Open House Night at School

Two nights ago our elementary school held their annual Open House, where we found out about plans for the year, got pitched for PTA volunteer work, and had the chance to meet the teachers and see the classrooms. We go to this every year, even though we generally have met the teachers and know a lot about the classroom long before this date.

This year’s event wasn’t as well attended, probably due to the heat. The school has no air conditioning and is a brick building with small windows, which transforms it into a brick oven by the end of a 90+ degree day. Even after sunset it was still over 90 degrees inside the building.

Mira had gymnastics scheduled at the same time, so only Cordy and I were at the school. We walked in and strolled the halls before things got started. Well, I strolled. Cordy skipped and bounced down the halls, despite the heat. Her teachers, current and previous, were nearby. One asked, “So is she always this chipper?”

“Generally,” I responded, “Unless she’s had a long day and there’s no one around but close family.”

“Does she wake up this way?”

“Yep, she springs out of her room at 6am sharp every morning, fully awake and ready to go.” I could see the weary look to my response. I understood. I added, “She doesn’t get that from me at all. I move slowly in the morning.” They murmured similar sentiments to waking up.

Mira’s teacher then saw me and asked, “Is it just Cordy with you?” I nodded. “Mira must be at gymnastics then.”

“Oh, did she tell you she had gymnastics tonight?” I asked.

She smiled. “No, but she talks about it ALL the time, so I guessed that the only thing that would keep her away from school would be gymnastics!”

It seems she already has my younger daughter figured out.

We sat through the PTA meeting, then set off to see the classrooms. Cordy was giving me the guided tour as if I had never been there before:

“This is our school library, where we can check out books. It has fiction and nonfiction sections.”

“Thank you, Cordy, but I’ve been here several times, remember?”

“And this is my teacher, Mrs. C. Mrs. C, this is my mom, but you can call her Christina.”

“Yes, sweetie, we’ve met before. You were there as well.”

I gave up and played along for awhile, pretending it was all new to me.

Her reading teacher told me that Cordy continues to be an advanced reader, but she’d really like for Cordy to choose more challenging books in the classroom. When given the option, she’ll always go for the easier books because they’re familiar characters and storylines. It’s true, most of what she reads is far too easy for her. We all question if she’s even reading the content considering the speed with which she turns pages. But if you quiz her, she can usually tell you what happened. I agreed and promised to nudge her towards higher level books at the library and in her monthly Scholastic order.

I read through Cordy’s writing journal and noticed that she talked about what a “bother” her sister was more than once. Then we were invited to go see the biographies that were posted in the hallway. Kids had paired off and interviewed each other in class, then wrote a bio about the other person. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised by what the other kid learned from Cordy:

Cordy's bio from a classmateYou may notice that she really wants the class to know about her little sister.

We met briefly with the special needs teacher, who expressed her joy that things were going fairly well for Cordy so far this year. The bus is still arriving late each morning, which upsets her, but otherwise she’s only had minor problems that were easily redirected. The teacher told me that she gave Cordy a “Take 5” card to keep with her at school. If she’s ever feeling overwhelmed or just needs a break, she can flash her Take 5 card and visit the special needs classroom for five minutes. She knows she can’t use it to get out of doing an assignment, and so far she’s not used it much.

I can’t even begin to describe how happy I am that we’re not getting calls home about Cordy hiding under her desk or having outbursts at school. So, so happy. It’s such a relief.

Her special needs teacher did let me know that Cordy was getting frustrated in math, and the math teacher had spoken with her about ways to get through to Cordy. So I then went to visit the math teacher’s classroom. Cordy came with me for a few minutes, then she realized we were going to discuss areas where she wasn’t doing as well and asked to go hang out in the library for a bit.

Unlike Cordy’s reading teacher, who was her teacher for reading last year as well, Cordy’s math teacher never had the chance to work with her beyond a single assessment last year.

The math teacher started by telling me that Cordy has great logic and is easily capable of doing everything they’re learning in class. But, she then said that every time she introduces something new, where Cordy doesn’t immediately recognize how to solve the problem, Cordy shuts down and won’t even try it.

I knew what she was describing before she even finished telling me – it’s a common pattern of behavior for my oldest. I explained that Cordy is a perfectionist with severe anxiety over getting anything wrong. So if she sees something new that she’s unsure of, she’d rather not attempt it at all and protect herself from making a mistake. Cordy was also saying that the teacher hated her because she didn’t do perfect work. (Which distressed the teacher, since it wasn’t true!)

We chatted a little more about strategies to help her, and I promised I’d be in close contact to provide any suggestions or help I could to work past it. Her math teacher then told me a funny story about Cordy. (Everyone in the school seems to have one.)

The kids were sharing their answers to a homework word problem, and Cordy found a different way to do it than many of the other kids. The teacher asked her to come up to the front of the class and explain her method, since others might find it helpful as well.

Cordy did come up, and told everyone how she got her answer. Then she turned to her teacher, smirked and said, “How ya like me now?”

Self-five

Oh, that kid.

Then it was on to Mira’s classroom. Her teacher was Cordy’s first grade teacher, and someone I went to high school with, so we’re familiar with each other. She told me Mira loves to be at school, and loves to read. I was surprised by the second part of that, but she assured me that Mira asks to read when she’s done with her work. Maybe she’s finally getting over her own stubbornness about reading?

Of course, the real subject for discussion was Mira’s, uh, discussion. Her teacher tried to gently say that Mira has a lot to say and loves to share with everyone. I brushed past the politeness and acknowledged that little girl never stops talking. I’m not kidding, either – anyone who knows her knows how rare it is for her to be silent. School is the greatest possible place for her, because it forces her to learn to hold it in and carefully consider what’s important enough to say with the small amount of time she’s given to talk.

But despite her chatty nature, she’s doing well in class. She’s very social, loves to participate (a bit of a know-it-all, really), and really loves being at school. We need to work on reminding her to wait her turn to talk, to not be overly affectionate (she hugs everyone, multiple times a day), and to try to hold her emotions in when she encounters something difficult or has an unpleasant change of plans. There’s no crying in schoolwork.

Overall? The open house reinforced that my kids may be a little quirky, but there’s no doubt that they stand out and they’re doing well at school. Cordy may have trouble being social, but everyone remarks on how cheery she is. And Mira, well… Mira will be running that school by fifth grade, if not sooner.



Becoming a Behavior Detective and Advocating for My Daughter at School

The start of each school year brings anxiety for any parent and child, I think. But when your child has special needs, that anxiety is magnified.

Early on, it wasn’t so difficult. Cordy was in a special needs class for kindergarten because of her autism/ADHD, with limited inclusion time in a traditional kindergarten classroom. Her inclusion time was carefully supervised and we had daily reports on how it was going. We wanted to see her do well and get more inclusion time, but there wasn’t much pressure for her to do well since she’d never been in a typical class before.

After doing well with her inclusion time in kindergarten, first grade was entirely a success. It was her first year being fully mainstreamed. She briefly started her day in the special needs classroom, then spent the remainder of the day in her first grade classroom, with a quick check-in at the end of the day with the special needs teacher. There were a few small bumps along the way — most involving keeping Cordy focused — but none of them were dramatic and through good communication with her teachers, we got past each of them easily.

So when second grade came along, we again prepared for the transition and new experiences coming her way. The teacher knew Cordy from lunchroom duty, and Cordy seemed to like her already. Many of the same kids from her first grade class would be in this class, too, and we assumed second grade was going to be just as smooth as first grade.

Never assume.

The school year started well at first, but we soon were getting reports of problems from the special needs teacher. Cordy was distracted. There were occasional outbursts from her. She was hiding under her desk at times and refused to come out.

Cordy’s aide (who was a shared aide & wasn’t always available) was first called on to calm her down and get her focused with the class again. But soon the teacher couldn’t handle the distraction and would send her out of the class. We worried that her second grade teacher was frustrated with the behavior issues and had written her off as a trouble child.

Then, not even a month into the school year, Cordy laid down on the ground when it was time to line up for recess and refused to go back inside. When the principal asked her to stand up, she stuck out her tongue. This resulted in losing her second recess and spending that time in the behavioral management classroom. For my perfectionist child, this punishment was interpreted by her to mean that she was a failure at everything. She even signed her behavior management paper with the extra words “worst child.”

She Signed it Worst Child

For a month, I felt like we were losing all of the progress we had made. Cordy was beginning to dread going to school. We had to enforce consequences for bad behavior at school, while trying to determine what had changed and why she was acting out so much. Many evenings I’d cry after putting the kids to bed, feeling helpless, unsure of how to guide my child back from being so lost.

And then one day Cordy needed to get something out of her classroom before we left, so I went into the room with her. I stood next to her desk, taking in the entire environment around me, and suddenly it started to make sense. Her desk was the closest to the door, furthest from the teacher. The desk was also right next to the pencil sharpener and the coat racks.

Now imagine that situation as a child who struggles to tune-out all of the sensory input around her. The grinding of a pencil being sharpened. The rustling of coats being pushed aside and unzipping of backpacks to grab forgotten items. Doors shutting, people talking, and footsteps as people shuffle past the open door in the hallway. A fan providing a steady hum to circulate the hot air in the room. General classroom noise of kids whispering to each other, papers being shifted around, chairs creaking, etc. And a teacher attempting to be heard over the noise by raising her voice to make sure everyone hears her.

Becoming a Behavior Detective and Advocating for My Daughter at School

It’s no wonder she was distracted. Cordy has trouble focusing and is easily upset by too much sensory input. She interpreted her teacher’s loud voice as yelling directly at her. The background noises irritated her and triggered anxiety attacks, causing her to hide under her desk or shriek in class. Taking away her recess times only confirmed in her mind that she was a problem who is different from other kids, and deprived her of the physical activity she needed during recess (stimming) to release that anxiety and help her find focus to get through the remainder of her day. Her brain was short-circuiting before she reached midday, keeping her in a constant state of fight-or-flight.

I was convinced at this point that the only way to improve the situation was by changing the situation. I spoke with her special needs teacher and then with the principal about switching her to the other second grade class, explaining my hypothesis that she was acting out based on sensory overload and anxiety. I had gathered all of the evidence, matching up behaviors with probable causes, and was prepared to advocate for my sensitive child until some change was made.

Thankfully, they agreed. They’ve known Cordy since pre-K, so they knew she’s a kid who enjoys school and loves to learn. They could also see the behaviors were not because she was a difficult child, but instead were the symptom of her struggling with a difficult situation. We agreed to move her to the other second grade class immediately.

They also suggested sending her to third grade during reading, reasoning that because she was testing far beyond second grade in her reading ability, more challenging work could keep her engaged so she’s less affected by the sensory environment. The idea of her going to another class for reading made me nervous, but they assured me she would always have her aide for that part of the day to ease the transition. I also asked that she no longer lose recess for behavior issues, but instead lose other privileges, like computer time, so that she could reset herself with time on the playground.

The changes were implemented the next week and the transition was smooth, other than Cordy announcing to her old class, “You’re all too loud, so I’m leaving this class!” Oops.

We saw results on the first day, when my normally moody child came out of the school with a smile on her face and told me, “School was great today! I love my new teacher. He has a quiet, calm voice.” The remainder of the school year wasn’t perfect by any means, but there were no further calls home from school or major disruptions in the class. Changing the situation worked to change the behavior.

Having a daughter with autism/ADHD has changed how I think of education and how I view a child’s behaviors. I’ve learned that a classroom setting is not one-size-fits-all, and that behavior problems in school can be clues to a mismatch between child and classroom. The child who was happy in first grade and now a “behavior problem” in second grade probably isn’t trying to cause trouble. Instead, there’s something bothering her, and finding the source of the behavior can help correct it.

The greatest lesson I learned from last year is to stay involved in your child’s school and be an active part of setting up the right routine and environment for your child. We’ve always kept in touch with the special needs teacher and the principal, and it’s that relationship we’ve had with them that helped us get such quick action. If you see a behavior change in your child at school, consider what the underlying problem could be. In our case, we knew Cordy needed fewer distractions and a change of classroom. Other parents may find insecurity is the cause, either due to bullying or self-doubt over more difficult material.

Since learning to be a behavior detective last year, I’m feeling confident that third grade will be better. We met with the teachers ahead of time to discuss strategies for keeping Cordy’s focus and how to handle her anxiety. They’re aware of what to look for as well as what could be causing her behaviors. If there are problems, they’ll contact us to work on solutions together. We’re a strong team going into this year, and our early planning and communication will hopefully ensure a positive and productive third grade experience.



Back To School, Back To Routine

Yesterday was the first day back to school for my two. Cue angels singing, right? It’s no surprise that I was happy to send them back to school after a week and a half with them at home while I tried to work. No one was having a lot of fun and they need the structure of the school routine.

We spent the weekend furiously getting everything ready for the school year. Washing new clothing, stocking the pantry with single-serve pouches of food for their lunchboxes, buying school supplies, and determining wake-up times for school mornings that would still have them ready for the bus on time.

The bus was a bit of an issue. First, they sent us our bus route information with no route assigned for Mira. This had happened last year, too. Since our school is outside of our “neighborhood” area, they don’t usually provide busing for us. But Cordy’s IEP means she does have an assigned route, with door-to-door pickup. Last year it was easy to get Mira assigned as well, once we pointed out that they live in the same house, and will be going to the same school – letting her sit on the same bus seemed like a no-brainer. Why this note for her didn’t carry forward into this year, I have no idea.

We were also concerned about the bus situation when we received an automated call the night before telling us there would be bus delays across the district. They’re short about 100 drivers – with new drivers unable to complete training before the end of September – so there would be district-wide delays. Beyond being angry at the district for not having a backup plan (their plan to contract in more drivers fell through) I wondered how slow this would make the buses now?

The kids were up early yesterday morning, excited and nervous for the day ahead. We had them ready long before the bus arrived and I exercised my parental right to torture them with first day of school photos.

 Cordy, 3rd gradeShe’s grown a foot since last year, I think.

 

Mira, 1st gradeMira still looks like she’s a small version of 16 years old.

Amazingly, the bus was only about five minutes late, so I had high hopes that they’d get to school on time. I grabbed all of their school supplies that didn’t fit into their backpacks and tossed them into the car, planning to meet the kids at the school for their first day. I left 30 minutes after they did. When I got to the school, about ten minutes before the start of classes, I found their bus hadn’t arrived yet.

I stood at the entrance and talked with the teachers while waiting on the bus. The bell rang to start classes and the bus still wasn’t there. I took Mira’s supplies down to her classroom and chatted briefly with her teacher, then went to the library for the first day welcome for parents. I chatted for about ten minutes, then walked back towards the front of the building to see if the bus had arrived yet.

Cordy was sitting at a table in the gym, eating a quick breakfast while Mira was tossing out her trash. (Both kids always accept the free breakfast, despite eating a big breakfast at home. I can’t seem to break them of this habit.) They had arrived five minutes before that, almost 20 minutes late for class. I asked Mira if she wanted me to show her where her class was, but she skipped off down the hall, waving back at me and saying, “No, it’s OK – I know where it is!” That kid will be in charge of the school by the time she’s in fifth grade.

But Cordy had a panicked look on her face. Having the bus bring her late can be a major anxiety trigger for her. She doesn’t like being late to something, and she told me over the summer that she gets nervous walking into a classroom when the other kids are already seated and working.

Her aide was with her and said she’d take her down to class, but Cordy’s eyes were large and she was clutching her chest (rapid heartbeat from anxiety) as she squeaked out, “I’m nervous…the other kids are already there and they’ll stare at me. I don’t want to go.”

I took her hand and leaned down to look at her. “Want me to go in with you, too? With me and Mrs. F, we’ll make sure you get started OK.” She nodded and we walked down to the other end of the building.

As we walked into the room, Cordy pulled back and tried to hide behind me. The other kids were sorting the supplies they brought in and no one was looking in her general direction. Her teacher this year is the same teacher she had for advanced reading last year, so they’re already familiar with each other. I tapped her teacher on the shoulder and let her know Cordy was late due to the bus.

Cordy’s teacher immediately welcomed Cordy back and called over her helper to meet Cordy. She asked Cordy to sit next to the helper so Cordy could catch up on what they had already sorted from the school supplies list. I handed my kid her supply bag, kissed her on the head and whispered, “You’ll have a great day. It’ll be better than you think it will.”

I wasn’t so sure of my own words. Walking out of that classroom, I wondered if Cordy would lose that grip on her anxiety and have a panic attack. She was with a familiar teacher, in a class where she already knew some of the kids – this should be a good setting for her. I hoped that the bus issue wouldn’t ruin her entire day.

As I was home working all day, I waited for the call from the school, expecting that something would come up. But there was no call.

I let them ride the bus home yesterday, hoping that by some miracle it would arrive by the scheduled 4:15pm drop off. Ha. It finally arrived at 4:45pm, just as I was reaching my upper limit of tolerance. The driver said it would be this way for about a month, but should then get better when they hire more drivers. I told her about the anxiety being late caused that morning, and asked if she could possibly start her route sooner to get them there on time. She said she’d look into it. I’ll give it a week or so before I decide if I start driving them to school or not.

The kids? They both had a great first day. Cordy immediately told me, “You were right, mom! The day went far better than I thought it would!” She did recognize kids who are friendly to her, and she even asked a very smart question to the principal during the school assembly on expectations for the year. Her question – what are the social rules for work time in the classroom?

Mira gave me a full recap of all of the friends who were in her class, and those who aren’t, as well as who she played with on the playground. She’s been assigned a task of carrying the lunch basket each day, too. She told me she already got her behavior card moved for – no surprise – talking. Her biggest problem in kindergarten was talking too much when she shouldn’t, so this year she may be in for a lot of behavior modification. But she plans to do better at not getting her card moved next week. It’s an ambitious goal, but one I’d love to see her meet.

I’m so proud of Cordy and Mira for handling themselves well on the first day. Cordy held back her urge to fall apart in a new situation, and Mira’s confidence is shining through as she tries to take leadership roles within her class and probably within the school later.

Cordy and Mira, back to school 2013And they didn’t fight (much) with each other for their first morning back to school!

While I’m a little sad to see my two girls growing up so fast, I think they’re going to have a great school year. If we could just buy a new house closer to the school so we don’t need the long bus rides, we’d be set. Maybe that’ll be a goal for next summer.



School’s (Almost) Out

In our area, school usually doesn’t wrap up until the Thursday of the first week of June. Due to the way the calendar fell this year, however, the kids went back to school this morning for their last three days of school.

I always remembered the last few days of school as being little more than clean-up time. In my elementary school, our teachers would put us to work taking down the bulletin boards, storing away the posters and washing off the desks. If we were lucky we got to watch a movie on a giant TV wheeled into the classroom on a tall cart that didn’t look safe enough to support the weight of that TV.

My two are spending their last few days in a bunch of school-wide activities. Today is their Field Day, although Mira told me that there won’t be any races. What? No races? When I went to Field Day as a kid, races were one the primary activities. It was a defining moment as the athletic kids were identified and rewarded for their talents and the non-athletic kids did their best and hoped no one would tease them for being so slow.

Note: I was one of the non-athletic kids. And yes, I hated Field Day, as I turned purple in the face trying to win even one event and always came in not-first. I’d like to say we non-athletic kids got our revenge when awards for academics were handed out, but we really didn’t. The athletic kids were given more attention for their accomplishments.

I guess they now make Field Day a wide group of events, some of which require little athletic skill, so that everyone has fun and doesn’t feel left out. And the junior high sports coaches probably aren’t scouting at the event, either, so there’s no pressure.

Tomorrow is Awards Day, where the entire morning will be spent giving out awards to kids. We were told that parents would be notified if their child was receiving an award so that we could attend, and sure enough both of ours had a note sent home. I want to go to the awards ceremony, but at the same time I wish they’d give me a hint as to what award they’re receiving.

I’m happy to attend if one of them is getting a special award for achievement or kindness or something like that, but I’m less excited to sit through hours of paper certificates being handed out if they’re getting an attendance award. I had a little something to do with their attendance, after all, and I don’t really consider it award-worthy. Elementary kids should be expected to be at school all days except when they’re sick.

The last day of school is only a half day. The school talent show is in the morning, which my girls decided they weren’t entering this year, so I have the morning to get work done. And then after the talent show is the school picnic on the lawn with parents.

I really enjoyed going to the picnic last year, and we’re planning to go again this year. Last year it was only Cordy having lunch with us, and this year we’re so proud to have both kids finishing the year at their school together. I expect Mira will be crying as she hugs her friends, wondering how she will survive without them until the start of the next school year. Hopefully she’ll remember to introduce us to some of their parents so we can get contact info to set up summer playdates.

And then…it’s over. Another school year is done and they’re promoted to third and first grades.

Then we enter the beginning of what I like to call Survivor: The Week Home Between School and Summer Camp Edition.



Twice Execeptional: Twice the Fun, Twice the Challenge

I generally get nervous when I see the elementary school’s phone number appear on our caller ID. In the past two years, I’m pretty sure they’ve only called with something positive once or twice. Generally the call is either from the school nurse, letting me know one of my children displayed her superhuman ability to be clumsy and injured herself, or Cordy’s teacher letting me know about some incident where she got in trouble or had a panic attack.

So when I received a phone call from the school recently, I didn’t answer it because I was already on the phone trying to make an appointment for Cordy with an occupational therapist. After the trouble she had earlier this school year with her anxiety at school, we set up an appointment with her pediatrician to discuss what to do. He recommended an OT he knows to help Cordy get through her anxiety. We agreed we don’t want to consider medication yet, so this is our first step towards helping her cope with her constant anxious state.

The school left a message, so I knew it had to be something important, but at least a voicemail gave me time to react and process whatever they said before I had to call them back. I played the message, and it was from the school psychologist.

He mentioned that Cordy had been doing some testing with him as part of her three-year evaluation (all kids with special needs services are evaluated every three years to make sure they still qualify) and he wanted me to call him back to set up a time to go over all of the cognitive testing he did with her. He also mentioned what an interesting and delightful child she was, so I at least knew the testing couldn’t have been a complete disaster.

I didn’t know that he had been testing Cordy. Two weeks before that, a woman from the gifted and talented department came to the school to evaluate Cordy, and days before the psychologist called we had received her results. Cordy had an impressive score on a cognitive abilities test, earning her the label “superior cognitive” on her school record. It’ll help provide more gifted ed services for her, and I was proud of the score, but it was only one test and she had a particularly good day that day.

I wondered if the psychologist’s evaluation would match up with her recent testing? We didn’t know he was testing her, so we had no way to prep her like we did for the gifted ed department’s testing.

There was no hesitation in calling him back. As soon as I said my name, the school secretary knew why I was calling and transferred me to the school psychologist. He was only supposed to set up a time to go over the results in person, but he was bursting with excitement to give me the highlights of what happened from testing her that morning.

The good news: she still qualifies for special needs services. She meets the criteria for autism (no surprise there), although he said the only presenting issues at the moment are her anxiety and her deficit in social skills. Again, no surprise.

But then came the even better news. He used multiple testing methods for her, and said she’s one of the smartest eight year olds he’s ever seen. Her IQ testing resulted in a 139, with a verbal score of 143. On one verbal abilities test, she had a perfect score. I was stunned into silence as he explained that he’s been working in elementary schools for eleven years and Cordy had the highest scores he’s ever seen.

One example he gave was in analogies: he said to her “flour is to bread like…” and she answered back with “like hydrogen is to water!” Her science vocabulary was especially impressive. (Thanks to Netflix and the full series of the quirky Beakman’s World on instant streaming – our #1 source for science lessons!)

We met yesterday and went over the full results. I’m so proud of Cordelia. He said she was enthusiastic about the testing, as if she really liked the challenge to prove what she knows, and was incredibly sweet and charming. He also started the thought in my mind that the public school may not have enough resources to fully provide for her education at the level she’s at. We’ll need to consider supplemental resources to keep her engaged and wanting to learn.

I’m trying not to brag, but it’s so fantastic for a parent to get good news about their child. And honestly, the confirmation of her cognitive skills creates several issues for me. We always knew Cordy was bright, but to get confirmation that she’s highly gifted means I need to pay closer attention to making sure she’s challenged and getting material at her level. At the same time, her anxiety really needs attention now, since it tends to flare up when she feels something is too hard. It’s a delicate balance.

Technically this makes Cordy “twice-exceptional” (also called “2e”), meaning she’s both gifted and special needs. I have a child who still can’t wear jeans because she can’t reliably work a button but can explain the meaning of the word dehydration. I found this chart on the wiki page for twice exceptional, and aside from a couple of items, it’s an eerily accurate description of my daughter.

Stubborn? Imaginative? Sensitive? Yes. Perhaps not the sophisticated sense of humor…

So now that I’m armed with this knowledge…I have no idea what to do next. She’s doing well in school, but nothing particularly outstanding. I know she’s bored on some level, but also resistant to being pushed to learn new things faster. We’re moving forward with occupational therapy in the hopes it can help her developing coping mechanisms to deal with anxiety.

She’ll be eligible for the school’s gifted classroom in fourth and fifth grades, and will continue to have limited gifted instruction until then. We can’t really consider the possibility of private school because they’re just too expensive around here. There is financial aid, but we’re in that boggy middle ground where we make too much to qualify for aid, but would be on a ramen noodle budget to pay for private school.

I’m sure there have to be resources out there for twice exceptional kids, possibly even in our community. It may be time to spend a day with Google to see what’s out there, either in enrichment activities or parent groups or any other kind of support. I was a gifted student myself, so I have some idea of how to help Cordy with that. It’s incorporating it with the autism that makes it a little harder.

All of this, of course, is nothing more than labels and changes nothing about the cheerful, quirky, loveable little girl we have. But those labels do give us more insight into why she does what she does, and can help provide the justification for arranging educational experiences that will provide the most benefit for her.

Gifted or not, autism or not, she’s still our Cordy, and we have the responsibility to do what’s best for her (and Mira), just as any parent does. But hopefully we have a better map to guide us towards what she needs going forward.

I love that kid and her sister so much. They’re exceptionally sweet and quirky, and I wouldn’t have them any other way.

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