Undocumented Goals

I know that this year, I have been writing a lot about the (big and small) goals Morgan has been achieving, but I'm still finding new ways that my son and those around him are completely blowing me away. Third grade is looking to be a great year in the Deciphering household. 

Aside from reading better, the goals I'm thinking of right now aren't all in Morgan's IEP. They cannot be measured by anything other than emotion. A sense of well being. The feeling I got the other day that karma was giving my son a huge hug and letting me know, as his mom, that things were okay for now. 

Open communication was a goal attained without me having to state it. Morgan's para and I text each other. I am getting amazing feedback from her, Morgan's teacher, and other support staff every time we discuss him. What I love is that they don't just say things like, "Oh, he's sweet." No, they detail exactly what Morgan does throughout the day that charms them, stuns them, sets him apart from other children, and fill in any gaps of information I might have. They also rat him out when he's being lazy or has been tattling on the other children. They do not hesitate to answer questions I might have. And they are always upfront with me. No matter if it hurts. 

People speaking respectfully about my child was a goal I didn't realize I wanted so badly until we'd went so far past achieving it that I'd grown used to it. I didn't fully understand that this is what had happened until earlier this week. I'd introduced my mother to just about everyone who works with both children and the knowledge that I genuinely like these people and am not stressed by seeing them hit me full force. I don't hate coming to the school because I know my son is welcome there. People treat him as a whole person, as they should. That is not a small matter. 

My favorite part of those people is that they never try to force or suggest that our goal is for Morgan to "blend," or to "act normal." There are no real definitions for that, as I've pointed out to educators before, and these people get it. They love my son as he is and wish to help him succeed in his environment. 

I hear from two sources at the school that Morgan has begun to play foursquare. People, this is huge. He's playing with kids -all sorts of kids- at recess!

I am seeing the best example of social inclusion I've ever witnessed. Perhaps this isn't a goal by some people's standards, but it was one of mine. My mom and I were able to eat lunch with Morgan this week and he was so funny introducing me to his friends, by name, flappy happy. Even better, his friends were excited to talk to Mom and me. They asked questions about Morgan, my mom, and me. They were eager to tell me how nice Morgan is to them, how great of a friend he is, how polite, how smart, and how they help him. My guards were up at first because of past experiences of kids being nice at the lunch table when I'm around and then laying into my son after I leave, but then something happened...

Morgan answered a question with a script. He scripted something that didn't quite fit the script. The girls, instead of looking at him oddly, teasing him, ignoring him, or cutting their eyes, all seemed to digest what Morgan said. You could tell they were trying to look beyond the words and search for the meaning of the script. One of the girls, who had been in Morgan's class last year, brightened, smiled, and replied to Morgan in an appropriate way, never once negating what had been said. Never once treating the meaning of his words as if he had said something worth making fun of or silencing. They then went back to chattering like little magpies as Morgan happily soaked up the attention of his "beautiful like a rose" girls, his Babe, and his mom. 

Sitting in that cafeteria, I realized that another goal, one I've been worrying over night and day for a very long time, might be at least temporarily crossed off. 

My son has peers and teachers who try to understand him. Who accept him as Morgan. They aren't looking at my son and thinking "less." They might think, "different," but that's okay; Morgan is different. He is wonderfully different. 

The world might not accommodate him and his autistic peers. Acceptance and equality are incredibly hard to come by. But for right now, something is going correctly. In my little corner of the world, for seven hours a day, not all of my goals for Morgan have to go on paper. There are people willing to work with him and me to assure that Morgan is accepted, given an education, and cared about.

He matters and right now, that matters so much. 

How do you measure goals? Are they something you must put in writing? Things which are noticeable to the naked eye? For your child, are they things which are only included in a document, for the progress towards them to be measured in incremental steps?

Goals not met

Before children I was a complete sanctimommy who looked down upon the notion that, in competitions or awards ceremonies, all children much receive a prize. "How will a child ever learn healthy competition if everyone is to get something?" I thought. Some around me told me I would change my competitive ways when I had children of my own. And then I did, but my views didn't really change.

Then Morgan's learning delays, disabilities, diagnosis, etc., all came to light. You would think I would change my mind, but I really didn't. Some might cry "foul" on me for this, but I advocate for so many concessions to be made for my child and I reward him by praise. I don't really want for him to expect there to be a prize or exception to be made for him every time he does something well. Like making it through a store without a meltdown, but not getting a toy for that. It took us a long time to break that mold, we're not going back.

Don't get me wrong, I hate seeing my child disappointed, what parent doesn't? I hurt when my child's feelings are clearly hurt. But what would I be teaching my kid if I demanded that the rules be changed for him? I already do that within the confines of the law and I have zero issues doing that. He needs an IEP in order to get through school. However, I don't feel comfortable saying that this must extend to awards ceremonies or other occasions. I've done this before and I felt like crap. I don't feel good about teaching him this is how life is run.


What brought this up today, while most kids are enjoying their summertime laziness, was Morgan getting into my car in tears on his last day of his reading program. If you've been on my Facebook page for a while, you'll know that the tears aren't new. He's a sensitive kid who is also Autistic. The combination can be tricky. Before he had come outside to the carline, I'd noted that most of the children (In fact, I think all but two or three, including Morgan) had Mardi Gras- type beads around their neck or little toys in their hands.

Morgan, to his credit, was holding his tears in check, but I could see the storm under the surface. He was going to blow and boy, did he. It turned out that the little prizes or beads were for the kids who had finished today with high scores in their reading programs. Morgan, though he'd made high scores in several of the programs throughout the summer, didn't make those scores today. He felt left out because he didn't receive the same accolades the other children did. He did admit to the ST giving him two cupcakes, however, when he'd finished up his programs.

"I feel stupid," he said, "and so left out!"

"Well, bud, here's the thing. You've worked really hard this summer learning how to read, right? And those other kids did, too. However, the goal today was to make high scores. You didn't do that. I'm really sorry you didn't. But you know, you were still rewarded for your work with those cupcakes. You see? And... you're not stupid. You're never stupid. You have to work harder than most kids, but that will never make you dumb. Don't say that, please?"

"Mommy, it's not fair."

Okay, this is where I really hated it for him. Actually, I hated all of it. Morgan has worked very hard this summer. But those other kids? They also worked hard. And, at the end of the day, Morgan was rewarded with two cupcakes for his work. He didn't make his goal, those other children did. He needed to see that.

I reiterated to him that the point today was to make high scores and he didn't do it. That it didn't mean he was "stupid" or anything else, just that he didn't accomplish that one goal. He calmed down fairly quickly (for him) after I explained things. But this has been weighing on my mind.

I feel in my heart that I've done the right thing by not asking for an exception. I'm curious as to if the parents of the other who didn't get prizes did the same thing. Do we, as parents, really need to demand that children are always rewarded, even when goals are not met?

I had promised Morgan a reward this morning, before any of this happened, for all of his dedication and hard work this summer. I gave it to him after because that was fair and just. He could have balked at this whole experimental reading program we tried on him, but he didn't. But I had to wonder as we were picking out his "treat," was this even correct?

Am I falling into the mold of parenting I dislike by teaching my son he'll be rewarded by doing something I fully expect him to do? Is this the same as paying him for grades (Which we don't do; Morgan makes good grades thanks to countless hours of tutoring and hard work on his part. He sometimes is rewarded for that, but we expect him to try his hardest- if that's Cs and Ds, so be it.).

What are your thoughts? How do your practice rewarding?

A small brag in gratitude

Today is the last (half) day of Morgan's second grade year. I'm a bit startled that we've arrived here, but then, it seemed like this school year would never end, either.

Yesterday, he brought home the contents of his desk- notebooks, a couple of workbooks, fluency charts for reading and a funny-looking hand made composition/poetry notebook. I teared up looking through some of it, but not entirely for the contents.

The progress my son has made this year astonishes me.

He began the year not being able to read very well at all. He wouldn't or couldn't read books out loud or to himself. I wasn't sure exactly how much he could comprehend or if he ever would. I'm still not, to be honest, but I do have an inkling now that things might end up alright. He doesn't hate reading anymore.

Morgan has worked so very hard. His teacher, para, therapists, and helpers have gone above and beyond with him. For as much as I know I've complained about the homework and the review I've done with him, I know it's been more than worth it.

My son can read.

He can write sentences.

He doesn't always need prompts to begin those things.

Not always.

Those are not small things.

Hallelujah.



*To everyone that has been a part of our team this year, directly or on the periphery, thank you. We cannot have this level of success without you. We love and appreciate every one of you.



The beautiful thing about learning is that no one can take it away from you.
~B.B. King

He's not a number

I often wonder if other parents with children on the spectrum - or with some form of learning disability - feel that gut wrenching awfulness whenever they get some form of test results on their child. The kind of tests that are not medical in nature, almost always coming from school. "Intelligence" tests, benchmark tests, report cards, other comprehensive evaluations...

With the exception of report cards, I think I've always had that sick feeling. That feeling of "so this is where you want to place him in the scheme of things?" No matter how many of those pieces of paper come into my house, it's punching me in my gut.

It shouldn't; it really shouldn't. Morgan is not some "well below level" on a piece of paper. He's an intelligent kid and anyone who spends time with him knows this. So what if standardized tests are not his thing? They aren't good for a lot of kiddos, neuro typically inclined or otherwise, right? So, why does this crap even matter?

I suppose it matters and upsets me because I know that someone, somewhere, is going to see my kid's score and think he's "less than" when I know good and damned well he's not. Someone, somewhere, might think that he's not capable of doing something when his teachers and I know that's not true. Someone, somewhere, might think that my completely wonderful boy doesn't deserve respect for what he's accomplishing because he didn't nail a test.

This morning I've been pouring over Morgan's IEP and the rest of his file. Every test result is in it. Every single upset in an IEP is there, peeking out. Every fight I can remember. None of those papers are representative of my child.

Maybe it's because I've been on guard for the last seven years of his life that things like this matter. I've wanted to protect him even more ever since a playground mom told me "You know, your kid ain't right." Yes, stupid people shouldn't get to me, but I have a fiery temper and she was one of many since then that could not see there is nothing wrong with Morgan wanting to sift sand through his fingers repeatedly to calm himself (it's better than what her kid was doing- snark), or peep like a train, or play by himself, or (now) introduce himself and tell someone they're pretty. 

Maybe I'm selfish and just want him to prove the jerks, the so-called "experts" wrong. My psych books would tell me I'm projecting my fears and I know I am. I keep everything hidden from Morgan because I know very well what it's like to have someone tell you your best is not good enough. His best will always be good enough for us. It's the system that is not.

There are a lot of maybes. There are a lot of asinine statements I can make to myself or that others can make for me.

At the end of the day, though, Morgan's not a number any more than any other child. His intelligence, hard work, and dedication cannot be measured on paper. He works harder than any other child I know and seems to be happy. He loves school. He loves learning.

I won't ruin that for him or allow anyone else to do so. He's a child, not a number.