Getting ready!

Spent the day at school today starting to get things ready... I can't believe it's already here! Class is full at 14 and one extra that we're going to reverse-integrate from the DD room next door.

Class list in hand and sitting at the kitchen table tonight writing notes to mail out to the kiddos tomorrow... Everyone loves to get mail!

How I love thee, IEP!

I’m sure by now, parents and teachers reading this are already wondering where on earth I’m going with this. No one loves IEPs. At best, they’re useful tools, and at worst, they’re paper-heavy nonsense that does neither the child nor the teacher any good. But hear me out...

For those who aren’t inside the world of Special Ed, an IEP (Individual Education Plan) is a legal document that describes what modifications to the curriculum or accommodations in teaching methods are required by a child with special education needs.  It can include anything from sitting at the front of the class to being provided with notes to highlight, from reducing the amount of work that is required at a child’s given grade level to completely changing the grade level of expectations that their working on, to adding things that aren’t in the curriculum at all, like learning to tie their own shoes or communicate by selecting a picture of something they want.  Who writes them and what is included is supposed to be fairly standard, but can in reality vary wildly, and can sometimes put teachers, parents and students at odds with each other over how it is being followed on a daily basis.

For instance, a mainstream student in Grade 5 or 6 that has been identified as having a learning disability specific to writing and spelling may have on their IEP that they are to have access to technology for written tasks. Sounds good, right? As a parent, if you know your child has all the content knowledge in the world but has trouble with physical handwriting or spelling, you want to be damn sure they have a computer in front of them for everything from taking science notes to writing essays to answering short-answer questions in their math work. And rightly so. As a teacher, if you have 4-5 kids with that same accommodation (don’t laugh, it happens often!), and only 2 ancient computers in your room, only 1 of which works at any given time, and no laptops, and the support teacher only sees your kids for one period a day, how on earth are you supposed to implement that accommodation fairly at all the times the students need it. Also, FYI, you are legally required to provide that for the child, if it’s on their IEP. Impasse, right? Right.  Until technology is more widely available to all students, or until IEPs automatically come with all the materials needed to make the accommodations possible, there will always be ongoing battles between parents and school boards about how students with IEP’s are supported. An between parents and teachers, because let’s face it, not all accommodations are about technology, and many things go undone in support of IEPs, either because the teacher doesn’t know they’re on there or they’re too busy/lazy to do them every day.  Teachers are not saints, and some aren’t even that good of teachers!

However, most parents and teachers recognize that IEPs are the first step in giving a kid with special needs the tools they need to be successful, and work hard together to try and ensure that the IEP is being implemented. Still, that doesn’t make them loveable things... So here’s why I love IEPs – this month, anyway!

In Room 10, all my kiddo’s are on alternative expectation IEPs – while some of them include academic skills like reading, writing and math, they are mostly composed of functional communication goals, behaviour goals and social or life skills. They’re specific – I meet with each student’s parent at the beginning of each year to take a look at last year’s IEP, talk about what has changed or hasn’t, and what kind of things we would collectively like to work on for the coming year. It’s a luxury – teachers in classes where kids are on “grade level” IEPs really don’t have the flexibility that I do – they are basically deciding what within their specific curriculum to focus on, and it doesn’t make for the same level of collaboration and input as we get in Room 10. But my kiddos are specific, every last thing is discussed and detailed, from how they are expressing themselves and their wants and needs to what they long-range goal of their programming is. Even then, they’re still only snapshots of what a kid is learning – measurable pieces of a much larger picture of what goes on all day every day.

Report cards and IEPs went home a few weeks ago, which means the inevitable scramble of updating the IEPs, rifling through daily notes to collect information and reporting on how they’re doing on the goals we set. Last year, I had to write all the IEPs from scratch – revamp, revise and re-evaluate another teacher’s idea of what the kids could and could not do (most of which I didn’t agree with!) and take a guess as to where we were going to be headed for the year.  This year, they were my own, and I made an awesome, delicious discovery – our program is WORKING!

Sunshine, who last year, was working on matching and identifying her classmates’ names, is now working on building sentences and adding sight words to her ever-growing vocabulary.  I did a blog about her reading program here. She can receptively identify all her numbers from 1-5, and is using almost 10 3-word expressions spontaneously.

Little Guy had NO academic programming when he arrived last year.  His only goals were to sit for eating or working for up to 2 minutes at a time, and to reduce behaviours of running away and throwing things. This year, running and throwing aren’t even ON his IEP anymore, he sits for 15 minutes at a time for both snack and work activities, and is participating in circle by using the iPad to tell us the weather in the morning.  He can match, sort and do puzzles like a champ.

Mouse is a tricky one... Of all my kiddos, she’s the most “in her own world”, so we’ve had a really hard time getting her to show us what she can do, or engaging her in anything outside of her own stims and fidgets. In an academic sense, it’s hard to track a lot of growth, but because of her IEP, I’m able to realize things like the fact that she now looks up and waves when I call her name during morning circle, and will get up without prompting to help place calendar pieces. She can match by shape and colour, and is learning to use the iPad to request for her snack. And she’s learned to skate!  The first time we took her last year, we had to hold her up from behind and skate her around, and now she goes like gangbusters with just someone to hold her hands – maybe not a school skill in the traditional sense, but a huge accomplishment nonetheless!

Giggles was the inspiration for this post, to be honest, because it was as I wrote her IEP that I realized just how the IEP allowed me to think about the growth she’s had. Now, I’m not going to take credit for it – she’s only with us 2 days a week, and I know her IBI team have been working hard the rest of the week, because we’ve been talking and working together over the past two years.  She’s also grown up a lot! When I first met her, she spent a good part of the day flopped on the floor, giggling. She ran away at every opportunity, could not been within arm’s reach of other children, and would pinch, grab, pull hair and poke at people’s eyes. This is not the same child!  She can read familiar words, name almost anything you show her, and knows her numbers up to 10. She sings along with all our songs, follows multi-step instructions, and is our STAR when we’re out in the community – we never have to worry about her running away or behaving inappropriately.  When I wrote her IEP for this term, I actually took behaviour completely off of it, and put in a new strand for social skills, instead. There’s not enough behaviour to even make it worthwhile to track anymore! *happy dance* This week, when she came in, she finished her morning routine and then headed toward the carpet and reached for Sunshine as though to pinch her (they have a love-hate relationship!).  I interrupted her by saying “Do you want to say good morning to Sunshine?”, to which she responded by saying “Good morning Sunshine! High five?” GAVE her the high five, and then went merrily on to her preferred activity!!! I almost died of happiness!

Anyway, all this to say that without the IEPs, I wouldn’t have the same chance to sit down and actually think about and see in a concrete way how far they’ve each come. To reflect on how much they’ve learned, and to think about how to move them on to bigger and better things. So thank you, IEPs... As much as I hate you every year in September – and every time report cards roll around – your usefulness far outshines your annoyance, and allows me to celebrate the amazing progress that the kiddos have made, even if it is just a snapshot of a much larger picture.

Letting Go... Or, Careful what you wish for

I love all my kiddos.

They are amazing, quirky, smart, funny and affectionate, each in their own ways. 

But let’s be honest – with 5 kids on the “severe” end of the spectrum in one room, things can get really crazy. (* and don’t get me started about how much I hate “severe” as a descriptor, but  as a blanket statement for the similarities in terms of how their individual autism presents, and how they've landed in Room 10, it’s a necessary evil) Everyone has off days, and although they don’t always start off that way, one of them having a really off day can often escalate into triggering others into a bad day, which can set off a roller-coaster of insanity that turns 3pm into heaven on earth. But thankfully, most of the kids are pretty even keel most days, and if we divide and conquer we can usually manage to keep everything chugging along, learning and even laughing as we get through our days together.

Except for Mr. Intense.  My precious boy, I am sad to say, has more bad days than good, and this is not a new pattern.  Truth be told, his worst days now are still light-years better than they were last year (pre-meds) – check in here for a taste of what we were all going through then.  However, even with the meds, even with consistency and amazing levels of support from all kinds of sources, good days for him still are a pleasant surprise. 

Late last school year, after a slew of accident reports and ongoing interventions, we all agreed that the level of support we were able to provide for him in our public school setting wasn't enough, and decided to seek placement for him in a provincial-level classroom – something they call Tre-ADD(Treatment, Research, and Education for Autism and Developmental Disorders).  For those who don’t want to check the link – they’re still classroom-based programs housed in schools, but they are staffed by therapists, a coordinator, and have their own support staff (nurses, OTs, PTs, etc.) They’re (typically) kids whose behaviour is such that they’re not able to be successful in a classroom, and it’s not an endgame – the program is designed to have kids go in for a couple of years and work on behaviour and readiness skills, and then eventually go back to their local schools. It’s the Cadillac of publicly-funded programs, basically.

Anyway, after filling out all the paperwork back in the spring, we heard nothing for months and months, and finally my principal got fed up with negotiating the school board red tape and called the program herself, and back in November, they came for a meeting and observation of Mr. Intense. Of course, the day they came he was a PERFECT angel all day, but with the amount of documentation we had and the amount of help and support his family really needs, they agreed to consider him, and the week before the holiday break, we got the call that he’s been given a placement, and will likely be moving there by the end of this month.  I was thrilled – and not just because I won’t be getting my hair pulled 40+ times a day for the first time in almost 2 years...

I was thrilled for his dad, who is raising him alone here while mom stays at home overseas and supports them, because there were no appropriate schools for Mr. Intense there, and despite the fact that they are both well-educated, they couldn't find jobs here. Dad is drowning with no family or friends for support, and will really benefit for all the extras that the new program provides.

I was thrilled for the other kiddos, because the number of times they've had their hair pulled, been hit, shoved or had their food or materials grabbed out of their hands is just not fair, and the reality of him not being in our room means they will all get more attention, less harried teachers and a quieter, calmer learning environment.

Most of all, though, I was thrilled for Mr. Intense. His is SO smart, and my inability to meet his needs has caused us both endless frustration.  He needs a functional communication system, a way to express himself, and skills to be able to self-regulate so that he can show everyone just how smart he really is every day, not just in rare flashes. And without 1-on-1, and without a team of people who are far more organized, consistent and knowledgeable than my staff and I, we can’t give him that. And so I was thrilled...

As we returned in January, though, the reality of him leaving has begun to set in, and I’d be lying if I didn't admit that my heart is breaking just a little. On our first day back Monday, he spend the day hugging me. All day.  He was so happy to be back that he didn't pull my hair (or anyone else’s) even once, and he would literally circle the room, come running over to wherever I was, hug me, and then go back to what he was doing. Over and over. It didn't last past Monday, but it was so damn endearing that it kept me smiling all day long. By Wednesday, he was back to being upset all day, and when I had to call his dad to come and get him Thursday because he had been in meltdown mode all day, I literally cried.  In front of dad.  By the time dad arrived, Mr. Intense was sitting still in the Quiet Room, head in his hands, with his nearly-broken glasses sitting on my desk and chairs overturned all over the room, and when dad wondered aloud (to both Mr. Intense and I) “What happened?”, I teared up and answered “I don’t know. He’s just so upset, and I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m sorry. I just love him so much... I wish I knew how to make him not upset!” Dad, who is lovely and supportive, reassured me “I know. I’m so appreciative of everything you do for him. I know you love him”, which of course just made me cry harder.

As he headed home with dad and I headed off to meet up with my TA’s and the rest of the kids, I was hit with such a wave of disappointment and sadness. Why did I resort to calling dad? What could I have done differently? How could I send him home when I know my time left with him is so short?

And I know myself well enough to know that that last question is also part of the answer – because even though I know Tre-ADD is what’s best for him, there will always be a part of me that will feel as though I failed him – not just on Thursday, but in general.  There will always be a part of me that wonders if I hadn't pushed to send him to Tre-ADD, if I had just tried harder, or tried something different, or been more patient, that he might have been more successful in Room 10. And I hate that feeling. And I know, as I sit here with tears in my eyes, that when the day comes when he finally does leave us, I won’t be thrilled about it at all.  I’ll be sad. But maybe that’s my saving grace, because if I’m truly sad and not happy, it means that I sent him for the right reasons, not the wrong ones.  And although it won’t erase the feeling of having failed him, it will allow me to take comfort in remembering those hugs and that brilliant smile once it’s gone, and to know that part of being a good teacher to these kiddos is knowing enough to know when to let them go, because somebody out there knows way more than me about how to help him, and maybe my job was to help get him to those folks. I hope...

I made Giggles cry... and I’m kinda happy about it!

Now, before I get any of you gentle-souled parents and educators jumping on me about anger and patience and etc., let me just state for the record that part of me feels very badly about the story that follows.  I don’t often lose my temper with my students, and when I do, I feel terrible about it for days.  That being said, please, read on and try to see the bigger picture here... as horrible as it sounds, there really is reason to celebrate tears in this case...

For those who are regular followers of Room 10, you’ll know that Giggles is only with us Thursdays and Fridays – she spends rest of the week in IBI, which makes for a pretty disrupted pattern – 2 days at home, 3 days at IBI, two days at school, repeat... not great for consistency in routines, expectations, etc. Now Giggles has an interesting profile – she’s a kid that would likely be integrated in the mainstream, except that she has a really difficult time interacting appropriately – she grabs, headlocks and pinches people on a regular basis – not in an aggressive way, but because she really likes them and wants to interact.  She also likes to poke at eyes and grab at inappropriate areas... not exactly the kind of thing that they tend to put up with in a mainstream setting.  She also like to scream randomly to get a reaction – a hair-raising, ear-splitting scream that scares the bejeezus out of you if you’re not expecting it... which you never are, since she likes to do it at random quiet times... Thankfully, not too often.

Anyway, aside from the behaviour stuff, Giggles has an awesome receptive vocabulary, a great memory, and a real interest in other people.  She also has great gross-motor skills and is generally super-compliant  - except for when she has the sillies, hence the nickname. We’ve had a really hard time nailing down a  good strategy to help her control her impulses, mostly due to the fact that we only see her 2 days a week!

So last Friday, she was in fine form right from the get-go – full on sillies and giggling, and a few choice screams before we even started circle around 9am. Now usually, the scream gets either ignored completely or gets a quiet, right-in-the-eyes “Giggles, stop. No screaming. It hurts our ears” and that’s usually enough – we rarely hear more than 2 a day. This morning, however, neither seemed to be working, and when Mr. Intense strolled by and reached out during circle, heading for her hair, Giggles let out yet another blood-curdling shriek. Now, as he didn’t actually touch her, they both got a sharp “stop” and a quick re-direct. We carried on with circle, but less than a minute later, he was up again, and this time, he managed to actually get a handful of her hair. *Now, to be fair, she does have a sensitive scalp – I know this from having put her hair elastics back in multiple times every day, as she pulls them out as soon as no one is looking!  However, and I’m not exaggerating here, the scream that came out of her was so long, so loud and so high-pitched that I’m surprised the windows didn’t all shatter instantly.

All of what followed happened in an instant - Mouse and Little Guy both clapped their hands over their ears and started to cry, one of my TA’s grabbed Mr. Intense by the wrist and released his fingers from Giggles’ hair and I, sitting right in front of them both as it happened, and knowing that the TA’s were dealing with Intense, turned to Giggles and hollered right at her: “GIGGLES! STOP! NO SCREAMING!” And yes, let’s take a pause here to recognize the irony of me pretty much screaming at her to stop screaming. I didn’t say I was proud, I said I was happy... read on...

Following that one chaotic instant, I pulled my usual “Jekyll and Hyde” routine and immediately turned to the rest of the kids, smiled, and asked Sunshine what song she’d like to sing, intending to continue with circle. This worked, to some extent, in that she asked for “If you’re happy and you know it”, my TA’s and I started singing, Little Guy and Mouse stopped crying and Mr. Intense was so overwhelmed by the chaos that had ensued that he actually sat down and allowed a TA to lead him through the actions. But here’s where it gets interesting.  After the first verse, I turned to Giggles, intending to smile and pull her into the familiar routine, and found that as predicted, she was already singing along.  What I wasn’t prepared for was the very obvious signs on her face that she was actually fighting back tears as she sang, and when I continued to look at her, she tried to turn away and hide her face, eyes welling up more when I looked at her...

I was blown away – not by the tears themselves, because I’m sure the hair pull hurt like the dickens , and no doubt that was part of it, given her sensitive scalp.  What floored me, though, was her effort (and failure) to stay composed, and specifically, to avoid contact with me (presumably because I had just yelled at her).  This is a kid who never seems bothered by reprimands, giggles on through-redirection and is never, never sad or grumpy. Tired, yes, but sad and mad are pretty much only seen on her when we’re doing an emotion imitation activity, and even then, she’s pretty bad at those expressions and generally finds them hilarious.

And literally, in that split second, I felt two equal emotions – first, horrible guilt for having just yelled at her and obviously caused the distress, but second, flooding wonder and joy at what a TYPICAL reaction she had had. She and I are buddies, it’s no secret – she’ll usually listen to me over anyone, and we have regular “chats” about how awesome and smart I know she is. And here was this kid, reacting in EXACTLY the way a typical kid would after being yelled at by someone they love.

Not wanting to leave her in distress, we finished the song and I quickly motioned to one of my TA’s to finish circle, and told Giggles to come with me.  Still teary, she had clenched her hands and was obviously reluctant to go with me into the hallway, but she did, allowing me to lead her to our Movement Room next door, where we sat on the edge of the new play structure.  I smoothed her hair and hugged her around the shoulders and apologized for yelling at her, and told her that I knew it must have hurt to have her hair pulled. I also reminded her that it hurts our ears, and that she had made Little Guy and Mouse cry with her loud scream, and that she needed to use her words to tell Mr. Intense to go away (which she usually does quite readily). I could tell she was still not quite composed, so I suggested she use the slide, and then we jumped together on the trampolines until she finally started smiling again. After that we headed for a bathroom break and then back to class, where circle was over and everyone was busily engaged in their work blocks. We worked through her four activities and then did some shared reading, and by the time I sent her off to a preferred activity, she seemed to be back to her old self, albeit slightly less silly than she had been earlier.

Fridays being our busy days, I had almost forgotten about the incident by the end of the day, when I was sitting at my desk writing in their agendas.  Across the room, my TA’s were helping the kids get ready to go home, and Giggles, in typical fashion, was more interested in trying to do some sort of booty-bumping Bollywood dance and laughing than getting her coat on.  After several attempts from my TA’s to redirect her which elicited nothing but more laughter, I hollered across the room (NOT unkindly this time, just loud enough to be heard over the din) “Giggles! Coat ON!” She immediately looked my way, stopped bumping and grinding and proceeded to get her coat and boots on without any further silliness. By then, agendas were tucked away in the correct backpacks, and she happily took my hand and headed down the hall to the bus, where she said “good-bye” and “see you tomorrow!” before bounding up onto the bus.

The moral of the story? I’m not quite sure, to be honest.  I laughed when I saw this cartoon, but there’s some truth in it, too. Truth is, I’m not much of a yeller, and I’m not good at confrontation in general, and I certainly don’t use it as a regular tool with my students.  That being said, here’s the thing... my first year of teaching, my classroom was across the hall from two separate teachers who were both “yellers”.  They we’re always raising their voices with their students, and although I don’t think there was much actual mean-spiritedness to it, I’m not convinced it was terrifically effective, either.  I, on the other hand, was not a yeller.  I ruled my room through affection and respect – my kids knew I loved them and that I expected good behaviour from them, and because they liked me, they tried to meet those expectations.  That’s kind of my approach to classroom management in a nutshell, and I use much the same philosophy now in Room 10, in that I really believe the relationships with the kids are what are most fundamental to their ability to learn and thrive in the room. That being said, here’s the thing... when I taught mainstream, I could probably count on one hand the number of times I raised my voice to the class in an angry way. And when I did – THEY LISTENED. Because those kids knew that if I was mad enough about something to raise my voice, that they were in serious trouble, and had better smarten up, fast.  And in a very similar way, I think that’s what happened with Giggles today, too, for the first (and hopefully last!) time.

Am I going to take up yelling at my kids as a behaviour management technique? Hell, no! But today, for those few minutes, that moment of lost self-control on my part turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because it allowed me to see a side of Giggles that I had always suspected was there, but never could nail down – a typical kid hiding under that ASD, who was really genuinely upset that her beloved teacher had yelled at her, and who was able to show that emotion in such a visible, familiar way that it literally stopped me in my tracks.

I’m sorry for your tears, Giggles, and I’m sorry for your hurt. But kiddo, I love you too much not to admit that no matter what happens, I will always be a little glad to have seen you cry. xo

Shut Up and Listen

I didn't intend to write tonight, but in surfing my amazing blog friends on Facebook, I came across an article someone else had posted about a recent C-Span feature in the US about federal responses to autism. Now, I don’t pay a whole lot of attention to US politics in general, but the principle of the article interested me – that two of the panelists in this tv feature had autism themselves, and the author’s take on it was that no one had really listened to what these men had to say about themselves and their community.

I’m not even going to attempt to get into the political murkiness of which organizations fund what and why, but I do know that as awesome as all the bio-medical and causation research is, it’s not helping my students, who need funding and supports for programs that will help them communicate, self-regulate, and participate in the world as much as they want to.

Now, I’m not complaining, either... Room 10’s little slice of life in the autism world is pretty beautifully supported in many ways – our complete sensory room, our community programs, our visiting therapy dog, and our amazing new gross-motor play structure (thank you grant funding and anonymous donor!) But none of that helps my buddies when they go home, and I know the wait lists for IBI, respite care, social groups, OT, PT and SLP support are long and often expensive. Maybe instead of focussing on a “cure”, we could at least SPLIT focus and spend as much on supporting kids and adults with autism in ways that they need now?

This is the author’s take on the uneven funding and focus:

How is it that we can say we "care" about autism and those who are autistic, yet not fund programs that will make their lives better? How is it we can use war terminology and ignore that these words make those who are on the spectrum feel badly about their very existence? Is this how we want our children to feel? Do we really want our own children to grow up believing they are fundamentally wrong, at fault and "broken"?

Let's just say, for the sake of argument, that our autistic children, whether they speak or not, whether they are in a special education classroom or are included with a regular classroom, most of them, if not all, can and do understand what is being said about them, but they cannot tell us or do not have the ability to communicate in a way that we, who are non-autistic, can understand or recognize. Can we at least imagine what that would be like if this were done to us? Can we try, just for a moment to have the empathy needed to imagine? Are we compassionate enough to pause, even if for a moment, and consider the implications of what we are saying and doing? Even if we cannot or do not want to think about all the autistic adults whom we do not know, can we think about our own child? Our children will be adults one day, do we really want them to feel as so many autistic adults do? Do we really want our children growing up feeling they are a "burden" to not just us, but to society? Is this the message we want to pass along? Because at this moment, that is exactly what we are doing.

Which not only explains eloquently why funding needs to be re-distributed, but also brings me to a pet peeve in general when it comes to my students – the assumption that they can’t or don’t understand or hear what is going on around them. This DRIVES ME INSANE. And I’m not even talking about big things, like discussing complicated world issues in front of them, using inappropriate language or talking about our private lives in a way that we would never dream of doing in front of NT kids. I’m talking about little things. For example, how things went in the washroom. I mean, really? 

Let’s just imagine, for a second, that a neuro-typical 8-year old with some kind of physical mobility issue needed help in the washroom regularly.  Would we really announce, arriving back in the classroom, “Ok, Junior here went. He had a big poop, and it seemed to really be hurting him, but he got it out and washed his hands nicely.” REALLY? How embarrassed would that 8-year old kid be to have that announced to everyone in the room?  THEN WHY ON EARTH DO WE DO THIS TO OUR KIDDOS WITH ASD??? Seems like nothing, but why is it that just because a kid is non-verbal, we assume they don’t understand or hear (or feel/react to) what is being said.

I will never for a second forget the words of CarlyFleishmann’s father, Arthur, in an interview he did about Carly learning to type.  He said the worst moment was the one in which he suddenly realized that for years, they had been talking about Carly in front of her as if she wasn’t there. It stuck with me, and it changes the things I say and do every day.

I try to remember to talk TO my kids, not about them.  And even when I do talk about them, I try to do in such a way as I would any kid – recognizing that they can hear and understand what I am saying, and speaking accordingly.  Honestly, if I could change one thing about Room 10, it would be some kind of magical filter that reminds adults that our kids CAN and DO understand, and to speak and behave accordingly. About the bathroom... about our personal lives... and most of all, as the author points out, when we are talking directly about autism, or behaviour, or ability. No one should have to constantly feel as though the way they are is some kind of problem that needs to be solved, or that everyone around them feels sorry for them, or their families. And maybe, just maybe, they’d be a whole lot more motivated to communicate with us if we would just shut up and listen.

“Sunshine is reading” – A true story!!

I’ve always been a reader.  I was a bookworm kid, a bookworm young adult, and even though I read less often now, it’s mostly because I’m an obsessive reader – once I begin something, I have a complete inability to walk away from it until it’s done, rendering me both oblivious and useless to the outside world for the better part of a couple days. I usually try to stick to either quick easy reads, or not read unless I’m on a long vacation (more than a weekend!) As a teacher, reading aloud to kids has always been one of my favourite parts of the job, and the three years I spent as teacher-librarian before taking on Room 10 were often a blissed-out blur of awesome picture books and rich nonfiction.

Don’t get me wrong – we read in Room 10.  Sunshine is completely obsessed with books and loves nothing better than being read aloud to, and we often read short, patterned books aloud as a group. But Room 10 has also reminded me what I had forgotten about reading on a very fundamental level – it is the key to unlocking the world, and doubly so for my kids, some of whom may never end up using verbal output as a functional mode of communication.

As I got to know my students better,  I was determined to find a method to teach them to read, especially Sunshine and Giggles, who have quite a lot of verbal function. I started here, with a method developed by Patricia Olewein and recommended to me my a beautiful and brilliant SLP that used to work with our school.  If you’re interested in the process I’ve been using, read on... If not, just skip to the end where I tell about the wonderful thing that happened today! J

Boiled down, the concept is fairly simple – cut out the complication of sounds and letters, and teach kids to recognize words as pictures, which plays on the tendency of kids with ASD to have visual memory (matching) as a relative strength.

Names blurred, but you get the idea! Grid 1 with pics, Grid 2 without.

Now, if a kid has strong affinities, that’s always a good place to start – with the names of favourite items or characters – nouns that are concrete and easily identified. For my girls, I decided to start with their classmates’ names.  They could both verbally identify their classmates both in person and in photographs, so it was an easy start – matching name cards with grids that had both pictures and words. (*Note to those attempting this – have MULTIPLE grids for each of these steps, and change them up, so that your kids don’t  simply memorize where the words go!*) Once they can do this accurately, move on to grids without the pictures – matching word to word, and making sure they can identify the words.  Now with my girls, they can identify the words verbally, but if a student is non-verbal, you can still move on to this step by having them match the words, then asking them to add a correct picture to ensure comprehension.

Once they had established the learning style with names, I added small high-frequency words that would be easy to practice in different contexts – I chose “my”, “is”, “the” and “this”.  The procedure was the same, but without pictures.  To be honest, I’m not sure how you would do this step with kids who are completely non-verbal, as it would be hard to move beyond word matching to recognition without a concrete visual to pair this with. For my gals, it consisted of having them match, and then giving a verbal model for them to repeat, until eventually they could match and tell me the word without me prompting it.

One of the little iPad stories...

Throughout this step, I paired the word grids with simple texts that made use of the words in context – Level A & B readers from our bookroom, printable books from online reading sites (http://www.readinga-z.com/ and http://www.abcteach.com/ are two of my faves), and simple books that I made up myself on our classroom computer or iPad (using a great app called Book Creator for iPad).  I would read these with the girls right after doing the grid activity, trying to build context for seeing these words being used to create meaning.

Finally, last week, I created an activity set to move on to the next step – sentence building. This is key for kids who, like Sunshine, are learning to use ACC such as Proloquo2Go, and are eventually going to want to build sentence spontaneously (hopefully!) The activity took the words they were already familiar with, and paired them with unfamiliar but known verbs and nouns, paired with pictures, to create meaningful communication. Too much jargon? Check out the picture – I put their names in a baggie with the words “is”, as well as some action words like “skating”, “reading”, and then used them to take turns building sentences. The other baggies has “this”, “is” “my” and “the”, as well as nouns like “book”, backpack”, “train”, etc.

Sentence building kit!

Fast forward to this afternoon.  Sunshine has been having a challenging day, but seems to be calm in her word period with me and ready to focus, so I grab the new activity and decided to give it a try.  New activities can go either way with Sunshine – either she’s really into them and loves the novelty, or she’s really not into them and it creates inevitable meltdown city. I crossed my fingers and dove in, laying out three little piles of words – names, “is”, and the action words.

“Let’s make some sentences for reading,” I instructed. “My turn”. I took her name from the pile and placed it in the holder, touching it and saying it, which she of course repeated. I then did the same with “is”, and then chose “reading” – her favourite.  After placing each one, I touched each word and repeated “*Sunshine* is reading.”

“Your turn!” Without missing a beat, she picked out a name and placed it in. I prompted her visually to add “is”, and then she quickly scanned the action words and picked “eating”. When she finished, I touched each word in turn, and she read back to me “*Mr. Intense* is eating”.

Insert HUGE reaction from me here – lots of praise and excitement – her fave - and then going back and forth, we quickly made 6 sentences. Then she read all of them back to me. More HUGE reaction.  Then she read all of them back to one of my TA’s to further excitement, and off we went for a celebratory wagon ride, with me doing my happy dance the whole time.  When our principal popped in later in the day to check in, I was telling her about our success when Sunshine came over to say hi, and when I asked her if she wanted to read to Mrs. Principal, she with almost no hesitation read back the two completely different sentences that I had created to show her the activity! Needless to say, it was a very happy day in Room 10 no matter what else happened today!

So that’s our reading magic – it may not work for everyone, but it’s sure working for us! 

“It’s beautiful!” Yes little one, yes it is...

So after the rose-coloured outlook from my last post back in September (has it been that long?!), the other shoe has, of course, dropped.  After all, the magic of the first two weeks of school can’t last forever, right?

Here’s the thing... There is crap that happens in Room 10.  Frustrating, maddening crap. Every day. Materials get destroyed. Bathroom accidents that aren’t really accidents. Food dumped all over the floor every day. Screaming, flopping and tantrums. Endless hitting and hair pulling. Strategies that suddenly stop working. Crap. Crap that makes me want to quit my job and get a nice, quiet office job with predictable, quiet paperwork, where my only bruises would be from bumping into my own desk and I would never have to end my day wanting to crawl under my desk and cry... (Ok, maybe that last bit happens in desk jobs, too...)

HOWEVER, (and this is a big however) while I’m pretty sure that quiet desk job wouldn’t have nearly as much crap, I’m also 100% sure that it wouldn’t have all the amazing moments, as fleeting as they are, that happen in Room 10 every day. So I could write about the crap, or instead, I could tell you some of the wonderful.  And I don’t know about you, but I’m a sucker for a little wonderful in my day, so here goes...

First of all, this pic. We’ve been getting out a lit this fall, joining other classes for bi-weekly skating at the local arena, walking to the grocery store to get snacks and ingredients for cooking, and going to the local bowling alley for some fun and “heavy work”! It’s been a beautiful fall, and this shot was taken en route to the skating rink.  I know you can’t see their faces, but they’re all grinning, enjoying the day and the sunshine and the ride.  Also, that’s Mr. Intense and Miss Sunshine (my super-prompt dependent gal) together in that little wagon.  They are the most aggressive of my bunch, and the facts that they are cohabitating without injury, let alone enjoyment, is a miracle in itself. 

Several weeks ago, I was the first to venture to our designated washroom in the morning, and arrived to find the drawer units and garbage can all moved around.  Luckily, I was with my newest buddy, who didn’t care, so I just quietly moved things back as she did her business, puzzling.  It dawned on me pretty quickly that they had finally replaced the drywall along one side, which had been pretty grimy and damaged, and that there was now a nice, clean wall along one side – hence the displaced items.  She didn’t seem to notice, and as we headed back to Room 10, I promptly forgot about the wall.  Later that morning, I took Miss Sunshine down... and all went pretty regularly until we had finished washing our hands and got ready to leave.  As we turned to go, she pulled away from me and zoomed over to sniff the new wall, tilting her head to check it out (she’s also a smeller!). She’s pretty rigid, so it didn’t surprise me that she had noticed, and I said out loud “Yes, we got a new wall.” She thought about this for a second, and then turned to me and pronounced “It looks beautiful!” It was awesome – spontaneous, situationally appropriate and a completely new expression from her! In fact, despite the ongoing obsessive issues and dependency, Sunshine has had some really amazing steps this fall – she’s started to greet familiar people by name, is completing her independent workstation beautifully (most days), and is LOVING our bowling trips. Her very best moment came this week, though... I was at my desk filling out report card envelopes, filling and writing the kids’ names on each one while the kiddos had their Choice time (preferred activities) She wandered over to see what I was doing and proceeded to read each child’s name, correctly, as I wrote them! I was so very excited – out of context, without prompts! Officially time to start some sentence-building activities, methinks...

Mid-October, we went with the second grade classes to visit the local pumpkin patch.  Not only did the kids manage really well, but some of them even enjoyed parts of it! Despite it being a very cold, rainy day, the wagon ride was a hit, we had only one major meltdown (my Little Guy was terrified to walk across one of the fields for some reason and had to be carried!), and everyone made it home with a mini-pumpkin as a souvenir.  Each class also got a big pumpkin to take back, so the following week on Halloween, we figured we might as well make it into a class activity, not really sure how it would go, and check it out!  Two of them even helped to scoop it out, which was a huge shock, and everyone seemed to have a good time.  In fact, they’ve been doing really well with group activities this month.  Both my planning time teacher and my student CYW tried clay activities with them, and the HPE teacher had them make Vietnamese spring rolls with the other health class one day last week.  Not only were they delicious, but 4/5 kids actually ate them – HUGE score! I even managed to snap a pic of all five of them sitting, together, without support (at least for the few seconds it took to get the shot!) while making their edible playdoh... a rare and lovely moment captured for all time! (We substituted sunflower butter for the peanut butter and used chocolate chips to decorate.)

You know what else is awesome?  Getting STUFF for my kids.  I know money isn’t everything, but it sure as hell helps, and my poor principal has learned to lock up the school accounts when I appear at her door, because I’m constantly working to get stuff for my kiddos from any angle possible. In all honesty, she’s been very supportive, but it’s a bit of a running joke in the building that the PHE teacher, the Teacher-Librarian and I are the triumvirate of spending and always have a scheme up our sleeves.  So last winter, I got my teacher to sign off on a grant application for the S’Cool Life Fund – a proposal for about $3000 to put a softplay corner in my Movement Room (our gross-motor classroom next door). Steps, a slide and a covered trampoline... which doesn’t sound like a lot, for $3000, but so goes the world of educational supplies... Anyway, I had completely forgotten about it when my principal appeared as my door a few weeks ago, waving a phone message and a smile.  Lo and behold, we had gotten half of what we asked for, and they were going to be coming to our school assembly in November to present us our giant cheque! (I’ve secretly always wanted to hold one of those!) Of course, the grant didn’t cover the full amount of the setup, so we had to forgo the covered trampoline (we’ll just put our regular one over there – for now... ;), but after a promise of some extra $ from parent council and a sweet 25% discount from the fine folks at Flaghouse (they rock!), we should be getting our softplay corner within a few weeks!

Also in “stuff”... In our precious little Quiet Room (multi-sensory room, for those who are new here!), huge final steps!  The spotlight which has given us endless grief (4 burnt-out bulbs since last May, at $25 ea. to replace!) was finally replaced – I emailed Flaghouse to complain when it burn out yet again, and they immediately credited me the whole amount of the item, which I them used to buy a rotator motor for the disco ball and some new oil wheels for the projector (did I mention they’re awesome?!).  Instead, I found a new source for an LED spotlight, and bought that, which arrived in record time (within a week), got installed, and promptly transformed out little room into one mezmerizing, amazing disco party! *Shameless plug* I love the folks at Flaghouse, they’ve been wonderful to me, BUT didn’t have what I wanted in this case. Enter TFH Special Needs Toys... HOLY MOLY are they fantastic!  This was the second item I’ve ordered from them (last time it was the oil effect projector no one else could track down for me), and both times, the items arrived super-fast, in boxes covered in stickers and with a handwritten note inside.  Seriously, if you need anything, check them out (no, I have no affiliation – they’re just awesome!) – they have divisions in CAN, the US, the UK, and five other countries.  Anyway, Mr. Intense was fascinated with the installation process (drills, ladders and such), as sat still on a beanbag and watched while our custodian and the board maintenance guy worked their magic, and as soon as they wrapped up, all five kids and all four adults piled in and sat in blissed-out disco heaven for almost 30 minutes until the bell rang for snacktime.  It’s beyond awesome!

The new disco ball in action!

On top of the disco-mania and also in “stuff”, we had a visit this week from our superintendent.  Last time I saw her was in the midst of all the adult drama from last year, so it was a nice change to have a visit when things are going well!  She was touring the school as a whole, but I made sure to hang about as my principal showed off our Movement Room and bragged a little about the impending grant.  The Super mentioned that there was a ton of federal money being thrown around for sensory rooms, and that she would hook us up with the high school that had just gotten $60 000 to build one... what?!?! To which I replied – nicely, but with a touch of snark – that we had raised the $16 000 for ours all on our own, and weren’t they lucky, and maybe they could lend us a little bit to get the very last piece we’re missing in ours. She, with a smile, took the bait, and asked what was left, and I let her know about the $600 beanbag platform (chosen to replace the $2000 vibro-acoustic one that I figured I should give up on!) Less than 6 hours later, she had had her secretary transfer the funds to our school, with an email that read: “You do such great things for these special children. It takes patience, skill, and support to make wonderful things happen for these precious kids. The least I can do it find the funds for your beanbag chair. I know the kids will love it!” Woot, woot! Chalk that one up to having caught her in a good mood, but whatever it was, it means that our little room will be completely complete within a few weeks.  SO amazing to finally see closure on something that was such a huge project less than two years ago!

Finally, our last piece of wonderful happened yesterday – the school was having the annual Remembrance Day assembly, and we wanted to try and attend, as usual. We always wait until everyone else is there, so that my kiddos aren’t sitting and waiting too long, but by the time we arrived, the gym was packed to the brim with kids, staff and visiting parents of the close to 60 kids that were involved in the presentations. We split up – Two of my TA’s and my student CYW took Sunshine, Mr. Intense and the Little Guy somewhere toward the back near an entrance, while the other TA and I headed across to the far wall with Giggles (my big girl) and Mouse (my new gal who’s quiet as anything), and parked it on the floor with the other kids.  I literally had no idea where the rest were at the back, and miraculously, I didn’t find out until almost 45 minutes later, because all the kids were good as gold through the entire thing and barely made a peep! When it finally ended and the crowd began to thin, I spotted them in amongst the parents on the chairs at the back, the adults grinning madly and giving me thumbs-up for the kids’ stellar success during the assembly (which was beautiful!) In fact, I event had time to reflect in the quiet that maybe next year, I could get Giggles and Sunshine to participate in some aspect of it... I bet they could learn a poppy poem just as well as any of the kids! J

So yes, there is crap, but who needs to think about the crap once it’s over? I read a lot of awesome blogs by a lot of amazing people (check my Facebook page for some links to their fantasticness!), and each one is different.  Crap has its place – it’s useful for learning from your mistakes (or those of others in similar circumstances!), and for many folks in the Autism world, taking about the crap is a way to unload and find support and community and the knowledge that you’re not alone (especially those who are incredible autism mommies and daddies!) But I don’t want Room 10 to be famous for the crap – I know from reading that there are enough examples out there of how school can be a very unhappy, unfriendly place for kids on the spectrum (and others!) I’m gonna go on the assumption that my readers prefer to hear about the amazing, exciting things that can and do happen, and maybe bring some hope and support to people that school can be amazing – and there are tons of teachers and classrooms out there just like mine that are trying hard to make it so. 

So in the words of my Sunshine... “It’s beautiful!”

Acid Rain and Life in the Coccoon

It’s hard to believe that we’re already into our third week back to school here in Room 10 – there seems to have been so much packed into the last few weeks...

For those that are following here in Ontario (or elsewhere in Canada), it will come as no surprise that the beginning of the school year has been marked with a very dark cloud due to the provincial government’s passing of illegal, unconstitutional, and just plain WRONG legislation, forcing unprecedented cuts to our teacher sick days and pay grids, as well as the removal of our right to strike or challenge the legislation through arbitration or Labour Board investigations. In addition, the bill gives unilateral power to the Minister of Education to make changes to our contracts and to conditions within schools, which is a scary thought indeed if you’ve seen how little she clearly knows about what is good for kids and schools.

That being said, this blog is NOT about politics.  I explain the above only to illustrate how the beginning of our year has been so far... uncertain, frustrating, heartbreaking and more than a touch of angry and bitter.  When I’m not cocooned in Room 10, I’m usually coaching the skipping team, directing the school musical or helping run special events at the school, so the actions of the government and the consequent battle between supporting my students and fighting for my legal and democratic rights is a particularly heart-wrenching one, and one that is currently taking up a lot of time, energy and emotion. It’s a crappy way to start September, a month that is usually tinged with the rosy glow of excitement and the anticipation of what is to come in a fresh new year...

In Room 10, however, little changes, partly out of necessity for the energy and flow of the room, and partly because, as this stage, much of what we do is exempt from scrutiny, since all our “special activities” are part of our programming.  And it really had been a magical couple of weeks in our little cocoon!

We’re down a student this year – sitting at five – two of my buddies moved on to middle school (*tear*) and out of my hands, onto bigger and better things, and my one new student is a beautiful little girl who seems to be fitting in quite nicely.  We’re still getting a feel for her, and she for us, but so far, routines are getting easier and we’ve been having some great success with introducing a couple of new signs at snacktime. I’m not usually one for edibles as reinforcers, but if they’re part of a kids’ lunch anyway, I’ll take the communication opportunity where I can get it!

My returning ones all seemed to have a great start, too.  My “intense” guy was on his meds all summer, and aside from the first few days, when he was clearly seriously jet-lagged and disoriented after spending the summer “back home”, he is managing quite well, and showing some awesome receptive language skills and participating (most days!) in group activities quite willingly.

My returning gal has had a rough start... I can’t help but feel that she is incredibly frustrated all the time, and we’ve been seeing a ton of hitting, kicking and throwing/destroying behaviour. She is painfully prompt-dependent, and all our attempts to wean her off seem to end in someone getting abused or something getting trashed.  Luckily, mom is on board and seeing it at home as well, so I’m hoping a meeting this week will help us get some strategies in place. On the upside, mom spent all summer working on toilet-training, and she’s been doing pretty well at school so far. We’ve had a couple of accidents that were clearly willful, but today, we were waiting in the office for her to get picked up early for a dentist appointment, and she actually requested to go to the washroom – she closed the book we were reading and took my hands to get up, and when I asked her “Do you need the washroom?”, she actually said “I want washroom please”!!! Seriously, I know it sounds minor, but it is HUGE! She has never indicated a need to go to us, and even at home, mom says she will only ask mom. AMAZING breakthrough, followed of course by tons of excitement, praise and a mini-oreo! (I know, again with the edibles...)

My other gal is only with us 2 days a week because of IBI, so we haven’t seen her much, but last Thursday, I tried her for the first time on an independent work station – numbered tasks (that she knows how to do), that she had to complete on her own in order and without support from any of us.  This was a huge goal last year and one that we never even managed to get set up, with all the crazy, let alone test out.  The result? BRILLIANT!  She worked on her own for half an hour, didn’t get up, roam around , get silly, nothing.  She just did the tasks – it was amazing! Seriously, I cried, I was that happy. I have super-high hopes for her progress this year, and this was definitely a good sign of things to some.

My littlest guy had a good summer too – his family finally got some respite care for him, and it turned out to be one of my awesome supply staff who got the position.  He got to go out and about every week with someone who already knew him, and hid family got some much-needed time at home with him happily otherwise occupied – win-win.  She actually brought him in to visit me the week before school started, and not only did he let me cut his nails without a single tear (they clearly hadn’t been cut all summer!), but he spent much of the half-hour visit hugging me around the waist – SO out of character from what we had seen in him last year, when he hated to be in close contact, for the most part.

So individually, good, but the best part is that together, all is STILL good.  The change in personalities in the room (both students and staff) has been a wonderful combination.  I have a fantastic new TA who loves the kids, believes in them and is up for anything, a student CYW who is quick on her feet and eager, and most day, we have 1-on-1, because of being down a kid. Seriously – this is not the same room as last year! We’ve been doing alphabet lessons every day... last week was all “A”, this week is “B”, etc... We walked to the grocery store last week, bought apples, and made applesauce (“A”), and everyone survived behaved themselves and even had a good time.  Next week, I’m gonna get crazy and try a lesson on the Smartboard!

All this to say that despite the gloom, stress, frustration and anger, life in Room 10 is pretty damn good.  Some days, it’s downright joyful, and despite the rough start otherwise, I’m still very much looking forward to the year ahead, and the discoveries and adventures it will bring to our little cocoon.  Maybe we’ll even end up with butterflies at the end... ;)

“Why My Classroom Never Leaves Me” or “The Myth of Summer Vacation”

This is not a sob story about how people underestimate teachers and how we work hard and deserve two months off, yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m not going to pretend that summer isn’t a great perk – it totally is.  I’ve always enjoyed my summers – volunteering, travelling, spending time with my family, and yes, many summers, taking courses. (I consider this fun!) And when I had a mainstream classroom, or my library, summer was, for the most part, a brain break from school for at least 6 weeks.  Say goodbye in June, breathe a sigh of relief for the break from the early mornings, and then start getting excited again mid-August for the fresh new year.  I had forgotten one very important thing from when I last taught contained special ed... The brain break never happens.

Something about carrying the same children from year to year, combined with the amount of individualized programming that is required, makes it damn near impossible to shut school off, especially if you love your job... which I do. Now admittedly, We’ve only been off for a little under 2 weeks, and I’ve been happily flitting to and from downtown Toronto every day working on a Fringe Festival show, but in my free time, I have truly accomplished only 2 things so far – I saw one play, and I read one book. Which sounds pretty relaxing and enjoyable (and they were!), but the play I saw was “Rare”, and the book I read was “Carly’s Voice”

Here’s the listing for Rare. Here’s the Globe and Mail article.  And if you’re really feeling too lazy to click the links, let me sum it up in a nutshell: Rare is a collaboratively written piece of theatre conceived and performed by actors with Down’s Syndrome. It was brilliant. It just won Best of Fringe, so if you’re in the GTA, or anywhere within 500km, really, come and see it – it’s getting extra showtimes until August 2^nd. I cried through the whole thing, and not because it was touching (which it was) or that it made me sad and angry (which it did), or because it made my heart soar, at times, right up on stage to stand beside the actors. I cried most often because sitting in the darkened theatre, I could imagine many of those thoughts, feelings, hopes and frustrations coming from my kids.  Different syndrome, but many of the same trappings imposed by the world around them – judgement, misunderstanding, patronization and underestimation.

The book? It’s here. I’ve written about Carly before, but finally getting my hands on this book was a blessing and a curse.  I devoured it, with silent images of my kids screaming at me from behind almost every page. This was similar to this child, that was exactly the behaviour I had seen from that one... It was like a self-help manual, an inspirational book of poetry and a guilt-ridden letter to myself, all in one pretty little package. Why hadn’t I thought of THAT strategy? What might have happened (or not happened!) if I had responded THAT way? It made me want to call up every one of my kids’ parents and say “Forget summer – send them back to me now! I think I can do so much better than I have been!” Of course, I didn’t, but I DID call up one of my TA’s (I gave them each a copy of the book as an end-of-year gift), and blabber excitedly to her about all the new ideas I had for next year.  Luckily, she was equally excited and didn’t think I was completely off my rocker...

I lied. I already read one other book this summer.  It was “The Golden Hat: Talking Back to Autism”, by Kate Winslet. Yup, that Kate Winslet. It’s not really a read, per se, but more of a coffee table book, chronicling her friendship with a woman named Margret and her son, Keli, after she was asked to narrate their documentary. It’s inspiring, and so is the mission of her foundation The Golden Hat Foundation.  Their mission meshes with the actors of Rare, and with what Carly and her father have to say – intelligence is not always easy to measure, demonstrate or see, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

My luggage, all packed up for the cottage next week, includes notes and materials for a writing project about using i-technology in spec ed, a book by Dr. Stanley Greenspan, and my classroom iPad, which I’m planning to fiddle with and get the assisted communication app we have ready for next year. And a couple of novels, of course, in case I get through the rest. I’m not slogging them along, annoyed that I’m “working on my summer vacation” – I’m excited to dig into them, to see if I can uncover more information, more inspiration to carry me into next year. I’m finding more and more that loving this job is a bit like loving my own child... no matter how frustrating and overwhelming it gets at times, the joy, excitement and anticipation somehow makes you minimize the bad once it’s over, and leaves you remembering fondly the good, and looking forward to what comes next...

Happy summer to all!

The Roller Coaster Rides On…

Room 10 has been on blogosphere hiatus… my apologies to the faithful followers who are wondering what’s going on with us! It has been a very difficult last month or so, and the unfortunate part (I’m learning) of being so open in a digital venue is that some things just can’t be blogged about in a professional context.  Telling stories related to the kids is the meat and potatoes of what I do here, but the reality is that not everything that happens in Room 10 is kid-related, and it makes it hard to paint an accurate picture of how things are going in the room when I’m limited by professional boundaries. Take from that what you will, but that’s all I can say…

Moving on…

Thursday  was an amazing day in Room 10.  Which is saying a lot, considering it is almost June, and a Thursday, which means all 6 kids in the room. Usually Thursdays and Fridays are a mad scramble to keep the kids engaged and happy, to keep this one away from that one, to keep this one from imitating the behaviour of that one, etc. Not this week. This Thursday was the kind of day that I pictured in my head when I asked for this assignment in the first place…

Everyone arrived happy, which is always a good start. Happy and calm… hands, feet and everything else to ourselves… One we got all the kids into the room and engaged in their preferred activities to start the day, I actually looked around the room and counted twice, just to make sure they were all there and that I wasn’t missing anyone, it was THAT calm. When we transitioned to Circle, everyone made it onto the carpet without protest, and not only sat through circle, but participated happily. Some added calendar pieces, some sang along and did actions to our little songs, and then when we broke off to go do work, same thing – smooth as silk.

On Thursdays, I try to make sure I work directly with one of my students who is only with us two days a week. Her other three days are spent in IBI – an intensive behaviour therapy program.  Because we see her so little, and because her weeks are so fragmented (3 days at IBI, 2 days at school, 2 days at home, repeat), it’s been really hard to track if we’re making any progress on learning goals, and to get a handle on managing behaviours and triggers, since there isn’t much consistence. I digress…

One of the programs I’ve been working on with a few of the kids is a reading method developed by Patricia Oelwein (originally for students with Down’s Syndrome).  There is a really great article describing the basics here, but the general idea is to build on the relative visual strengths of kids with ASD (matching) to teach them whole-word recognition, starting with personally significant words to build meaning and interest, and building to more generalized language over time. Ideally, attaching meaning to print will help them access language to read and communicate, even if they have limited or no verbal output.

For this particular student, I started with classmates’ names. She is very interested in others and has some verbal, and she loves to name all her classmates while pointing to their pictures throughout the room. I thought that would be a good place to start, and I knew that she was already attaching meaning to the pictures by naming them aloud. So we’ve been working for the last few months on a variety of matching activities using the names and pictures, as well as just the names themselves.

Thursday morning, I had chosen the name-matching card with pictures and without, giving her the immediate memory to work with, and she did a great job – matched every one and named them correctly on both trials. I was quite pleased with the whole thing, since this was something new I had been trying this year and I wasn’t really sure if it would work. In the afternoon work block, I took out the picture cards entirely, and gave her an activity with just the words – I knew she would be able to match them correctly, but would she actually read the names without the pictures for help?

Not only did she name each and every one without hesitation, but when I asked her to point to the different names, she got those all correct as well – incredible!

I’m not going to lie – part of the joy was incredible personal & professional gratification.  There are so few days in Room 10, especially lately, that I actually feel like a teacher – like I am actually helping students to learn tangible things that they might not have gotten to without my support.  Her success with this activity that I had chosen, created and worked on with her was immensely satisfying to me as a teacher.

The other part of the joy was the confirmation that this method could work – that this first small step in success was just the beginning of a world of language that would be so valuable to her in communicating her needs, wants and ideas. What greater learning could there possibly be in Room 10?

While we’re on success stories, there are all kinds of little tidbits that have happened recently – just as inspiring in their little moments as the reading one.  Sometimes it takes this time of year, when report cards and IEP updates are looming, to make me look at the big picture of our year and see the little successes that have added up to big progress in our little world.

One of my kids has tactile defensiveness – hates the pressure of anything on his fingertips, which, if you can imagine, makes it very hard to do all kinds of everyday things. Typing on a traditional keyboard was abandoned with him long ago, but he’s a whiz with a mouse and should finally have an iPad arriving in the next week or so – a year-long project to help him move to expressive language as well, since a touchscreen takes far less pressure to manipulate.  In the last few months, he has learned to open his own water bottle and pour his own water AND to do up his own jacket zipper – huge goals that both home and school have been working on for years – check. Now if only we could get him to wash his hands without a fight!

My littlest guy, who used to move when a door was opened and throw everything he could reach, is also making little miracles.  He’s a wiggly little guy and hates having anything done, and his poor mom asked us long ago for help with anything we could manage in regard to personal hygiene – I can’t imagine trying to give him a bath! The first time we tried to cut his nails back in the fall (after several serious scratching incidents), it was a full-on panic and took three adults helping.  Now he sits in my lap and barely protests while I clip them quickly every other week. This week, we gave him a haircut – right in the middle of our classroom!  The other kids were fascinated, his mother was thrilled, and he managed with barely a tear while I sang “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” over and over again into his ear and one of my staff snipped away as quickly as possible.  His first IEP communication goal in September was to “Indicate interest by activating a cause-and-effect toy spontaneously”.  That’s it.  Today, he strings beads, plays with lego, puts together simple puzzles and even sometimes passes a ball back and forth – way beyond that simple goal of engagement he started from.

And my “challenge” – the one who was so aggressive that we had to rip out the sensory room, isolate him from other children, and were barely getting through our days? Here he is, sitting happily beside another student, watching a Dora video during free time. 

Side by Side

Finding the correct medication in the correct dosage has helped him self-regulate to the point where he’s not only not aggressive, but he can demonstrate skills we didn’t even know he had.  He follows multi-step instructions, matches and sorts, communicates through gestures and pictures.  He participates in classroom routines, plays with other kids with a ball or at the water table, went swimming with the other grade three classes 3 times this month, and is learning to use the iPad. Best of all, he laughs, smiles and is happy at school. Say what you want about medication, its advantages and disadvantages, but in his case, it has truly been life-changing.

As the roller-coaster of Room 10 continues to heave, thank goodness for this blog – a chance to slow the train down for just a few minutes, and remind myself why on earth I strapped in in the first place.  I suspect it’s easier as a spectator to see the learning and growth that happens in our room, where you’re not overwhelmed by being right in the thick of the dizzying ups and downs, but at least this way, I can look back and enjoy the ride afterwards, even if it’s tough to do in the moment. June awaits. Bring it on. Hands up, eyes open, and possibly screaming all the way down… J

The Teacher My Kids Deserve

I’ve been hemming and hawing about writing a post for the last few weeks, and truth be told, I’ve started a few and scrapped them. I’ve had more than one person tell me that a good blog is not necessarily about quantity, but about quality, so I’m always loath to write just because I feel I should, but rather prefer to wait for something to inspire me enough to write. Don’t get me wrong – there are amazing moments every day, but not always ones that carry enough oomph to get me to my computer after a long day of work, rehearsal, meetings and whatever else comes along... We’ve had some great and a lot of crappy in my room the last few weeks, a lot of which I can’t really blog about because it would involve venting heavily about other adults, and although managing adults is certainly a part of my job, it’s not what I consider the important part (that would be the kids!)

So here I was tonight, sitting in front of the computer and trying to will myself some inspiration, and along came Carly, once again.  I posted a video of Carly Fleischmann’s story last November as part of this post, but since then, Carly has been a constant source of inspiration for me every day.  I follow her on Facebook and Twitter, and it has been really fun in recent weeks to follow the excitement and hype of her newly-released book, Carly’sVoice. Her story is a constant reminder to me that my kids are in there, no matter how deeply their voices may be buried in their autism, and that they deserve every chance I can help give them to find their voices as she has.

Tonight, Carly was posting answers on Facebook to questions that readers had been asking her, and as I re-posted her answer to one of them, I suddenly got “the flash”... The post went as follows...

Carly Fleischmann

From Michele Johnson:
I have a 3yr old son diagnosed with autism last year. You are an inspiration and I admire you. I know everyone as a person is different but I wanted to ask you a question. At times when it seemed to others that you weren't aware of what was going on around you. Did you always feel the love and support of family? Was there one person that made you feel that they understood you. 

Carly’s answer: I think I was lucky to be surrounded by many people who made me felt loved. My dad always talked to me like I was listening even if he wasn’t sure if I was. My mom fought for me time after time for support and founding. I also had Barb and Howie that Just made me know that I couldn’t stop fighting and be the best me I could be.

And my comment, as I re-posted it, was “Love this answer from Carly! A good reminder to always strive to be the person my kids deserve...”

The person my kids deserve... that’s what I’ve really been struggling with these last few weeks. How do I juggle the paperwork, the politics, the people management and my own lack of knowledge and background in all things ASD, and still manage to be the person my kids deserve – the person, who, in Carly’s words, makes them feel loved, supported and lets them know that they can’t stop fighting to be the best them they can be? Now, let me be clear – my kids are loved at home. They are all blessed with loving, hardworking families who do their very best to support them as best they know how, and who support what I do in the classroom as much as they can. But they’re not at home during the day – they’re with me in Room 10.  6 ½ hours a day, 5 days a week. That’s a whole lot of time in an environment that’s NOT at home with their families, that places a huge variety of demands on them, changes constantly, and doesn’t necessarily cater to their sensory or emotional needs.

And that’s just the environment itself... add into that the very human element of me as the teacher (not to mention the other adults in the room). I’m no autism expert. I read, I research and I try to learn all I can, but the more I learn, the less I feel like I know. ABA, IBI, play therapy, theraplay, sensory, stim, diet, medication, behaviour, belief... Some days I feel a lot like that old expression – “jack of all trades but master of none”. I’m willing to try anything for my kids, but not willing to commit to any one thing, which sounds great, but let’s face it, makes for a management nightmare. I’m not a behaviourist, a psychologist, a therapist, or even an advocate parent with the ability to make decisions for my students – I’m only their teacher.  Heck, some days I don’t even get a chance to work directly with each student, depending on how our day goes. Some days I find myself asking my staff at the end of the day “How was so-and-so’s day?” And my kids certainly deserve better than that...

I’m not being negative – I recognize that great change has happened this year. The kids are in a bright, cheerful, learning environment every day. They participate in group activities, and some days, we even get everyone to participate willingly! The room is safer and calmer, and kids who need intensive support are getting, if not all that they need, certainly more of it. They have access to sensory activities, and a sensory space that they can relax and engage in (which is back up and running, for those that are still wondering what happened after my last post). They are engaged in concrete learning activities twice a day every day, and they have IEP’s that reflect accurately their strengths and needs. Paperwork has been filed for OT, PT and SLP, and someday they may even all get the support they need!

But what about that belief? That love? That feeling that, as Carly says, someone believes in them and wants them to be the best them they can be? What about that balance between meeting their needs and loving them, or the even trickier points where those two things intersect and sometimes even overlap? Therein lies the real challenge of Room 10.  It’s a balance that suspect will always be wobbly, no matter how long I’m in this job, and some days, I’m sure it will tip further away from the middle than I want it to. I guess the best that I can expect of myself is to keep trying, keep striving for that balance, and when an issue come us in shades of grey, to always err on the side of love and support of my kids, rather than logic and reason. Because that’s the teacher my kids deserve.

Thanks for the reminder, Carly...