IEP

It’s that time of year, for parents of children with special needs.  To sit down with therapists and teachers and make a plan.  For their little man.  Or little wo-man.

Ok, I’ll stop while I’m ahead.

For those of you who are not familiar with this plan, otherwise known as an IEP (Individualized Education Plans), I’ll give you a brief description.  Basically, this is where we state our goals for the school year.  It really varies from district to district, school to school, heck teacher to therapist, on how specific you get.  I know of a lot of parents that have to be VERY specific and detailed about their childs needs and how they’d like them to be addressed. 

Despite the fact that we chose this not so glamorous, pigeon infested apartment, to be in a great school district, I was still nervous.  I like his teacher, I like the team of therapists… but I like my son more.  It went pretty well, though.

He’ll be going to school, 4 times a week for 3.5 hours in the morning, with Fridays off.  All of his therapist travel so one therapist will be there once a day and will work with him for 30 minutes.  They will also teach the paras how to work with him.

The part I didn’t like is the 30 minute “sessions”.  It takes almost that much time to get him to really get into something.  They assured me that they would work with him more if needed, and that they’d be at the school all day for the teacher/paras to ask questions.  I guess this won’t really be traditional therapy anyway, so I didn’t fight that one.

They did express an interest if talking to our therapists at the Rehabilitation Institute.  And they’ve talked to our vision teacher now.  But they did admit that they don’t know LJ yet… that they will adjust their activities and therapies accordingly.

I can tell they all adored him, though.  Which is kind of how I know he’ll be in good hands.  He won’t be shoved away in a corner somewhere, not involved with the other kid (he’ll be in a classroom with half “typical” kids as peer models). 

Now I just have to get over the terror that comes from thinking of my little baby going to school on a BUS.  AT 2 3 YEARS OLD.  (They did assign him an aide for the bus, which makes me feel a little better).

 Fawk.

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