A Season of Making Sense

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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We like Halloween around here. Part of Schuyler's fondness for the holiday probably stems, as it does for many kids with disabilities both obvious and invisible, from the opportunity to pass, if only superficially and for a short time, as no different from other kids. On most days, Schuyler is hyperaware of her difference, but on Halloween, the world is full of monsters and oddities and weirdos. Whatever she may think of herself on most days, this is the week where she's just one of the creepy crowd.

Deflated

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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Today, I’m tired of the walking. I’m tired of screwing up, and I’m tired of other people treating Schuyler like a cute little pet who might pee on the carpet, rather than a complicated and nuanced human being. My weapon is a rubber sword today, and it feels especially ineffective. I’m just going to sit for a while and see what happens. I wish I had something in my tank, and I’m sure I will tomorrow. But not today. Sorry.

Goodbye, Petey

Over the weekend, we said a sudden and unexpected goodbye to Petey, who had been with us since he was a tiny puppy in 2005.

Petey was a shy and sensitive dog (nonverbal, too, ironically) and he and Julie in particular loved each other deeply. If Julie was home, Petey was next to her; I was very much Petey's B Team. But if Julie wasn't around, Petey and I were play buddies, growly wrestlers and shameless dance partners. Petey left a very sad bunch of people and pooches behind him. It hit me last night that I'll never sing my "Petey Bo-Beety, the Petey Pop Pop" song to him again. He left a hole in this family that won't go away any time soon.

Goodbye, Petey. You were the sweetest and most steadfastly loyal dog ever.

The Path to Self-Advocacy

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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Schuyler is never going to be a confrontational self-advocate, I feel pretty certain of that. She shies away from conflict, even as she holds the grudges that she develops as a result of it. Her own sense of justice doesn't always trump her desire to navigate her life with ease. She loves participating in marching band, for instance, even as she feels slighted by how she's treated (and more to the point, sometimes dismissed) by her band teachers from time to time. She's not interested in taking a stand, so she endures what she perceives as slights and focuses on the fun she's having. Sometimes she's a little student of Zen, in a way that I wish I could be but never am.

Teaching Students to Self-Advocate

Amanda Morin and Robert Rummel-Hudson join The Inclusive Class Podcast this week! Amanda Morin is an advocate and author of The Everything Parent's Guide to Special Education. Robert Rummel-Hudson is author of Schuyler's Monster. Together, with Nicole and Terri, the conversation will be about teaching our student's to self-advocate - the pros, the cons, the pitfalls.

Check Out Family Podcasts at Blog Talk Radio with The Inclusive Class Podcast on BlogTalkRadio

An Extraordinary Story

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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In the list of commemorative awareness months, October's got a lot going on. It's Down Syndrome Awareness Month, after all, as well as National Dyslexia Awareness Month, National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, National ADHD Awareness Month, National Domestic Violence Awareness Month, Spina Bifida Awareness Month, and National Disability Employment Awareness Month. October kind of feels like Awareness Awareness Month, to be honest. Relevant to my own life and my own personal perspective, along with all those worthy causes, October is also AAC Awareness Month.

Two Simple Experiences

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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Now that Schuyler is up to her eyeballs in high school life, marching band has become something of a sink-or-swim experience for her. This has resulted in a few stumbles, such as when she took the field at last week's football game with big floppy shoes that were not just untied but actually unlaced because she couldn't do it and, for whatever reason, she couldn't find anyone to help her while the band was getting into their uniforms. The new independent model of Schuyler 2.0 has some bugs to work out of the system, but she's getting there.

Lily Pads

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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Today, I have a brief message specifically for the parents of kids with special needs. It's a message that parents of typical kids probably need to hear, too, but I kind of feel like they've got supports in place, strong ones with foundations rooted deep within our social structure. Of late, I've been watching as one special needs parent after another falters, and I've seen how tenuous their supports really can be. Their supports; OUR supports. I suppose my message to them is a message to myself as well.

The Key

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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Schuyler's voice is no longer a thing to squeak out of her iPad in close proximity. It's a thing that can travel beyond her immediate space. In some ways, Schuyler has found a way, though the simple act of handing a speaker over to a listener or placing outside of her own immediate personal space, to improve upon the natural human voice that she has been denied. And in handing that voice over to another, she creates a strange kind of intimacy, better than a shout. In a loud room, Schuyler can put her voice in your ear. I can't do that, and I find myself ever so slightly envious.

The Other Talk

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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Typical parents fear The Sex Talk. (To be fair, so do we.) Many special needs parents have The Other Talk, too. We don't discuss the topic with others very much, but be assured that we think about it. When we approach the topic with our kids, we do so gently, because in even the most tragic circumstances, Death shouldn't eclipse Life, and the days we get with our kids shouldn't be entirely stained by our anxiety for the days we lose.

On Labor Day, 2014

Today, at Support for Special Needs:

Excerpt:

I'm not usually one for writing contrived holiday-themed posts here ("It's Arbor Day, folks, and special needs families just love trees!"), but I think I'm going to make an exception for Labor Day. There are a lot of hard working people in this country, but those of us in the world of disability parenting find ourselves surrounded by the hardest working humans on the planet. For our kids, finding success in school and in the world is a lot like being an astronaut. We understand that the person standing on the moon is an extraordinary individual, and we celebrate that person's achievement. We do so, however, with the knowledge that it took a team to support those efforts and help that astronaut arrive.

To the people like her, which is perhaps everyone

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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When Schuyler looks at the future, she does so with her disability in mind, but not at the front of her thoughts. I envy her that. She's growing up quickly; today is her first day of high school, after all. We're having conversations identical to those happening in other houses around the world, about how it's appropriate for her to be thinking about boys she'd like to date, or girls she'd like to date, for that matter. ("Or both!" she said during our last conversation about dating; she's going to be trouble.) She asks me to teach her how to drive approximately every other day. When she breaks through her social anxiety, she laughs loudly and easily, and flirts without hesitation. Even a few months ago, I had my doubts about how she will navigate high school. She has those doubts, too, but she's working on them. And the thing is, only some of those doubts stem from her disability.

Unwanted monsters

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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Schuyler understands her disability better now than she ever has before. I'm immeasurably proud of her for that. But every so often, when things are hard, she pushes back a little. She doesn't rage, she doesn't cry or fall into despair, all of which I imagine would be my own response if I were in her shoes. She simply goes on record as saying that she doesn't want it. She knows her monster doesn't require her permission to do its wicked work, but she denies it that permission anyway. I'm incredibly proud of her for that as well.

Deconstructing the Gentle Lie

This morning at Support for Special Needs:

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Beyond mythological figures, there's the gradually disintegrating gentle lie we tell our children, the one that says that if they work hard enough or want it bad enough, they can do anything they want in the world. For kids with special needs, I suppose it's not all that different. As parents, we overbelieve, and we sell that overbelief to our kids, and that's not a bad thing, I don't think. As they grow older, like Santa, they begin to see the flaws in our lie, and as they deconstruct it bit by bit, they begin to incrementally build a more pragmatic truth in its place. They sniff out the path that does await them, the one that is meaningful and possible. As their parents, we can help, but in the end, it's not our quest. It's theirs.

The High School Chapter, Page One

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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Schuyler started her summer band camp this morning, so I guess this is sort of the unofficial beginning of her high school years. Two weeks of 7am-to-noon rehearsals, a week of evening practices, and then ninth grade classes begin for real. I remember my own high school days, of marching band practice beginning in August, under a hot West Texas sun. It sounds miserable, and it was. It was also kind of glorious. In a weird way, I envy her, although it must be said, I also predict I'll be back in bed by 7:30.

The World in a Room

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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The hard part comes in trying to help Schuyler decide what to give away and what to keep. We stay out of her way, even though honestly, she's not making a lot of progress. But it's up to her to decide, not so much what's appropriate to her age, because her age gives an incomplete picture of who she is and what's appropriate for her. No, for Schuyler, it's a process of deciding what is relevant to her now, to her life at this stage. When she starts high school in the coming weeks, I suspect her choices might change.

Eleven Years

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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Mostly, though, the last eleven years have given me Schuyler. They've allowed me the time to let go of my selfish expectations of who I thought my daughter was going to be, and they've allowed me to adapt and appreciate and unconditionally love the weird and wonderful girl she is. It's the girl she is despite her condition, and because of it. And I'm the father I am because of the many mistakes I've made and the occasional things I've gotten right. None of us in this family are the people we were then. The past eleven years have been a crucible and a wonder. We all bear scars and the remnants of war paint, and we all shine a little brighter when called upon to do so.

Schuyler's Sense of Self

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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It really is a beautiful photo, haunting and sweet. In most of her pics, Schuyler is laughing, and not gently, either. But as she gets older and more secure in her sense of self, and as she continues to construct and deconstruct her personal sense of who she is, the Schuyler she wants the world to know is more nuanced. She's growing up, and she knows it. I think it's beginning to excite her, the knowledge that she's in control of the person she is to become.

Independence Days

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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Watching Schuyler and her friend navigate their shared space was an eye-opening experience for me. I observed the ways in which they connected, and watched them dance around the ways that they simply couldn't connect. It gave me a sense of what a friendship with a neurotypical kid might look like, as well as why it has been so hard for Schuyler to make those friendships work out for long. I don't always have a very good concept of how far Schuyler really is from the developmental norm of kids her age. It's not something of which I should be so ignorant.

"Thanks, but..."

Today at Support for Special Needs:

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Special education is a funny thing. (Not so much “ha ha” funny, more like “Huh, that doesn’t make a lick of sense” funny. Not actually all that funny at all, sorry.) We believe deeply in early intervention and a robust special education system in place from the very beginning, but there’s little agreement on what success actually looks like. And to those of us who live in the world of special education, there are few things that make us at best roll our eyes and at worst lay awake at night than hearing even the most well-intentioned policy-makers and elected officials talk about how they’re going to fix special education.