Is My Daughter Being Bullied In First Grade?

Some days, being a parent is more like being a detective. Trying to find the truth between wildly different accounts of a situation can take a lot of time and effort, and in the end you’re still not sure if you know what really happened.

Last week was one of those situations.

It started on Thursday around 1pm when I was jolted awake by my cell phone. Since I work nights, I ask that no one call my cell during the day unless one of my children is hurt or I just won a million dollars. I answered the call and Cordy’s school nurse was on the other end. She said that Cordy had been knocked down by accident during recess and had a scratch on her arm, but it wasn’t bad. Cordy had been pretty upset about it, though, so they let her spend some time in the nurse’s office before sending her back to class.

I didn’t understand why a small scratch on her arm warranted a call home, but whatever. I went back to sleep quickly.

When Cordy came home that day, she wanted some computer time right when she walked in the door. As I sat with her at the computer, I asked to see the scratch on her arm – there was barely a mark there. But I noticed she was talking oddly, without moving her upper lip. A closer look revealed that her upper lip was split in the middle and swollen. The school nurse didn’t mention this?

I asked her what happened to her lip, and she didn’t want to tell me at first. But then the story came out: two boys came up to her in the field at recess and knocked her down. One sat on her while the other threw a kickball in her face. She said they both laughed at her and called her “weird” and that they’ve thrown things at her before.

I made her repeat the story to me several times that night. Unlike when she makes up stories, the details didn’t change and there were more details than she usually tells. She gave us their names. She told us she was afraid of them. And she insisted they called her weird and laughed at her.

You can imagine how furious I was. Just as I sat down to write an email to her teachers, an email arrived from her special needs teacher. In giving us the details of Cordy’s day, she mentioned the incident, although the details were different. She said Cordy claimed she was hit and was very upset, but the recess teachers saw it and it appeared to be an accident. There was no mention of the split lip, only the scratch on her arm.

I replied to her email and gave her Cordy’s version of the story. I said I couldn’t understand how accidentally knocking someone down could result in a split lip, or why Cordy would claim they laughed at her at called her weird. I mentioned that this sounded to me like bullying and I wanted it looked into further.

The response I received the next day provided an even more detailed view of the incident. Her teacher said that a group of kids – including Cordy – had been involved in a lot of play fighting during the week and it had become more rough each day. The teachers had told them to tone it down. Other kids had complained that Cordy was hitting them with her coat. Cordy’s teacher said she spoke with the boys and believes the play fighting may have accidentally become too real.

And then she said that she also spoke to Cordy and advised her to play around the playground equipment and not with the kids out in the field.

So now I’m left to piece all of it together. I believe the adults – Cordy was probably play fighting. I asked her about hitting other kids with her coat, and she said she did it only because they were doing it to her first. I’m not so blinded by love for my kid that I’m unwilling to admit she’d ever do anything wrong. We had a discussion about why it’s not OK to hurt someone just because they hurt you first, and I expect her to apologize to the kids she swung her coat at.

But I also believe what happened to Cordy was real. I don’t think she was knocked down on accident, and whether it was play fighting or not, she still ended up with a split lip and deserves at least an apology from those boys. I also believe that they called her weird and laughed at her. There’s no reason for her to make up something like that. Whether they were saying it “in pretend” or not, it’s still hurtful and should never be said to someone. Getting away with it now could lead to them thinking it’s OK in the future. I don’t want to aide a child on his first step towards becoming a bully.

So where’s the truth? It’s somewhere in between, but the more information I’m given, the more confused I become. I like Cordy’s teachers and her school, and want to believe them, but I also want to believe my daughter. Her part in the rough play at recess has been dealt with by us. But if she feels like she’s being bullied, it needs to be addressed. (And why didn’t anyone notice her swollen, cracked-open upper lip?) I hope there are programs in place to address bullying and the importance of accepting differences, and if not there need to be, even at the first grade level.

I was bullied as a kid for being different. I know how painful it is to feel like you can’t be yourself without someone ridiculing you, but even if you try to be someone else you still can’t ever fit in. Any self-esteem I had when I started elementary school was slowly shredded to pieces by junior high. Even things I should have been proud of – like being academically gifted – were marks of shame to hide once the bullies had their way with me. I never want Cordy to suffer what I went through.

Cordy is gradually coming to the understanding that she’s different. We’re gently introducing the topic of autism to her, framing it in a way to highlight the positive differences as well as the areas she struggles with that other kids may find easy. She still isn’t self-aware enough yet to completely get it, but hopefully the self-esteem building is getting through to her if nothing else is.

We are also teaching her that there are lots of other ways to be different, too. Some kids are great at sports, others can’t use their legs and require a wheelchair, and some kids just look very different from their classmates. All of these things make them different, but just as valuable and loved as any other kid. But hate, prejudice, and discrimination are not differences to value, and should never be tolerated.

For now I plan to keep an open communication with Cordy about this topic, making sure that no one else is calling her names and that she feels safe in her class. I’m sure we’ll discuss it more at the upcoming parent-teacher conferences as well.

Sigh…and people said the baby years were hard. Ha ha ha. Playing the role of Detective Mom has me in far more unpleasant situations than ever faced by even the worst blow-out diaper.



The Annual IEP Review

Last week was the annual review of Cordy’s IEP, an event I both look forward to and have extreme anxiety about each year. Since Cordy spends nearly her entire day in a mainstream classroom, I looked forward to speaking with her teachers about how she was doing and find solutions to deal with any issues they were having.

The meeting involved the usual suspects gathered around the table: her special needs teacher, her mainstream teacher, the physical therapist, the principal, and Aaron and I. We began with a review of last year’s IEP and the progress she’s made.

Good stuff:

Based on testing and observation, Cordy no longer qualifies for physical therapy. She was only deficient in one area – running speed and agility – and it was made clear that it wasn’t her running speed keeping her score down. (The kid is FAST.)

Cordy also no longer needs occupational therapy. Her handwriting is still sloppy, but is considered no worse than the average first grader. Or her mother. Maybe she’ll be a doctor?

Academically, she’s at or above her grade level in all areas. She’s already been moved to second grade reading after demonstrating (over and over) her proficiency in reading to her mainstream teacher. It’s possible she’ll be moved to second grade math as well. They’re impressed that not only is she reading at a second grade level, her reading comprehension is strong, too.

Not so good:

The real issue with writing is Cordy’s resistance to doing it at all. She has a hard time translating her thoughts onto paper and often gives up before even trying. We’re going to try teaching her typing as well as handwriting to see if that helps overcome some of her anxiety. When you’re a perfectionist like Cordy, being able to backspace and delete mistakes might make all the difference to her.

At this point, her primary support needs are with social/emotional issues. She still reacts strongly when transitioning from one activity to another – especially if her current activity involves the computer. She’ll whine and throw a fit and the other kids look at her funny when she overreacts like this. Same goes for a change in schedule – indoor recess due to rain can sour the whole day for her.

She also doesn’t handle correction well. When she’s told she did something wrong, she usually has a verbal outburst (often along the lines of “You should just kill me then!” or “I’m just going to throw this away!”), occasionally hides under a desk and refuses to come out, or sometimes runs out of the classroom. Thankfully, when she does run out of the class, she is running to her special needs teacher’s class – the last thing I want to deal with is hearing she ran away from school.

The social issues do bother me. I know she gets overwhelmed and frustrated easily and she takes any slight correction as as condemnation of her entire existence. Her classmates probably think she’s a weirdo as a result. But I still think it’s beneficial for her to be in the mainstream classroom.

I agree with the concept of accepting kids with autism for who they are, but no matter how perfect I wish the world to be, I know Cordy will likely face years of bullying and teasing. It will be important for her to compromise and learn what’s expected in a classroom, scripting her behavior if necessary to “fit in” as much as possible so that she’s less of a disruption, and less of a target.

At the moment she has an aide in the classroom with her most of the day, helping to provide redirection when these moments of frustration pop up. And the teacher reassured us that it isn’t all that frequent – other kids are far greater behavior problems than Cordy is. They also report that, even though she doesn’t have any school friends she tells us about, she does play with other kids at recess.

The team had a lot of praise for Cordy, including how sweet she is most of the time, and in turn we asked them to not be soft on her because of that charm. Sounds mean, I know, but if you try to baby-step her through anything she pushes back and resists. She knows that if you’re trying to gradually introduce something, it must be hard and so she doesn’t want to try it. If you shove her into the deep end, though, she flails for a moment, but then usually rises to the challenge as long as you stay consistent.

When asked what our long term goals for Cordy were, I explained that we wanted her to be seen as a child and student first, and autistic last. It’s a part of who she is, but I don’t want it to dominate how her teachers treat her. I want to eventually wean her off of any assistance, although only when it’s clear that she won’t suffer as a result. I want her to be successful in school, whether she’s gifted or not, and always be challenged to go further.

It was interesting to hear Cordy’s special needs teacher talk about Cordy’s talents. She told us how much Cordy reminds her of another kid – a boy labeled as “twice exceptional” for being autistic and academically gifted – and she added that he was now in high school and on track to graduate. She said she could see Cordy going the same route – maybe even going to college?

I understood her meaning behind the story, and know she was trying to be encouraging, but at the same time I was frustrated. Probably graduate? Maybe go to college? Oh, no, no, this kid will graduate and will go to college! I’ve set high goals for her because she’s already shown every determination to do better than what’s expected.

At three years old we were told she may never be mainstreamed. She would always have behavior issues and may need medication to control her. One expert told us to prepare for the possibility that she may never be capable of living alone or caring for herself. The same people who saw her then are stunned to see the young girl she is now, charming, polite and full of energy to discover the world around her. They never expected her to become the bright student she is today. But I always knew she could do it.

Cordy’s IEP is set for another year now. There’s still plenty to work on, but yet again she’s managed to cross several items off of her IEP to-master list. And the new skills for this year are challenging, but as long as her team is supporting her and cheering her on, she’ll succeed.

I feel like a helicopter parent sometimes, and I’m sure her teachers are regretting that they gave me their email addresses, but Aaron and I are her primary advocates. My job is to make sure she’s getting the education she needs, and I take that job pretty seriously. I see the potential in her, and I have to make sure others see it, too.

With the right guidance, there’s nothing she can’t excel in.

Except maybe penmanship.

(But hey, we all have our limitations. Just be glad I’m typing this and not writing it by hand.)



Moments in Time

I generally have mixed feelings about school picture day. We usually have to order the photos in advance, before the photographer even snaps the picture, leaving me wondering if my expensive gamble will result in a kid with one eye half closed or a frown on her face or if I might luck out with a good shot of her. Committing to two 8×10’s, 4 5×7’s, 2 3×5’s and 2 sheets of wallets without seeing the photo first is hard to stomach.

No matter her look, the backgrounds are dull, the “enhancements” are usually worse and every kid has the same head and shoulders pose that has been used since my grandmother was in school.

But.

School photos also serve as an annual snapshot of where my kids are at the moment. You can see so much personality in their eyes, see how much they’ve developed and changed from the year before, and get an idea of what’s going on in those little heads.

Cordy’s first school photo was when she was three and had just started special needs preschool. She had just received an educational diagnosis of autism, and I think the photo says it all.

All of the struggle against her senses, the confusion, and the uncertainty with the world around her was captured in that photo.

And then there’s her first grade photo.

I could write eloquent (or not so eloquent) sentences about the transformation she’s made, but words would only be repetitive. The two photos speak volumes about what has changed without any added explanation from me.

Right now, I’m incredibly grateful to have these school photos to remind me of where she is in this moment.


Pssst…have you voted for Cordy in the Columbus Parent cover contest? I’ve been watching the competition, and there are some other kids getting a LOT of votes at the moment. Do they really have families that big?

C’mon, we can do better than that, right? If you haven’t done it yet, please leave a vote for Cordy!



First Grade Homework Is Killing Me

I knew that with the start of first grade, homework wasn’t far behind. I’ve seen other parents on Facebook and Twitter talking about how young they start kids with homework now, so I was prepared. When the homework folder arrived in Cordy’s backpack for the first time, I turned off the TV and sat at the table with Cordy to help her complete her homework. It took about 20 minutes for her to do all of the worksheets, which seemed like a lot of time to devote to homework each night for a six year old.

And then I found out that was her homework for the entire week. Oops. Ah well, at least she had several days off from doing homework, right?

This week, though, one of her worksheets stumped me. I knew that someday she’d ask for help with homework and I’d be unable to help because I would have forgotten advanced algebra or the process of photosynthesis because they just aren’t practical in my everyday life and my brain cells needed room for more important things, like the bajillion passwords I have to remember for every online account or the lyrics of Katy Perry’s Last Friday Night. I never thought I’d be unable to answer a question about first grade grammar.

The worksheet had several sentences on it, with the instruction, “Write the naming part of the sentence below each sentence.”

Wait – the “naming part” of a sentence? WTF?

“Uh, Cordy, I’m not exactly sure what you’re supposed to do for this worksheet,” I explained. “Do you know what the naming part of a sentence is?”

“No, mommy. I don’t know.”

Well…great.

I turned to Twitter, where I was mostly met with silence and the one suggestion that maybe it was the noun in the sentence. Apparently most of Twitter has forgotten their first grade grammar as well, which made me feel a little better. Unity in cluelessness.

I then turned to the all-knowing Google, where 90% of the links agreed that the “naming part” of the sentence is its subject. 

Obvious response: so why not call it the SUBJECT then?

Dear textbook editors: I understand that writing new versions of the same, dry material can be boring. But syntax naming is not an area for you to flex your creative muscle in order to freshen up the lesson. You’re confusing the hell out of us parents and making us look like we couldn’t pass a basic elementary school standardized test. Also? What’s wrong with “subject?” The “naming part” just sounds babyish. Stop dumbing down my kid’s lessons!

I’m sure this won’t be the last I see of these changes, but I really hope I’ll be able to translate her homework in the future. Next thing you know she’ll have to find the “doing-stuff part” of the sentence.

(OMG, please don’t let that be on next week’s homework or I swear I’ll homeschool her with my 1980’s curriculum, when we actually had to know the real names of the parts of a sentence. And use non-safety scissors to cut things. And walk uphill in the snow to school. Both ways.)



Wait, How Is It September Already?

Back to school is always a busy time of year, but this year seems extra busy for some reason. The changes that have been happening around here in the last two weeks have left me underslept and overworked. I’m running on caffeine and willpower at this point, and I’m nearly out of willpower. I spent all of yesterday convinced it was Thursday only to find it was actually Wednesday, and yes, I really do have to go through the REAL Thursday now.

Let me back up for a minute.

First grade is still going well for Cordy. Amazingly well, in fact. Every note home has been a positive one, with the teachers praising how well she’s adapting to her class. She brought homework with her on Monday and then quickly completed it, only to learn the next day that it was her homework for the entire week. When I asked her to practice her spelling words, she rolled her eyes at me and told me, “these words are too easy!” And then she spelled every one correctly.

The only issue we’re having at the moment is Cordy’s transportation. Her bus route for the ride home has her on the bus for nearly two hours. That’s a mighty long time to be trapped on a bus when you’re six years old. I’ve been appealing to the transportation office for a change to her route, but have so far been ignored.

Mira started preschool this week. She attends a half-day Pre-K class in the morning, and then attends a different half-day preschool class in the afternoon. This is similar to last year’s arrangement, allowing her to get speech therapy from the afternoon class while still getting plenty of academics from her morning class. Mira loves it, as it gives her twice as many people to perform for.

The afternoon preschool didn’t start until yesterday, though, which left me awfully tired on Monday and Tuesday. I had to take her to school, then come home for a few hours of sleep, then go get her again. After a few days of less than four hours of sleep, you can now understand how I thought yesterday was Thursday. I was delirious from sleep deprivation.

And then there’s Aaron. Three years after being laid off, after working several contract jobs that didn’t fit his interests, paid little, and/or weren’t long enough to turn into real jobs, after dealing with the depression that comes from feeling like his job skills were inadequate, he finally got his reward.

On Monday he started his new job – a real, permanent job, that requires a skilled employee, with a salary that isn’t insulting. He now has benefits that we haven’t seen in a long time – paid time off, holidays, and the holy grail of benefits: health insurance. We’re paying quite a bit for it, but it’s a decent health plan and I’m thrilled to have anything that doesn’t exclude every symptom of any illness I’ve experienced in the last thirty-five years.

Even better (to him, at least): he gets to work from home a few days each week.

So…yeah. Busy. The three of them have all of these changes happening and I’m in the center, playing ringmaster to it all and trying to keep everything running smoothly while also working my 42.5 hours each week. (It’s actually more than that, but I don’t bill for hours I spend at home worrying about work.)

My job hasn’t changed much; I still work third shift as a contract RN/manager, and most days I enjoy what I do. If I could change anything about my situation, it would be to have benefits, followed by working daylight hours at some point. Not sure if or when either of those might happen, but I hope for one of them someday.

By next week I should be able to get six hours of sleep on most days again. Maybe I’ll even try to clean the house a little? (Ha.) Or maybe I’ll just sleep even more.

Despite the constant rush of these new routines surrounding me, I’m still very happy for all of the changes. Aaron’s new job, the girls doing well in school, having health insurance again – I’ll willingly trade a little bit of my sanity for all of these things.

But I also wouldn’t mind if the weekdays would speed up and the weekends would slow down. I’d much rather repeat a Saturday than a Thursday.

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