...to get a child the help he or she needs in school. Really, it shouldn't. And, it's sad to say, I've spent much of my time and energy these past few months battling it out with the special education department at my daughter's new school. KJ has something that functions like dyslexia and/or dysgraphia. But my daughter is very confident and is a dedicated and determined student, so, ironically, it is because of those desirable qualities that we have a problem...
I could give you a play by play of the last two IEP meetings (IEP = Individual Education Plan - the document that states what the school must do for my child because she needs special education services), but there is not enough space here to give you the dirty details. What I will tell you is that California, and in particular - this school district - makes it very difficult for students with a general "learning disability" to get the services they need so that they are successful in both the short and long term.
What you should know is that in order to qualify for special ed., a student must 1. have a discrepancy between the student's IQ and performance (performance = test scores from tests administered by the special ed. teacher and a school psychologist). In addition, 2. the student's educational performance is considered (educational often is equated with academics, and they often refer to grades for that). Finally, it must be determined (at least in California) that 3. there is a processing disorder. As I mentioned, my daughter is a good student - she always has been. Even though she gets frustrated and cries and spends twice as much time working on assignments as everyone else, she somehow manages to earn As and Bs. Still, if you look at her writing, you can see that there is a problem...
Without further adieu, the highlights (or the "low" lights - which is the case here):
Meeting one:
- I was ambushed. While very few of my daughter's test scores have changed, still they told me, straight out, "your daughter DOES NOT have a disability."
- I noticed discrepancies in several areas in my daughter's tests. When I brought up those concerns, however, the special ed. teacher spent most of the time comparing my daughter to her non-special ed. child to minimize my concerns.
- The psychologist straight out told me that I have to let my daughter fail before she will be reconsidered for an IEP.
Meeting two:
- They brought in a district representative in order to further squelch my concerns.
- I came prepared. I brought my husband and my research.
- They had to admit this time that my daughter actually has a discrepancy in THREE areas, which is one indication that she has a learning disability.
- The district rep. did agree that my daughter does seem to struggle in writing, but the psychologist was adamant in her conclusion that my daughter "does not have a processing disorder."
- Both the special ed. teacher and the psychologist poured over the previous IEP designations, questioning me as if I had somehow sneaked my daughter into the system. I explained in the last meeting that she couldn't read until the third grade and couldn't read cursive until a year ago, but they didn't remember that.
To make a long story short, my husband requested that we have KJ re-tested.
Wow. Talk about running a marathon. I guess all that training prepared me for more than just running a foot race. I can't imagine how a person without a degree in education fares in this process!
"Get busy living, or get busy dying." ~ Andy Dufresne, from Shawshank Redemption
How I got busy living today:
- met a parent and student for coffee; walked him through the process of writing two different types of essays (which he missed due to a serious injury that had him home bound for about six weeks)
- took the younger two to the "boat" park (which features an eye shaped sand pit) even though it was a chilly 50 degrees here (now, now - be easy on we cold sensitive Californians. Fifty degrees to us is like 25 degrees to you)
- strung Christmas lights across the front of the house even though Christmas is a just few days away
My Fuggs are not fugly. But they are warm. And they are fuggs. No doubt about that. The tell-tale sign is that the sole of the shoe is the reverse pattern of a real Ugg - as if someone bought a real pair of Uggs and used the sole of the shoe to create a manufacturing mold by pressing each shoe into wet plaster.
The other tell-tale signs are the obvious typographical and grammatical errors on the very real looking "note of authenticity" and "customer care" cards.
Notice in the last picture that at the end of the first paragraph the contraction "you've." There is an extra space between "you'" and "ve." Minor. Now read the first sentence in the second paragraph. "In order to arrain the sumptuous color of these boots..." Arrain? That isn't even a real word. Did they mean to spell "arraign?" Are these boots on trial? No doubt about that either. And that's what's gonna happen to these guys when the US government discovers that the "Uggs International" company has been selling fake product. And finally, at the end of that same paragraph, notice that "some dye transfer may occur onto light "colothing..."" Such as on kinickers? Oh my.
So I feel terrible. I try to tell myself that these are factory seconds and not contraband stitched by the nimble fingers of children and purchased off the black market. And even now as I wonder how such items can make it through customs, I marvel at how cleverly the packing slip refers to my purchase as a "gift."
...and the product arrived safely from *China*. Actually, the package is waiting at the post office as I'll need to sign for it. Ah, the sweet smell of capitalist consumerism! The product may be conterfeit, but they do pay attention to some details...such as making sure that my fake product is delivered properly.
Looks like my Fuggs are here!
...a soccer parent found the great "deal" online, and she passed the web address on to me. Name brand sheepskin boots for half the retail price. Right then and there I should have been suspicious. But, I must confess, all that morning I had been admiring her *real* pair of tall chestnut sheep fur (okay - wool - whatever) lined boots. That was my second mistake. My first mistake was to spend most of the previous night shivering outdoors at a football game. The ol' Converse left my feet exposed to the elements, and by the end of the evening I could have used my feet to ice down a Popsicle. Mistake number three was to think that somehow the hard to believe prices were for legit merchandise. So after I made the secured payment and received the confirmation email from a company that was spelled in Chinese (a company name never mentioned anywhere on the web site), I knew I had been scammed. Of course no one from the company responded to my emails to "cancel the order." As desperate as I was to undo the undo-able, I even considered translating my request into Chinese and emailing that. But they probably outsource anyway, so I abandoned that plan. Now I wait patiently for my order of Fuggs to arrive, and I will be glad when they do come because that will mean that I'm not a total idiot. Then I can hide them in the corner of the closet next to my "Roldex" watch and "Guccli" handbag - a shrine to the demise of capitalism - while I wait for the paypal dispute to be resolved.
Don't answer that.
A week ago, I lost my "bookmarks toolbar" after a recent Firefox update. I spent at least an hour trying to figure out, a. where it went, and b. how to get it back. And then I just gave up on the whole darned thing.
Today, I opened up my browser, and voila, the toolbar is back. Tricky trick. So here is a tricky haiku:
toolbar gone, then here -
firefox stealth update or
computer gremlins?
A recap of the last month:
soccer games (oldest won a legit trophy; her team earned second place in a soccer tourney)
grading papers. hundreds of them. need to stop assigning work. boo.
karaoke at women's church retreat: costumes of paper, duct tape, and foil were fabulous
homecoming float building
treat or tricking
oldest turned 14
Those were the non-parallel structured highlights. I plead the fifth on the rest.
One an' two an' three an' twirl. That's my rhythm
this afternoon. I don't complain even though
it's god awful hot out here. Almost a hundred
an' two degrees yesterday. "All you can eat
Pizza buffet, lunch special!" Seems you'd
want a guy drivin' by to read the sign, but
they got us spinnin' and shakin' and dancin' it
around. Not that I'm complainin'. I need the job.
There's talk of closin' the plant where Mama works.
Yeah, young guys like me don't do the jobs guys
used to do. My Grampa was a printer. He learned how at
the newspaper up north in Tacoma. He tells me 'bout
how they had him luggin' around stacks of paper
hundred pounds each an' clankin' an' pullin' an'
hummin' all kinds of machines. He was thirteen when
he started. Long time ago, Mama took me to the shop, but
I don't remember. She says he always had his head stuck in a
press - inkin' it up or scrubbin' it down - punchin' buttons
and checkin' papers as they spit out the other side.
She says one press was the size of our house! Mama says
in the old days, Grampa used to smell like ink when
he came home at night - an' his sausage sized fingers
got stained black from mixin' all day. They used to
scoop blobs of ink from big tins an' plop it on
an old printin' plate an' mix it all around 'til it
was just the right color. That's how they did it way
back then. Now the colors come ready mixed, I guess.
Yeah, sure is hot out here. But I smile an' pretend
this is the best job in the world. At least I'm gettin' a
good work out. Plus I can listen to my I-Pod all day.
Kelton says he's quitting. I'll see if I can get his
shift too. Gotta work on a new routine, though. Can't
be twirlin' and flippin' all Saturday. Gotta pace myself.
