For two months I waited for Ms Nav to schedule another IEP meeting. Despite numerous notes and emails, she never did. Finally in late April I put my foot down and insisted on a meeting. Ms Nav replied that Pleasanton had made its offer. Any other details I could work out with Pam, the new Program Specialist.

Was she kidding? The IEP Team hadn’t even discussed placement!

I told her I didn’t think it was legal for Pam and I to finalize an IEP alone, and then I turned the issue over to Pam. Unlike Pleasanton, my district was freaking out over the unsigned IEP.

It took Pam several weeks, but finally we had an IEP meeting set for the last week of school. The district had been out of compliance for 18 months, yet the teacher had succeeded in running out the clock. Ms Nav would not have to implement the goals she had resisted. I was annoyed but powerless to change this fact.

During my two-month wait, I had agonized over placement. I wasn’t thrilled about Katie returning to our home district, but I was even less thrilled with a life skills class. I wasn’t ready to give upon academics. It felt like giving up on Katie, and I wasn’t going to do that. Yet of the two options in our district, which was best for Katie?

I made lists of pros and cons, discussed the situation again and again with Barb, Katie’s in-home therapists, my boyfriend, Mom and Dad. Yes, the second class was a better for my long-term goal of getting Katie into the moderate class at Mitchell, but the teacher was a big unknown, one that could change more than once. Plus most of the students were graduating to high school. The class might look very different next year, and my district wasn’t sharing information. Mr M’s class composition probably wouldn’t change much and he loved technology. Katie did too. His class was smaller, and had more girls. But some of those girls had major behavioral issues and most were less verbal than Katie. Of course I didn’t know how verbal the kids would be in the other class, so that might be a wash.

It was impossible to decide. I found myself relying on instinct more and more. I liked the feel at Mr M’s school. It was warm and welcoming. Less homogenous than the other. Plus Mr M had already demonstrated a willingness to think outside the box to meet Katie’s needs. If Katie’s aide couldn’t take Katie off campus to the adjacent park to swing, he wanted to create a sensory gym in a vacant classroom. The principal and behaviorist were supportive and exploring the idea.

The school district was pushing for Mr M’s class but couldn’t (or wouldn’t) explain why. Pam mentioned that the second school wasn’t fenced. “If that’s a concern for you.”

“No,” I said. “Is it a concern for someone else?”

She couldn’t say.

In the end, it was Mr M’s flexibility and problem solving that pushed my decision towards his class. As Mom put it, “If they can’t handle the behavior and keep her butt in the chair, she won’t learn anything at all.”

I hated to admit it, but she was right. Katie needed a swing in order to learn and Mr M seemed willing to work with me on that. I doubted a substitute, no matter how excellent a teacher, was going to go to bat for my child.

So I would toss the dice on Mr M and pray it worked out well for Katie.

We had our IEP meeting in June. The day before I met with Pam to review the goals. She tossed several of the life skills goals and suggested changes to others. We spent three hours cleaning up the messy document: correcting typos, deleting old information, and revising benchmarks.

At the IEP meeting, she ran the show. We went page-by-page through the lengthy document. I was happy to turn this task over to her. Ms Nav didn’t look happy about the additional work, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t waited until the last minute to schedule the meeting.

Despite all the paper shuffling, it was a relatively uneventful meeting. Now that Katie was moving on and leaving Pleasanton, the team seemed helpful, even friendly. Everyone made eye contact.

But at the end of the school day, we still didn’t have a consolidated document. So I didn’t sign.

To be continued…

Until next time,
Cynthia

NOTE: If you want to read the prior posts in this thread, you can find them here: It’s IEP Season, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, and Part 6.

For several days I pondered how I could observe in the un-offered classroom placement. I checked the district website and learned Mitchell was now a K-8 school. Back in 2009, Mitchell was still an elementary school. It’s where Katie had attended kindergarten for a few short months and been suspended eight times in a row, in violation of federal law. I didn’t have good feelings about the place, but I still wanted to explore this alternative for Katie’s sake.

I had a flash of inspiration. I called Mary, the Program Specialist, and said the moderate class had been mentioned by both teachers. It might not be an appropriate placement for Katie, I said, but I’d like to know what to aim for.

“Yes,” Mary said. “It would help us with goal setting.”

Bingo.

A few days later, she and I visited the school. As I signed in, I was filled with shame remembering how many times I had to leave work in the middle of the day and sign this log so I could take Katie home. In the reason box I had to write suspension and the memory left a bitter taste in my mouth. Walking the familiar hallways brought back more unpleasant feelings. Would Katie remember this too?

The visit was rushed, and the teacher barely acknowledged us. I had feared the children would be far more verbal than Katie, like Roberto. Some were, but some were not. I also noticed they sat for far longer than Katie could sit. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell if this placement was a fit for Katie or not, but my instinct told me it would be a stretch.

Afterwards, in the parking, Mary told me she has accepted another job and today was her last day with the district. Pam would be taking over. Of all the program specialists in my district—and Katie has had many—I like Pam best. I took this as a good sign.

I asked if Mary thought Katie could make the leap to the moderate class at Mitchell. Maybe because it was her last day, she was honest. “I think it would be a tough transition coming from Ms Nav’s class. She’s too far behind academically, but I think it’s imminently doable. In fact, I think it’s a terrific goal for Katie.”

“What class would be the best fit for getting her there?”

In a few days I would discover that the district was pushing me towards Mr M’s class, but I didn’t know that yet.

Mary looked sheepish. “Probably the second one.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” My instincts were serving me well.

I thanked Mary and we parted ways.

Now I was more torn than ever.

To be continued…

Until next time,
Cynthia

NOTE: If you want to read the prior posts in this thread, you can find them here: It’s IEP Season, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, and Part 5.

When I was observing potential classroom placements in my home school district, both teachers mentioned a moderate special day class at another school. I had no idea where this class was or who taught it, but I wanted to know more about this alternative which neither district had mentioned. The more I thought about this unknown class, the more it annoyed me. How could I effectively advocate for my daughter if I didn’t know all the options?

A week later, Katie and I were at the park. A cute Hispanic boy about Katie’s age was also there, and he recognized Katie. It was Roberto, yet another child from Mr F’s class.

Roberto tried and tried to get Katie to play with him, but Katie was only interested in swinging—hard and high. Roberto couldn’t keep up with her so he was desperate to get her off the swing. He poured on the charm, but it didn’t work. Katie smiled at him and continued to swing.

Thwarted, Roberto walked over to me. “Where’s Katie going to school now?”

“In Pleasanton, They moved her there after Mr. F’s class.”

He frowned. “I was mad when they did that. We missed her.”

“I know, Roberto. She missed all of you too. She asked for Mr F’s class for a long, long time.”

He smiled. “What grade is she in?”

“Fifth.”

“Me too. Maybe we will be in the same class next year!”

I smiled. This one was going to grow up to be a real charmer. Plus he was really verbal and had great social skills. I wasn’t sure what his diagnosis was, but I was positive it wasn’t autism. He would make a great role model and ally for Katie.

“Do you know where you will be next year?”

“I’ll be at Mitchell.”

“Are you sure? That’s not a middle school.”

He had a short conversation in Spanish with his mother, who was seated on a bench nearby, then said to me, “It’s Mitchell. Mom says so. I’m in the moderate class.”

So now I knew for sure. There was another option no one had told me about.

Roberto had another conversation with his mother. “Mom says you should check out Mitchell because Katie may not talk much but she is really smart.” He laughed. “She was the smartest one in Mr F’s class. Everyone knows that.”

I thanked him and looked over to Roberto’s mom. She smiled and said slowly in English, “The class is at Mitchell. Go see. I’m angry they did not tell you.”

I nodded. ‘I will. I most certainly will.”

To be continued…

Until next time,
Cynthia

NOTE: If you want to read the prior posts in this thread, you can find them here: It’s IEP Season, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.

A week later, my friend Barb (Katie’s reading tutor) and I met Mary, the Program Specialist, in front of a middle school in our home district. I liked the feel of the place. This classroom had fewer students and the teacher, Mr M, took time to talk to us in person. He was thrilled when he learned my daughter had an iPad and rattled off apps she could try. Katie learns quickly on the iPad. Could this be the answer I’d been searching for?

There were several non-verbal students in the class, but the others were at least as verbal as Katie. And here too, I found a former classmate of Katie’s. This girl immediately recognized me. “Where’s Katie?” she said, looking behind Barb and me.

“She’s not here, but she may come next year.”

“Good,” she said with a grin. “I like Katie. We have fun.”

Again tears threatened. I loved knowing that Katie had touched so many lives.

Mr M and Barb discussed reading. Mr M showed her some worksheets and Barb nodded approvingly. The conversation to math. I began to feel a glimmer of hope.

Then Mr M said, “If I can get your daughter, or any of my students, in the transition program and she can hold down a job bagging groceries or folding pizza boxes, then I consider myself a success.”

The third time he repeated this refrain, I said, “You need to meet Katie and then we can discuss expectations. Because if she ends up folding pizza boxes, I’ll consider myself a failure.”

There was an awkward pause and Barb said, “I think you need to aim a little higher with Katie.”

Mr M nodded, but I could tell he was unconvinced. Yet when we sat down to observe, I was thrilled to see academics filling the daily schedule. Only one period was devoted to life skills. There was no kitchen here.

My school district may struggle to accommodate Katie’s sensory needs (and the resulting behavior if those needs are unaddressed), but it works hard to keep special needs students as close to grade level as possible. Unfortunately for Katie, it may be too little, too late.

Next we went with Mary to another middle school to observe another special day class. Like all the others, this was a mixed disability class rather than autism specific. It was unclear to me what distinguished the two classrooms, although I suspect most of the higher functioning kids were lumped into this second class. I liked the teacher, but learned that she was a substitute. She had no special education credential. Plus there was no guarantee she would return next year.

Once again I met a former classmate of Katie’s and he was just as thrilled as the others at the prospect of seeing her again. I was happy that she would know someone in whatever class she entered.

I left the second school feeling conflicted. Could my school district truly have the best middle school program for Katie? Was I willing to trust them a third time. Could I take that risk?

Mary and I talked in the parking lot after Barb left. “I was surprised,” I said, “to see how much more emphasis this district places on academics.”

“It’s a better fit for Katie, I think,” Mary said.

I nodded. “But I have to be honest. It’s hard for me to consider coming back given our history.”

“We have a new behaviorist,” she said. “And we’re hiring another. I think you should consider it. I don’t think what happened before will happen now. The entire department has changed.”

“Oh, I’ll consider it.” But could I agree to it? That was the question.

“And if you do transfer back,” Mary said, “we might want to review those goals again. Put less emphasis on life skills and more on academics.”

It was music to my ears.

To be continued…

Until next time,
Cynthia

NOTE: If you want to read the prior posts in this thread, you can find them here: It’s IEP Season, Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

After our first IEP meeting in January 2015, Ms Nav never sent the consolidated goals. Two days before our next meeting, she sent an updated draft IEP but it only contained her proposed goals. When I questioned this, she said we’d discuss it at the upcoming meeting. I was puzzled. What was there to discuss?

At the meeting, Ms Nav asked if I still wanted the proposed goals from the prior year added. “Yes,” I said, struggling to contain my annoyance. Three weeks had passed and she was still asking the same question?

She then displayed the goals on the screen and we went through them one by one. About halfway through, I realized no one on the IEP team was making eye contact and their body language was stiff and defensive. We had all agreed to these goals a year ago. Why were they balking now?

After each goal, Ms Nav said, “Do you want me to add this one?” And I would say yes. This continued for over two hours until all fourteen goals were added.

Barb, my daughter’s reading tutor, suggested that the language “80 percent accuracy on three consecutive trials” be changed to “four out of five” trials to better accommodate Katie’s difficulties with recall. Ms Nav argued that they were the same. Barb replied that they were’t but it was a minor change that would better serve Katie. Ms Nav said, “I don’t care. You want it changed? Fine.” Everything in her tone and demeanor screamed that she did care—very much—but she finally complied with our request.

No one could tell me anything about the two middle school classrooms in my home district or the one in Pleasanton that was now being offered. (Apparently someone had taken me seriously when I said over my dead body….) So we adjourned the meeting until I had observed in the three classrooms and could make a placement decision. I reminded the team that after we agreed on placement, we would need to convert the services from one district to the other and develop a transition plan. Everyone nodded.

Afterwards I would ask a friend who works as a counselor about the lack of eye contact. He asked if I was wearing something overly provocative.

“To an IEP meeting? Are you kidding?”

“Then that’s easy,” he said. “You were making them do something they didn’t want to do.”

Adopting goals they had proposed a year earlier was something they didn’t want to do? What about the waste of time going goal by goal through material we had all agreed on previously?

“They were hoping you would lose your nerve or run out of time. It’s a standard tactic.”

It gave me pause that a school district would totally abandon academics simply because a child was transitioning into middle school. Although the law clearly states that IEP goals should drive classroom placement and must be individualized to the particular student, in this case school personnel had let placement drive goal selection. They picked generic goals that fit the placement they had available—regardless of whether they met Katie’s specific needs.

Later I would learn that at least two other fifth graders in Ms Nav’s class had proposed goals that were nearly identical to Katie’s despite the fact that the three children have very different strengths and weaknesses. Clearly in Ms Nav’s class, one-size-fits-all was becoming the norm.

Lucky for Katie, I hadn’t let them coerce me into abandoning the perfectly legitimate goals we had developed a year earlier. I’m sure other children are not so fortunate.

 To be continued…

Until next time,
Cynthia

NOTE: If you want to read the prior post in this thread, you can find it here: It’s IEP Season, Part 1.