When the principal suspended my daughter Katie on her birthday, he created a problem. I’d agreed to the upcoming IEP meeting assuming Katie would be in school. But if she was suspended, then I couldn’t attend. The principal said we needed to have the meeting and asked if my parents could babysit. I said no. I refrained from telling him that there was no way my mother was going to make this easy for the school district. He said he would figure something out.

The following week, on the night before the IEP meeting, I received an email from the teacher. He wanted to know if I’d arranged childcare. I told him no, the principal had said he’d arrange something. The teacher responded that he was sure he had. I spent the night tossing and turning, wondering what, if anything, had been arranged.

In the end, the school decided to simply put Katie in her classroom. This was a good thing because no matter how one did the math, Katie had already missed too much school. There had been eleven days of suspension, only ten of which were documented, plus another five days of “non-suspension.” The law is pretty clear that after ten days, the school district must either return the child to the classroom or else find an alternate placement. So far neither of these had been done.

There were far too many people crammed into the speech therapist’s office. Geri, the advocate, and I had to practically climb over the table to reach our seats. I was surprised to see that both the Pleasanton teacher and behaviorist were in attendance. No one had bothered to tell me that they were coming.

Before the IEP meeting could start, the team needed to conduct a manifestation determination. Because Katie had been suspended for more than ten days, the school district needed to assess whether or not the behavior leading to the suspension was a manifestation of Katie’s disability. The school psychologist had prepared a report that no one bothered to read. The entire team voted yes without any discussion. The mood was, well duh. She has autism.

Geri pointed out that since Katie had missed more than ten days of school, the school district was obligated to provide her with an interim alternate placement for the remainder of her suspension. The case manager said, “You mean, like provide a sub?”

Geri said, “Do you have credentialed special education substitutes?”

The case manager stammered and admitted no. She insisted this wasn’t necessary. Geri said it was. They went back and forth until the principal stopped them. He said Katie was at school anyway, so she might as well stay. Unless the case manager found an appropriate substitute, he was going to allow Katie to return to school.

Next was the updated behavior plan. At the previous IEP meeting, Geri had asked why the behaviorist had not conducted an FAA given that Katie had begun exhibiting problematic behavior. In the subsequent three weeks, the behaviorist had finally conducted this analysis, but did so without my having signed the mandatory parental consent form. Oops!

The FAA data showed that the aides required more (or better) training, although the behaviorist did not seem to know this. The questionable pie chart from the original report was missing.

The look on the Pleasanton behaviorist’s face as she reviewed the report was priceless. She asked if Katie exhibited any of the behaviors at home and I said no, not even during her in-home therapy. She nodded as if she expected this answer. What about when Katie attended school in Dublin? I said there had been behaviors when Katie transferred to Dublin, but they had quickly gotten them under control and after that negative behaviors were fairly rare. Plus many of the behaviors Katie was now exhibiting were new. The Pleasanton teacher and behaviorist exchanged a look. They asked about Dublin’s behavior plan. They asked how Katie regulated her sensory system and whether she did this independently. They asked about schedules. Every comment they made increased my confidence in their abilities.

Finally the Pleasanton teacher said, “I’m certain we can handle this in my classroom.” She looked at me across the table and smiled. Her smile said trust me.

Only later would it occur to me that the Pleasanton team never asked anyone from my school district any questions.

To be continued…

NOTE: For those of you who missed the earlier parts to this story (or simply want to refresh your memory), you can find them here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, and Part 6. Sorry, but as you can see, my IEP stories are never short.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton