I stayed until all the parents came back from their meeting where they heard how wonderful kindergarten would be.
And then I watched all of those parents stand in the doorway, staring so proudly at their children, already thriving in a kindergarten room after only 30 minutes.
And I couldn't help feeling so darn angry.
Starting school is a milestone that I am just not ready for...and it isn't because I am not ready to let him attend school full-time. As sad as I am about my second baby going to "big school," every one of those emotions is trumped when I realize I have not recovered him yet.
We are not where I imagined us to be a couple of years ago. My first goal time was before he turned five. Surely I could reverse the damage within that time frame.
Well, his fifth birthday came and went...and now we are one month away from turning six.
Tomorrow we meet with Dr. G, exactly one year from when we started this process. We saw him last year at this time to start the steroid burst, which confirmed an autoimmune diagnosis. We finally, finally, finally received confirmation that no one could dispute. We developed a plan, and we WERE going to help his little brain function better! We were going to take over those confused antibodies and finally get this boy "healthy" again.
Tomorrow we determine if we have seen enough change to continue IVIG. Although it is a slow recovery process, I know we have made huge gains and have seen improvement. However, rounding Hunter up for kindergarten sunk my heart deeper when I saw so many others still "diagnosis" him- within minutes.
I want so badly to recover this sweet boy. I don't know how to pray any harder, to work any harder, to get him ready any better for school.
I don't know how to hope any stronger, believe any deeper, or love any bigger. I feel like we have given it our all.
When we left school, Hunter said, "So do we get to go get ice cream?"
YES. And I let him get whatever he wanted. Oh, you want full dairy chocolate ice cream? Sure! You want those artificially flavored frogs? Go ahead! Oh, and those red dye, full of food-coloring candies? Pile them on.
Because when doesn't ice cream make things better?
So with every scoop, every pile, every additive, I promised myself and Hunter, once again, that I would be able to one day show him all these blog entries and tell him,
"You did it, Hunter."
"You beat Autism."
Praying for a comprehensive and collaborative appointment tomorrow afternoon to guide us along the right path.
My devotion for May 8th from "Jesus Calling:"
Do not long for the absence of problems in your life. That is an unrealistic goal, since in this world you will have trouble. You have an eternity of problem-free living reserved for you in heaven. Rejoice in that inheritance, which no one can take away from you, but do not seek your heaven on earth. Begin each day anticipating problems, asking Me to equip you for whatever difficulties you will encounter. The best equipping is My living presence, My hand that never lets go of yours. Discuss everything with Me. Take a lighthearted view of trouble, seeing it as a challenge that you and I together can handle. Remember that I am on your side, and I have overcome the world.
John 16:33 Isaiah 41:13; Phillippians 4:13
Here's the reality of the situation. Parents drop their children off with the teachers, and the parents go to a designated area to let the staff observe their incoming students.
And by observe, I mean take notes on a clipboard of the good, the bad, and "those kids."
Pretty sure Hunter was one of "those kids" today.
He eloped the minute we got to the kindergarten classrooms- he wouldn't walk down without me, even though my sweet friend at the school tried to get him to go with her. So I went with him
and attempted to show him how fun and exciting kindergarten would be.
He ran to the library, so we walked in for a minute, and then I did pull out the bribe- I told him we would get ice cream after we finished the kinder roundup. So we headed back down the hall.
The staff member was able to snap a picture of him at the door, and he did walk in and explore. He wanted nothing to do with the coloring table, the shape sorters, and avoided any interaction with other children. The room, noisily buzzing with excitement, flickering fluorescent lights, and a year's worth of art projects covering the walls created the perfect environment for disaster.
I didn't recognize most of the staff in the room, but I did see the clipboards and pencils. And I knew exactly what they were doing. You see, I used to do it, too. The staff gathers notes about all the children to determine how to split up the classes, and basically does a diagnostic of each child in the matter of minutes. However, this time, I wasn't the one with the clipboard.
I was the parent observing everyone else observing my son.
I couldn't help but notice the raised eyebrows and knowing glances.
I also couldn't help but overhear, "The kid in the blue shirt."
Yep, that was my kid in the blue shirt. I wanted to individually tell all those holding clipboards, "Hey, y'all, don't worry...I got this. I'm clued in!"
Or, "It's OK! You can stop diagnosing after that hand flap! Yep, he likes to wrap his shirt around his body! Ding ding ding- you got it! He has Autism!"
But instead, I continued to feel the heat and just let Hunter do his thing.
The principal introduced me to the special education teacher, and she made me feel ten times better, with her quick wit and her welcoming, caring, and understanding personality. She attempted to get Hunter to interact with her, and I then left the room for approximately 45 seconds...until I heard the kicking and came back to his shoes on the floor and a discombobulated Hunter.
So I stayed until all the parents came back from their meeting where they heard how wonderful kindergarten would be.
And then I watched all of those parents stand in the doorway, staring so proudly at their children, already thriving in a kindergarten room after only 30 minutes.
And I couldn't help feeling so darn angry.
Starting school is a milestone that I am just not ready for...and it isn't because I am not ready to let him attend school full-time. As sad as I am about my second baby going to "big school," every one of those emotions is trumped when I realize I have not recovered him yet.
We are not where I imagined us to be a couple of years ago. My first goal time was before he turned five. Surely I could reverse the damage within that time frame.
Well, his fifth birthday came and went...and now we are one month away from turning six.
Tomorrow we meet with Dr. G, exactly one year from when we started this process. We saw him last year at this time to start the steroid burst, which confirmed an autoimmune diagnosis. We finally, finally, finally received confirmation that no one could dispute. We developed a plan, and we WERE going to help his little brain function better! We were going to take over those confused antibodies and finally get this boy "healthy" again.
Tomorrow we determine if we have seen enough change to continue IVIG. Although it is a slow recovery process, I know we have made huge gains and have seen improvement. However, rounding Hunter up for kindergarten sunk my heart deeper when I saw so many others still "diagnosis" him- within minutes.
I want so badly to recover this sweet boy. I don't know how to pray any harder, to work any harder, to get him ready any better for school.
I don't know how to hope any stronger, believe any deeper, or love any bigger. I feel like we have given it our all.
When we left school, Hunter said, "So do we get to go get ice cream?"
YES. And I let him get whatever he wanted. Oh, you want full dairy chocolate ice cream? Sure! You want those artificially flavored frogs? Go ahead! Oh, and those red dye, full of food-coloring candies? Pile them on.Because when doesn't ice cream make things better?
So with every scoop, every pile, every additive, I promised myself and Hunter, once again, that I would be able to one day show him all these blog entries and tell him,
"You did it, Hunter."
"You beat Autism."
Praying for a comprehensive and collaborative appointment tomorrow afternoon to guide us along the right path.
My devotion for May 8th from "Jesus Calling:"
Do not long for the absence of problems in your life. That is an unrealistic goal, since in this world you will have trouble. You have an eternity of problem-free living reserved for you in heaven. Rejoice in that inheritance, which no one can take away from you, but do not seek your heaven on earth. Begin each day anticipating problems, asking Me to equip you for whatever difficulties you will encounter. The best equipping is My living presence, My hand that never lets go of yours. Discuss everything with Me. Take a lighthearted view of trouble, seeing it as a challenge that you and I together can handle. Remember that I am on your side, and I have overcome the world.
John 16:33 Isaiah 41:13; Phillippians 4:13
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