Earthquake, Curriculum, and Chinese, Oh My!

We had an earthquake in Maryland! The epicenter was in Virginia, but we certainly felt it up here. I was in a large meeting room, and it felt like I had vertigo... just swaying and moving around. It was a trippy feeling, made me wonder if something was wrong with me. But everyone else was feeling it!

The teachers in my county (probably whole state) are FREAKING OUT. New curriculum! Aaaagh! I am loving it, because the new curriculum is much better than the current one--it's language based. All about thinking and reasoning.

And I might be learning Chinese this fall! My elementary school is participating in a pilot program with immersion world languages instruction. All of the students (yes, even my deaf darlings) will have an hour each week of Chinese in the fall and Spanish in the spring. I may decide to go in with them. Certainly at the beginning of the school year I will, to help them understand the concept of language. I'm afraid they'll think it's just more speaking that they don't understand. Chinese, English, it's all Greek to them.

Last Quiet Week

I can't believe I'll be back to work full time again next week! Next week will be a blur of meetings, trainings, and set up; the kids start back the week after. I am looking forward to seeing my kids again and meeting some new ones.

Cool Kids and Conferences

I went to the ASHA Schools conference today, which was down by DC. Nice for me! Still, I hemmed and hawed over going, just because of the cost. Oh, and getting up at 5:30 on a Saturday morning. There were a few sessions whose titles interested me, but you never know what the actual session is going to be like. Will it live up to the promise of its title? These ones did!

First I attended a session on Legal Hot Topics. I know, I am so, so nerdy. My boss was in that one, as was everyone's boss, I think. She came over to give me a hard time about going to that session, out of everything that was offered. What can I say, I like to learn. The other topics were stuff I can do well already. I don't need to have someone tell me how to work in the general education classroom or collaborate with general ed teachers (which a few lectures focused on), because I do that every day!

We attended the same afternoon class, as well, which was called "Understanding Comprehension." It was so good! The woman teaching the course was from Utah, although not really, judging by her Kentucky accent. She teaches at Utah State. And she is most definitely not a member of the church. But she gave one of the best lectures I've ever heard, and I am planning to email her thank her profusely for giving me information that I will use the very next time I work with kids.

Speaking of people from Utah, during lunch I made a new friend. All of us were wearing badges with our name and where we're from, and the woman who sat down next to me was from Salt Lake City. Of course, I had to comment on that. Who would come from Salt Lake to DC for such a small conference (about 900 people)? It turns out that she is the head of all of the school SLPs in the state of Utah. We chatted for 45 minutes straight, on everything from playing the piano (she lamented her lack of ability to sight read, and I gave her pointers) to service delivery models in the schools (I explained how to push services in to the general education classroom, which is apparently unheard of in Utah). Come to think of it, it was more of an advice session that anything. She asked me tons of questions about working in gen ed. But I also listened to her tell about her background, her grandchildren, and her niece-in-law who will be attending BYU in the fall. She was super nice, and I was so glad to make a new friend. Better than eating lunch alone! And hopefully I got the wheels turning in her brain and may have influenced better outcomes for students in Utah. Pull out for language intervention is so last century.

And on to cute kids... Alright, let's just say that I'm working with one of my favorite students for summer school, and let's just say that said student is a soon-to-be-9-year-old deaf child who has had ASL exposure for three years and a CI for less than two. With me? So I worked with him and some other kids in the morning one day last week. Because I had to condense some kids together to see all my students in four days due to the holiday, I took him again during math (since he's on grade level in math already) so he could have more speech fun. This child lives for speech.

I've never grouped him with a hearing child before, because I only see deaf kids at his location during the regular school year. But for ESY, I have the deaf and hearing kids at this school. I pulled two hearing kids to work with him: a child in his class and one in the next grade up. They were both working on articulation. Frankly, they were harder to understand than my deaf kid, who has had a CI for less than two years. Sad. I wish I worked with them during the school year, because I could get them intelligible... trying not to let it bother me too much.

But that's not the point. So one of the kids had his word cards sent by his regular SLP, and the other did not. I checked his IEP, and he was to work on saying R and TH. After checking R and finding that he could not say it at all (and ESY is supposed to be for maintenance, not teaching new skills), I opted to work on TH. It's much easier to teach than R.

I had the boys take turns saying their words correctly and taking a turn in Chutes and Ladders. This was old hat to the hearing kids, but I watched as my deaf child absolutely blossomed. He had no concept of what I call "say and play," because I don't work on articulation with him. I work on listening and language, which impacts articulation. He thought artic therapy was the coolest thing ever. He told me later that he wants to have speech with friends all the time. No more individual sessions.

When it was TH boy's turn, I asked him if he knew any words that start with TH. He suggested "two." Then "top." I asked if anyone else knew of a TH word. My deaf kid suggested, "Throw." TH boy said, "Tow." (For any SLPs who read my blog and have a brain, I know... Why on earth would they work on TH for a child who is stopping??? I didn't write the IEP.) Deaf boy prompted, "No, THHHHHrow," pointing to his tongue between his teeth. Haha. I let him. TH boy said, "Thhhhtow." I corrected the error. When TH boy said, "Thow," and I accepted it (because I'm not working on cluster reduction, unfortunately), deaf boy said, "Good job!" and gave him a thumbs up. Then he gave me a knowing look and said, "I finish, I learn that." Meaning: been there! And he has... the math teacher used to ride him about saying thousand correctly.

Then it was deaf boy's turn. I asked him what he wanted to say. He chose SH, which is what his classmate was working on. I offered him the SH cards, but he declined, saying, "I think." Oh, boy. "Shopping." Good one! "Ship." Wait... Does this kid understand the English sound system?

He demonstrated an incredible knowledge of the English sound system (called phonology) throughout the session, thinking of words for TH boy and for himself. He thought of two different words for himself each time, and he produced the target sounds correctly every time. When he ran out of SH words, I suggested switching to K. He said, "Key. Car." I know that he knows how to spell car... He was absolutely relying on the sounds rather than memorized spelling to come up with words. Cat, king, careful, cut, kite...

Then he said he wanted to do T. He said, "Hot." I told him, "That starts with H, not T." He said, "Hot. Hat. End T." He was thinking of words that end with /t/. Ending sounds are much harder than beginning sounds! Hearing kids years older than him struggle with this.

And his family is worried he'll "rely" on ASL forever. This kid is processing sound on a level superior to his hearing peers, after less than two years of part-time exposure! He hears English at school. It's not like they're AVTing it up at home. I am in awe of him.

And simultaneously annoyed with his "gen ed" ESY teachers. There is no true general education during ESY, but these gen ed teachers are assigned to teach the hearing special ed kids (who are occasionally pulled out by a special educator). My deaf babies are in and out of the hearing class. I'd rather more out than in. Those teachers do not "get" my kids.

Case in point: I explained before ESY began that Little Mr. Smarty Listener is on grade level for math. His language is extremely delayed and so is his reading, but with visuals and examples he does fine in math. Well, for whatever reason (because his speech intelligibility is poor and they associate that with learning disabilities?), they ignored my comments and treated him like he couldn't understand.

One day last week I went in during math to help the teacher of the deaf (who just graduated and was understandably terrified of writing interim progress reports that would not set off our rather difficult parents). While I worked with her at the back of the room, I listened to the classroom instruction. And got very, very annoyed.

They were working on decomposition, which sounds disgusting but just means breaking a number into component parts: tens and ones. They were trying to get the kids to see that there's more than one way to do this; for example, 28 can be broken into 2 tens and 8 ones or 1 ten and 18 ones or even 0 tens and 28 ones. My kids were absolutely stuck on the simplest decomposition possible and could not see the numbers another way. With a class of special education rising second graders, the teacher was explaining this verbally in a full-class setting, with the only visual being "____ tens, ____ ones" written on the board. These kids can't read! And they can't understand a verbal explanation. Most of them are in special ed because they have language learning disabilities!

I finally got fed up and went to teach my children. Or at least the one I knew had a fighting chance at understanding it. The multiply handicapped one... of course it would be too hard for her. She's working on counting to 10. But Mr. I'm on Grade Level? Please. There's no reason he can't do this.

I apologized to the interpreter and asked the two deaf students present that day to turn around. Luckily they were already at the back of the group, so they didn't have to move. I asked the other teacher, who was at a table catching up two students who had not yet completed the previous activity, if I could use the blocks at the feet of the idiot teaching. She looked surprised and told me that there were tens and ones manipulatives at the back of the room. (Then why aren't you people... nevermind.)

The TOD came to sit by me. Fine, she can learn how to teach math to low-language kids. I began with the example on the board, 47. I used ASL so as not to disrupt the hearing kids (and because it was more effective).

First, I took a tens stick and lined up 10 ones cubes next to it. They were the same length. I had the kids count the cubes and emphasized that there were 10. Then, I gave them 4 tens sticks and 7 ones cubes and had them verify that it was 47, which they did. I asked how many tens, how many ones. They answered correctly (we taught them this months ago). I took one of the tens sticks and made a show of replaced it with the 10 cubes that he had counted. I asked how many altogether. They both said 47. I asked how many tens. The little "deaf plus" cutie quickly said four. About what I would expect from her--she doesn't understand the concept of tens (I think she thinks "tens" means "first number"). Smarty counted and said three. I asked him how many ones. He looked up at the ceiling (his thinking face), smiled at me, and spoke, "17." And the hearing teacher asked, "Who said that???" I was tuning her out and didn't know that she had been asking the hearing kids to answer that question. I told her it was Smarty, and she was shocked. I hope she realized that deafness does not make you stupid. She told Smarty that he was right, and he played at being embarrassed, smiling behind his hands. I asked him in ASL if he understood, and he nodded. He went on to make quick work of the rest of the problems.

Because that's how you teach math to deaf kids.

The Right Thing

At new teacher orientation several years ago, as I began working in this county, one of the themes was Doing the Thing Right and Doing the Right Thing. Doing the Thing Right means following policies and procedures, which is important. Doing the Right Thing is exactly as it sounds.

This has stuck with me, maybe more this year than ever before. Maybe it's delaying re-evaluation to keep a kid on one more year so that she goes to kindergarten with an IEP. Maybe it's nudging an educator to qualify a borderline kid. Maybe it's taking the time to email a parent EVERY SINGLE WEEK despite never receiving a response and certainly never enjoying the same courtesy from her. And maybe it's teaching a student a few life skills that are not exactly on the IEP.

I have a little guy who walks between two worlds. He had no language exposure until well past age five. When he was nearly six, he finally began learning to sign. A year later, he received a cochlear implant. A year after that, a second cochlear implant. He is brilliant, but he is quite delayed in both ASL and English. And his parents do not sign and speak very little English.

This child wants to know everything. He loves to sign. He understands ASL better. However, he tends to speak (despite being understood less than half the time) and tries to gain meaning by listening, because he thinks that is the "right" way to be. He has unfortunately internalized that ASL is somehow a lesser language. No wonder: he gets that message from most of the adults in his life.

Sometimes this gets him into trouble, when he thinks he understands but doesn't. It also gets him into trouble, because he is an excellent little parrot, which makes people think he understands more than he does. And of course, he has perfected the "deaf nod."

One of his teachers is a grumpy person. It must be said: she is just grumpy. She is grumpy with her colleagues, and she is grumpy with students. If a child gives the wrong answer, they are often embarrassed by her harsh response. If they look away during a group lesson, they will be called out on it... again, embarrassed. And heaven forbid someone should not follow directions. My little guy has been mildly embarrassed in class more than once, as have most of the students. This teacher is well-liked by the principal, so there is not much that can be done from my end; the TOD is similarly powerless. Mostly she ignores our kids, which we like. Two of them are so low that she doesn't deign to work with them. Parrot is at the top of the class, so he is on her radar.

Something must have happened in that class last Tuesday, when I was not there. On Wednesday, a member of Parrot's family said that he does not want to go to school, that his teacher is mean to him and doesn't like him. The teacher of the deaf assumed that the child was referring to her, because she had scolded him that day for pushing in the lunch line and deliberately stepping on other children's feet. She explained this to the family member and didn't think much more about it, besides being a little bothered that the child thought she didn't like him.

On Friday, the child's family member came to the school to report that the child was really protesting going to school that day, saying that a teacher was mean, and he didn't want to see her. This time he said which teacher. You guessed it: Grumpy Pants. Not the teacher of the deaf.

I was not at this school Friday or yesterday. During lunch today, the TOD told me what the child had said, and I remembered something that had happened on Thursday. The TOD was in another classroom that day, and I was in with Parrot.

I was working one-on-one with another student when I heard the hubbub. Grumpy was upset with Parrot, much worse than ever before. Parrot is definitely one of her favorite students, but that didn't save him today. Grumpy seemed genuinely angry with him. Apparently he was supposed to do the first four items on the page and then stop. A line and the word "stop" were on the paper below the fourth item, and Parrot certainly knows what that means. I don't know if he was trying to impress her by completing the page--whatever he was trying, it backfired. She let him have it. Then she told him to erase his work on item five.

He must have been in shock. He appeared not to comprehend the direction to erase. He was told more forcefully, and the interpreter tried to help. I tried to sign to him that it was okay, just erase, and Grumpy gave me a Look. The interpreter told him again to erase. Grumpy moved on to another student. I asked the interpreter if Parrot had received the initial directions, and she said that he had. In fact, when he began working on number five, the interpreter reminded him that he was supposed to stop, and he waved her off. I didn't have a great deal of sympathy for him at that point, and I told him to erase number five.

When Grumpy came back around to him two minutes later, I guess he still hadn't erased. She became more angry and yelled at him again. To his credit, he didn't cry. I think I would have! Now I definitely had a great deal of sympathy for him. However, I didn't get a chance to speak with him about it.

When I told the TOD about this incident, she was disappointed that Parrot had willfully disobeyed a teacher but shocked that the teacher had behaved that way. Grumpy's responses were clearly inappropriate. I think she knew she was inappropriate by the look she gave me afterward.

The TOD and I brainstormed, knowing that we needed to give Parrot tools to handle situations like this. One issue we often have with this teacher is that she will say, "Look at me!" This prevents Parrot from looking at the interpreter--Grumpy will turn his face toward her. We have to be careful, because the child's parents would probably like this: they barely tolerate his having an interpreter as it is. I've certainly seen them jerk him around when he "doesn't listen."

We came up with a plan.

When Parrot came back from lunch, I pulled him in to the TOD room to speak with him. I let him know that Grumpy's behavior was wrong. Then the TOD and I had him role play similar scenarios: directions given without sign support, being yelled at for no apparent reason, etc. We taught him to raise his hand and get the TOD's attention. The TOD taught him the phrase, "Must interpreter please." We taught him to sign it and speak it. "Must" is one of his favorite words, which is why she used that. It's something he can understand.

As we ran through the scenarios, Parrot became more confident.

Then we explained that we love him and want him to come to school. If he didn't come to school, we would miss him and feel sad. As we told him this, he began to cry! He understood. Sweet little thing. After taking some deep breaths and drinking some apple juice, he went into that teacher's class, newly empowered.

So it wasn't on his IEP. So it didn't involve speech (much). So there's only a week of school left. Doing the Right Thing felt so good.

Grateful...

I...

Qualified to buy a condo on my own, despite being way over ratio (darn student loans). My dad was willing to co-sign, but it looks like I won't need him to. The guy at the mortgage company kept running the numbers through FHA's system and scratching his head. All he could say was, "I don't know, I guess it likes your credit score..." My hard work at repairing my credit (I was unspeakably dumb between the ages of 18 and 21) paid off.

Have the opportunity to pick up freelance interpreting jobs.

Have the opportunity to tutor wonderful children.

Get to play one of my favorite hymns, "All Creatures of Our God and King" at stake conference. And finally meet the other interpreter in the stake (I was having a super fun medical procedure last time we had stake conference and on vacation the one before, so I haven't met him yet).

Really good at writing IEPs. I get compliments from colleagues and hugs from parents.

Teaching inservices! Woohoo! I love teaching. When I work with kids, I help half a dozen kids a year become more intelligible. When I work with other therapists, I help a hundred kids a year become more intelligible.

Have found support and something like friendship in an unlikely place.

May be able to work full-time this summer. It's almost too good to be true.

Got fantastic advice from the allergist. I don't have allergies (yay) but it was fortuitous that I was referred to him... He's brilliant.

Have the ability to help a friend.

Can go to the temple Monday morning! What a great way to start the week.

Stressing...

I am...

Buying a condo. Maybe. Offer accepted, but not certain until I read the inspection report. It's an estate sale, and the family is bitching out over it. They know the systems are old and don't want to replace them or cut the price. If the inspection is terrible, I might have to walk... in which case I begin the search over, and I have to be out of my current place by the end of July.

Freelance interpreting as much as possible. See item one.

Tutoring as much as possible. See item one.

Playing the organ for one session of stake conference (in two weeks) and interpreting the other. I've never played the organ in that building, so at some point I need to go there and check it out. In my copious free time.

Writing a million IEPs. Or it might be a dozen. Feels like a million...

Teaching two inservices at work. I volunteered for it, and I'm looking forward to it, but preparing is just one more thing taking up my time.

Coordinating employment for the fall. I can't say much, except that I have had it about up to here (think high) with my agency.

Negotiating pay for a Baltimore City early intervention job. I know, am I crazy? I know people who've worked early intervention in Baltimore City, heard about the drug deals that go on in front of you. You count your blessings if your car is still there when you leave the kid's house. But I need to money (see item one!).

Dealing with my health issues. Slowly. Oh, I'll have to blog about fun times with the allergist.

Thinking how I'm going to help a friend pass the Praxis and certify as a sped teacher. My current thought is just to take the darn thing for her (I work in special ed and could pass the test cold), but that would kind of quash the next item on my list.

Wanting to go to the temple but never seeming to have the time. I'll admit that Beltway traffic is intimidating. That two-hour session requires a five-hour time commitment. Wish they were open this Monday, but they're closed every Monday. Oooooo! I just checked their website and they are open on Memorial Day 8:00-12:00! That's the best news I've heard all week. :)

Who I Am

Somewhere out there is a little boy going through the evaluation process for special education. I'm not testing him, but a good friend of mine is. She's a special educator, and when she gave him the usual test for reading, writing, math, and content, she was just blown away by what this first grader could do. By what he understood. He enjoyed word play and interesting math problems. He was certainly the highest child she had ever tested, and then she told me that he had scored 141 on a nonverbal intelligence test that the school psychologist gave him. Apparently everyone in the special education system was blown away by this. I thought, That's cool. But personally, I'd be disappointed with that score.

Before you go thinking I'm a Snooty Sneech... well, don't jump to conclusions. I just didn't think 141 was that impressive. The day after this conversation, the special education team leader came into the room I share with the educator who tested the child. I was the only one there. As he dropped something on her desk, I commented, "I hear little Gary (made up name, of course) had a rough day today. Couldn't handle the change in the language arts schedule or something." He responded, "What else is new? By the way, did you hear about his IQ score?" He went on to point out, "Gary is as different from regular kids as your kids are, just in the opposite direction."

First off, I corrected his assumption that deaf kids have mental retardation. I mean, 141 is to 100 (exactly average) what 100 is to 59. That's MR, as it was called until last year when it changed to intellectual disability and everyone began pretending that they had never used the "r" word in their lives. But although "my kids" do not have terribly low IQs, they do have abysmally low language abilities. One scored right around 55-60 last year... so I know what 59 looks like, and it's LOW.

Although I was disgruntled at his casual dismissal of my students' intellect, the sped master got me thinking. Actually, he set my feet on a path I should have gone down long ago.

If Gary is that different from regular kids... no wonder he can't get along with them. I mean, he has emotional disabilities (crying in the coat closet, freaking out at changes in routine) that are over and above his giftedness, but even discounting that, what could he possibly have in common with regular kids? Think about it. How much do regular kids enjoy playing with intellectually disabled children? I can tell you from experience: not much. It takes some persuasion to get typical children to play with my students who have Down Syndrome or what have you. The intellectually disabled child doesn't understand what the peers are saying, doesn't get the games they play. Similarly, an intellectually gifted child wouldn't enjoy playing with regular kids who don't understand what he is saying and don't get the games he wants to play.

I borrowed a book from the library entitled When Gifted Kids Don't Have All the Answers. I did this partly because I was interested in the topic--but I'm interested in most topics. Well, really I was in the education section because I wanted to brush up on special education law, and I happened to spot this book, thinking, Maybe I can give [special educator friend] some ideas for writing Gary's IEP.

Reading this book, I saw myself on every page.

The book presented a list of 14 general characteristics of a gifted children, with the caveat that gifted children will demonstrate many but not all of the characteristics.

1. Shows superior reasoning powers and marked ability to handle ideas, can generalize readily from specific facts and can see subtle relationships; has outstanding problem-solving ability

2. Shows persistent intellectual curiosity; asks searching questions; shows exceptional interest in the nature of humankind and the universe

3. Has a wide range of interests, often of an intellectual kind; develops one or more interests to considerable depth

4. Is markedly superior in quality and quantity of written and/or spoken vocabulary; is interested in the subtleties of words and their uses

5. Reads avidly and absorbs books well beyond his or her years

6. Learns quickly and easily and retains what is learned; recalls important details, concepts and principles; comprehends readily

7. Shows insight into arithmetical problems that require careful reasoning and grasps mathematical concepts readily

8. Shows creative ability or imaginative expression in such things as music, art, dance, drama; shows sensitivity and finesse in rhythm, movement, and bodily control

9. Sustains concentration for lengthy periods and shows outstanding responsibility and independence in classroom work

10. Sets realistically high standards for self; is self-critical in evaluating and correcting his or her own efforts

11. Shows initiative and originality in intellectual work; shows flexibility in thinking and considers problems from a number of viewpoints

12. Observes keenly and is responsive to new ideas

13. Shows social poise and an ability to communicate with adults in a mature way

14. Gets excitement and pleasure from intellectual challenge; shows an alert and subtle sense of humor

The list was quite an eye-opener for me. Because the list IS me. (Mm, I don't know about #13--not sure if I had "social poise" as a child, but I know that I saw adults as equals.)

The funny thing is that I thought I was normal. I just thought other people were dumb when they didn't understand things as readily as I did.

In church I spent many years after high school working in Primary with the children. At some point I was called to teach Relief Society (women's class), which meant that I was now going to the adult Sunday School class every week, as well as to Relief Society. I found that I really liked Sunday School--the teacher was great. I also found that other people don't understand everything they read. They needed the teacher to explain what many of the passages meant. I'm not saying I automatically understand everything, just most of it. I didn't know that was special until I was in a class with other adults, but I still didn't think of myself as smart or gifted. I thought I was the normal one. And I thought maybe I had a gift specific to the scriptures. I assumed that other people had difficulty just with the scriptures--I've since learned that people have difficulty reading works of literature, technical reports, journal articles, instructions, etc.

At the beginning of last year, I had two parents who became VERY upset with me when they didn't understand some information I had given them regarding their children's speech difficulties and how to do the homework. I thought I had written very clear explanations and instructions. I really didn't understand why they didn't understand--and why that made them angry. That situation came to mind following my colleague's comment about a gifted person being as different from typical people as a mentally handicapped person is. If a typical person wrote an explanation that made sense to them, would a person with severe Down Syndrome understand it? I realized that I would need to "dumb down" my language if I were to write instructions in the future. It also occurred to me (ahem, number 1, generalizing readily) that I should simplify my language in reports and on IEPs. I don't mean using jargon--of course I know not to do that. But apparently my regular vocabulary or syntax or something can be difficult for people to understand.

I noticed in Utah that people often couldn't understand me. I consciously modified both my accent and my vocabulary, because communication is really the goal. That was probably good, because my success with communication dramatically increased following that decision, but maybe I regret it a tiny bit. I got out of the habit of using words that I like, because they allow me to express myself with more precision. I'm kind of torn, because there's no point in using words that people don't understand... but I like those words! I like all words.

I thought everyone could remember the phone numbers of all of their acquaintances. I thought everyone could remember conversations word for word. I thought everyone could remember what their teachers said in class.

I didn't study in high school. I'm embarrassed to say that I didn't know how. But I didn't need to, so I never learned. Actually, I thought I did know how; I thought that studying was what I did when I read over my Latin vocabulary words while dashing to class. When I got to college, I thought I was dumb, because I didn't get As on all of my tests without studying and without going to class all the time. I gave up and quit going to class altogether, which didn't do great things for my grades. I finally got a clue when I went back to school as a 25-year-old. I learned that I could get As by writing the information again and again until I had memorized it. This worked for any amount of material, even pages and pages of truncated phrases. I found that memorizing how many details went with a topic helped, because I could picture where in the list each phrase should go. My method worked well for me. That was good, because to me, a B is an embarrassing failure. Even an A- is a disappointment--alright, I'll admit it, I see an A- as failure. And I don't think I'm wrong: I just think As are normal. Using my "write it out" method, I got straight As for 2 1/2 years finishing my bachelor's and throughout my master's program.

That made me happy, but not because I thought it was a great achievement. It was more like relief at having avoided failure.

I wonder if you might read this and think I'm being egotistical. Even as I write all this, I feel like a fraud, like I'm really not smart and will be "found out." Being as insecure as I am, I naturally enjoyed the section of the book that delineated the many problems related to giftedness, including:

-being impatient

-having difficulty getting along with less able peers

-wanting to move on quickly to more challenging problems, despite what the rest of the class is doing

-getting bored (welcome to my world!)

-driving you crazy with questions

-feeling that everyday class work is trivial and meaningless

-seeming scattered and disorganized

-taking on too many projects at once

-resisting direction or interruption

-talking too much

-seeming pompous or conceited--a "show-off"

-playing word games that others don't understand or appreciate

-burying self in books and avoiding social interaction

-getting bored with the regular curriculum

-resisting assignments that don't present opportunities for new learning

-getting impatient with peers for being "slow"

-disliking drill and practice

-wandering off the subject

-having tunnel vision, hating to be interrupted

-being stubborn

-having difficulty working with others (um, they'll just mess it up)

-seeming bossy and disrespectful

-being unable to accept help

-setting unrealistically high goals

-being perfectionistic

-lacking tolerance for others' mistakes

-fearing failure

-FEARING FAILURE

-FEARING FAILURE

-avoiding taking risks or trying new things

-becoming depressed

-being a loner

-having difficulty focusing on or finishing assignments

-having trouble making decisions

-seeing too much

-resisting sameness and routine tasks

-taking things personally

-feeling powerless to solve the word's problems

-becoming fearful, anxious, and sad

-having trouble handling criticism or rejection

I saw myself in many of those negative characteristics, unfortunately. I also learned that I'm a classic underachiever: I don't believe what apparently I'm capable of. It's only since reading this book that I think I may really be capable.

When I shared the book and my thoughts with Laynie, she got a little upset and wondered how we can be friends when we're so different. The chasm seems unbridgeable.

I don't have an official IQ score to report. I know that I tested into some kind of gifted magnet school when I was 6, but my parents decided not to send me. Whenever I take online IQ tests, they results are around 150. I think they highest one was 162 and the lowest was 145 (some tests ceiling out at 145 though--three standard deviations about the mean). I guess I didn't realize the impact of scores like that until sped man made that comment about little Gary. If you took 10,000 kids his age, he'd be smarter than all of them. But people definitely don't understand what that means.

The child's evaluation team held a meeting in my room the other day to discuss how they're going to handle this very unique situation (how to qualify a child who is far above grade level for special ed, which he certainly seems to need), and the psychologist made the comment, "He's using all his energy thinking about algorithms or whatever, so he probably doesn't have any energy left to respond when people talk to him." That's not what being gifted is about. It doesn't take energy to think about "hard" things. You want to think about those things, you enjoy thinking about them--it's not a matter of diverting energy from other things. You can do many things at once. I used to get in trouble in grad school for doing the crossword puzzle or sudoku in a couple of classes, but I was absolutely following the lectures. Those classes were too easy. I didn't need to use my whole brain to process what the professors were saying. In fact, when I wasn't doing the crossword puzzle to keep me grounded (for lack of a better word), I'd be totally out of class mentally, thinking about other things--things that interested me. That happened a lot in high school. I remember practicing the Greek alphabet backwards when I was bored in high school classes. I had already memorized it forwards. I'd practice writing the beautiful Greek characters--the teachers probably thought I was taking notes. I'd also memorize the posters on the wall.. the periodic table, Latin noun declensions, characteristics of poetry, math formulas.. whatever was around. I cannot handle boredom.

I laughed at one list in the book. It was called "The Ten Commandments that Foster Elitism."

I. Thou shalt be told that boredom is part of life and that easy, redundant work must be tolerated.

II. Thou shalt often hear classmates express frustration because the test was hard... when thou thought it was easy. (Ever been accused of being a "curve-wrecker?" Yeah.)

III. Thou shalt procrastinate on long-term assignments until the day before they are due... and thou shalt turn them in and get A's.

IV. Thou shalt hear classmates ask questions of thy teacher that thy teacher answered clearly yesterday. (haha)

V. Thou shalt receive numerous telephone calls from classmates the night before a test asking how to solve a difficult problem.

VI. Thou shalt consistently get good grades without having to work or study hard.

VII. Thou shalt know the answer to every question the teacher asks... and can answer the questions no one else can. (FYI: this annoys teachers.)

VIII. Thou shalt have thyself, thy grades, and thy work held up, by thy teacher, as examples to be emulated.

IX. Thou shalt be chosen first by the team captain for spelling, math, and geography bees.

X. In short, thou shalt have ample opportunity to believe that aptitude is equated with human value and that if thou art smarter, thou art better.

Five and ten really hit me. I had people become "friends" with me just so that I would "study together." Free tutoring! It took a few times before the pattern became clear: hm, this person always wants to hang out before a test. Number ten... This was made quite clear to me by a person close to me. I don't want to hurt her feelings by saying too much about it, but this is something that still plagues me. I have to remind myself that being smart doesn't make you a better person, that God loves everyone. That everyone has a talent.

Speaking of talents, let me be clear: mine are from God. Of course. I know that God gave me musical talents so that I could be of service at church. And thinking in music helped me improve my auditory processing as a teenager. That's a whole other post. I probably don't recognize all my talents or what I'm here to do. Today, as I knelt to adjust Laynie's ski boots for the fifth time, I thought, I'm a pretty good friend. That made me happy, and I recognized it as a talent. I'm not sure why I have the intellect that I have. It often does not seem like a gift. Maybe it's a trial.

I don't tell people that I'm smart. I usually try to pretend that I'm just like everybody else. Sometimes I say that I forgot something when I really didn't, or that I don't know the procedure for something when I do. Last week, I told my friend, the teacher of the deaf that I work with, that I think I'm gifted. On many occasions she has asked me, "How do you know that?" or "How do you remember all that?" I will deflect with, "I just looked it up for another student," or something similar. Last week she started to say, "Wow, you are gifted." Every time I did something she considered unusual, she'd point it out. Like when the mainstream class voted on their favorite Dr. Seuss books (they were creating a bar graph) and I noticed that a little girl raised her hand twice--and I knew which book she had already chosen. I knew which books all of the special ed students had chosen. That didn't seem unusual to me. I just remember things. Now the teacher of the deaf is convinced that I have a photographic memory, which I do not. It's hard to explain. Things just go into my brain and stay. It's not like I see a picture of them. Most of the time. I guess sometimes I can see pages from textbooks when I need information. But usually I just think and the information is there.

I had another insight this week. I now understand why deaf adults feel connected to or possessive of young deaf children. Every day I want to pull Gary aside and talk to him, help him understand himself. He's my people. I feel a surprisingly strong kinship toward him. I want him to have a better experience than I had. Maybe I should just let the regular people take care of it--let them chisel the corners off him so that he fits into the hole.

I know how all this sounds. I don't mean to be a jerk. That's why I've kept it to myself for... oh, my entire life. Not only have I kept it to myself, I've kept it from myself.

I suppose I'm a little late getting on the path of self-discovery. But better late them never.

You know my little mute student? I'm referring to the one who speaks ("in paragraphs," per mom) at home but gives everyone else suspicious stares when they try to interact with her. Right, that one. She's making great progress!

I think Betsy would be a good name for her.

Betsy makes comments to me during circle time, like, "My Dabby idoo!" Translation: My Gabby igloo. She's kind of hard to understand, but I'm not even bringing up articulation until she's comfortable with talking. I asked, "Oh, Gabby made an igloo like that one in the book?" "No, daddy." Daddy made an igloo for Gabby. (Go dad!) So she's volunteering information, which we call initiating; and she is answering questions, which we call responding. IEP goals, check and check. Betsy has goals to initiate and respond consistently with at least three different adults (not counting family).. and at least three different kids in the class. Well, that second part is not really happening, unless you count screams of, "No!" "Stop!" or "Mine!" while pushing/hitting/grabbing. It's a work in progress.

I just love this sober, perpetually stressed-out, little child. She got into my heart very quickly and is one of my favorites.

Here's a little gem from one of my deaf students. He gets into little obsessions, and last month it was pencils. They MUST be shark. After a brief glance at a pencil, he'd say, "It's not shark. I need to shark it." Maybe he was just looking for an excuse to use the totally cool, electric pencil sharpener. Whatever, I let him. Who am I to judge a boy's need for shark pencils?

Did That Kid Just Give Me the Punk Test?

I was at a Head Start preschool this morning, where I see an adorable little boy.. whose mother is a hooker. Literally. So my little guy, Jeans, had some bruises and scratches, as always, and I asked him what happened. First he said he fell down. Then he said he was fighting with his brother. Another kid, Sweatshirt, piped up to say that he's really strong and a good fighter. They're barely four years old.

I made it clear that fighting is not cool at all, that it does not mean you are strong. Sweatshirt wandered away, and Jeans was interested in continuing the conversation. The fighting at his house (there are 8 kids between the mother and her sister, who is also a hooker--grandma's their pimp) was really getting to him.

While we sat on the floor talking, Sweatshirt walked behind me and pressed down on my right shoulder--not hard but in a way that didn't seem accidental. I gave him a look and said, "Make sure you have nice hands." I went right back to my conversation with Jeans.

About a minute later, Sweatshirt poked a finger into my left arm, HARD. He was standing next to me with a stony expression on his face. I gave him my best I'm-a-teacher-and-I-mean-business look and asked, "Are you having nice hands with me?"

"Huh-uh," he responded, and I could see the challenge in his eyes. This four-year-old was ready to throw down with me!

I gave him a stern talking-to and let him know in no uncertain terms that this kind of behavior is completely unacceptable and he cannot treat me that way. The classroom aide (I'm itinerant, just there half an hour a week to work with Jeans) realized that something was up, and she made Sweatshirt sit on the carpet for a while before he could choose a center (play area). He sat there totally unfazed. Then she gave him a talking to. Our words made no impact. This kid has the demeanor of a hardened criminal.

As he was doing his time on the carpet, I realized that pressing on my right shoulder was the punk test... and I had flunked it.

I learned about the punk test from Patrice O'Neal, who plays the warehouse guy on The Office. He explained it on the Opie & Anthony radio show. I can't do the punk test justice like Patrice can, so I don't want to explain it myself.

This show uses foul language--consider yourself warned.

Opeibea

A few weeks ago, I was visiting one of my kiddos that I see as an itinerant teacher. I'll call her Hattie. She's a hearing child who is pretty much caught up with her language... except for her social language. She can use her words pretty ruthlessly, without really meaning to hurt others. I'm not sure how much she recognizes that others have feelings like she does.

On this day, Hattie sat down to do a puzzle, and her little friend from class, Opeibea, wanted to join in. She picked up a piece and said, "Hattie, I'll help you." Hattie grabbed the piece and responded, "No, don't touch it!" Opeibea said, "Why?" Hattie answered, "Because I hate you."

Hattie does not hate Opeibea. They play together every day and have a great time. She just wanted to play alone at that moment, and she said what she thought would make Opeibea leave her alone, without considering Opeibea's feelings.

But Opeibea did not leave her alone, nor did she strike back after the hurtful comment. With a concerned expression on her face, she gently said, "Is it me?"

This exchange has stuck with me, and I keep thinking what a good example Opeibea set, and how I want to be more like this 4-year-old child.

Proud of My Boys

Earlier this week, my deaf kiddos went with all the first graders to a play, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. The classroom interpreter went up separately, because she wanted to look over the script and music beforehand. The teacher of the deaf and I rode on the bus with the kids.

So the kids had not seen the interpreter that morning when they got to school. We got them unpacked and set up with their FM receivers, and then it was time to get on the bus.

When we got to the theater and got our kids seated (in the third row, while their poor hearing classmates were up in nosebleed), arranging Oil and Water so they were not sitting next to each other... My superstar boy happily greeted the interpreter and watched as she and I discussed where she would stand. The theater company had her way off to the side, which is totally unrealistic--like a first grader is going to look away from the action on stage for a second. Hm, a dancing mouth, a talking dog, and a wolf that loses his teeth all over the stage... or the interpreter that I see every day. Yeah. We got that changed.

When the interpreter was set and the kids were positioned so they could all see her (no grown-up heads blocking them), Superstar waved to get her attention and signed, "Interpret? You interpret?" When she said yes, he smiled.

The poor child thought he'd have to try to make sense of the action without the benefit of language, like in other non-school situations. I don't think he realized that interpretation was even possible outside of school.

That was sad, but I was happy at the same time, because he demonstrating understanding of the concept of interpretation. Oh, how I have worked on that! Our assigned interpreter is frequently absent, which is sort of frustrating, but I'm making lemonade. When different interpreters walk into the classroom, three of the kids could not care less, but this child is always interested in learning their names (signs and spelling). He is quite outgoing, introducing his deaf peers and me to the interpreters. The interpreters are always charmed by this brilliant and very big-D Deaf child. And I take a minute to emphasize, "So-and-so is not here today. So-and-so will not interpret. Today we have a substitute interpreter. Whatever-her-name-is will interpret." I guess somewhere along the way, those explanations clicked!

On a side note, our most oral child shocked me while we were at the play. I had the two boys sitting near me, which gave me the little superstar and the oral boy, who happens to be visually impaired. And have fine motor difficulty. And appear generally clumsy and immature. He rarely signs, and when he does, it's usually inaccurate, such as "bathroom" with an A or N handshape, "fun" with an R handshape, or "math" that frankly looks like the sign for "celebrate." But he's always happy, and he's a lot of fun. He's also the noisiest deaf child you'll ever meet. He loves to ask questions, and any instructions given will be met with a quick, "Why?"

During the play, he kept asking questions, like, "Why that dog sad?" and "What the mom said?" so I encouraged him to watch the interpreter. And I shushed him. Frequently. I guess he really wanted to talk to me, because he SIGNED, "What next?" The child knows the sign "next." And produced it clearly.

He signed, "Mom what-do?" You know, the "do-do" sign, not the "action/doing" sign--as in, the correct sign for the context.

We have worked on answering "what doing" questions for over a year, using that very sign. He rarely looks at us, seems to depend completely on his CI for language. When his processor broke last month, he stared at us like he had never seen ASL before as we explained that we couldn't get it working and mom would have to call his audiologist. And he knows "do-do"!!! Little stinker.

The teacher of the deaf likes to remind everyone that this boy is more with it than he shows, and she is soooo right.

Little stinker.

I Learned So Much!

I went to the ASHA Convention, which is for speech-language pathologists and audiologists (OK, mainly for SLPs). They have seminars, poster sessions where people present research and you wander around chatting with them, info sessions for masters and doctoral programs, vendor booths with tons of free junk (pens, bags, lip balm--I got a pen/bubble wand for my selective mute kiddo), ummm... career fair... just lots of stuff. I was mainly interested in the seminars/classes and the doctoral program information.

This year the conference was in Philadelphia, which I had never been to before. Never touched.

I learned three things at the convention:

1. I hate Philadelphia. I didn't mean to... it just happened.

2. I miss interacting with brilliant people.

3. I MUST get a doctorate.

Yes, it's a must. So now I'm looking at PhD programs. It stinks, because you can't really choose where you're going to go, like hm, I enjoy Maryland, I'll just go to University of Maryland. Uh-uh. You have to go where there is someone doing research in your area of interest. One of my areas of interest is phonology, and the phonology guru is at Wichita State. That's in Kansas! My understanding is that they don't have a beach there.

I actually met said guru at the conference. Totally unexpected.

I was in the poster hall, and one caught my eye, something about phonological errors of cochlear implant users. As the young master's student was explaining her thesis to me, I noticed the other name on the poster: PHONOLOGY GURU. Well, actually, her name is Barbara Hodson. Whoa, Dr. Hodson was your mentor for this project? I looked at the name tags of everyone who looked over age 50 and lo and behold, she was right nearby! Of course I had to accost her and babble on about how much I love her work, that I use her phonology program all the time. She hugged me.

So I have one contact in the academic world. I mean, besides the BYU faculty. But BYU doesn't have a doctoral program in my field, so that's not an option. Y'all know how I feel about Utah, but I'd probably choose it over Kansas. It's the devil I know.

Hopefully I can find a program somewhere that I won't totally hate, but even if I don't, it's only for four years.

I went to a lot of seminars on auditory processing, which was great. I learned so much! I went to one on motor speech disorders, only because my favorite BYU professor, the best teacher in the whole wide world, Dr. Dromey, was one of the presenters. I took down some "DromeyQuotes" for my friend Rachelle. We used to write down the acerbic, very British things he says--think Hugh Grant humor. Or whoever writes for Hugh Grant. Here are a couple for you:

-Now you're thinking, "My larynx doesn't make yogurt."

-We'll blame those vocal folds for not doing the honorable thing.

A woman presenting in the same session as Dr. Dromey was also kind of funny. I took down a quote from her:

-This can make your life more blissful or miserable. I'm always on the side of bliss.

I guess you have to realize that the words surrounding these quotes include hyolaryngeal, dysarthric, obturator, musculature, hypokinetic, nasalance, prosthedontic, formant frequencies, articulatory specification, and vocal tract configurations. Blogger's spell checker doesn't think half of those words even exist. Then someone starts saying how the larynx makes plain yogurt... refreshing. The idea, not yogurt. The bliss quote was in the context of considerations for palatal lift recommendations for patients with velopharyngeal port incompetence. Now you're thinking I'm crazy for even saying that I enjoyed the conference. Really, I did.

I went to several sessions on cochlear implants/aural habilitation. One presentation absolutely blew AVT out of the water. It was fantastic. And I saw a stupid AVT from Johns Hopkins there, who recommended not signing with a newly implanted SEVEN YEAR OLD whose family DOESN'T SPEAK ENGLISH. And who had only been signing for a year (do the math... that's right, no language until nearly age six). When we asked how we would educate the child without being able to communicate with him, she said that listening skills were more important than education. Hopefully she took in some of what that session was saying.

One other session was on differential diagnosis (figuring out what's wrong) of cochlear implant kids who have other problems. They're implanting kids so early that they don't know what challenges the child is going to face in addition to deafness. They also don't know who is going to be successful with listening and spoken language. This was from the AVTs at Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. Interesting (and sad): CHOP doesn't implant unless they think the person will develop spoken language. If they think the person will need to use sign language, they won't do the surgery. I guess they wouldn't have implanted my seven year old international student. Even with their stringent criteria for implantation, and given intensive AVT (auditory verbal therapy--teaching deaf kids to listen and not use any lipreading), only 25% of kids become "primarily listening and spoken language" kids. Fifty percent use listening and lipreading. Twenty-five percent use listening and lipreading but primarily sign language. Hm, so one out of four kids who they thought would become a good listener and who had intensive AVT ended up using primarily sign language... wouldn't those kids be so far behind in ASL development by the time they begin it that they'll always struggle in school? I don't even want to think about it. And I was surprised that only 25% end up being AVT poster children. The session did have a lot of useful information, and I was glad I went.

The whole conference as a whole was very enjoyable to me. I took copious notes and am now happier in my job, knowing that the world is much bigger than the insanity currently surrounding me. This too shall pass, and I will be on to bigger and better things, like teaching at a university. It's going to happen.

This Is Kid Is So All Mine

OK, that kiddo with selective mutism? I've got her right where I want her... bwahahahaha!

I stopped by her house yesterday just to drop off an IEP draft. This is a good thing: we're modifying the IEP because she's going to start preschool on Monday. Yay! And I'm going to stay with her the whole morning, just to make sure things start off on the right foot.

I ended up chatting on the front porch with her mom, while Little Miss and Big Sis ran around the front yard. They were racing across the yard to jump in a leaf pile, then back to the fence to say hi to their dog. Every time Little Miss ran past us, she yelled, "Hello!" Well, more like, "Ewo!" Apparently she has a Cockney accent and also can't say her L's. It don't make you a bad person.

I don't know who she was yelling to, Mom or me, but I acted like it was to me and answered back, "Hello!" every time. She thought it was funny. She came over to me and pointed at the dog. I pretended not to know whose dog that was and she said, "Crockett buddy boy!" Yup, she talked to me.

As I was leaving, she came running at me, full speed, and I bent down to her level. Without even slowing her stride, she scooped up some leaves and threw them on me. You can't say she doesn't have personality! Poor Mom was mortified. Please, I've had much worse than leaves on me in preschool. Leaves don't stink or stain!

I threw them right back at Little Miss, and we had a little leaf war.

I love this kid!

She Talked to Me!

I know, I'm all about work lately.

I have this little girl with selective mutism, meaning that she is basically very choosy about whom she will talk to. She spoke to no one until about 6 months ago (she is three), and now it's just immediate family. She does talk to grandma but stopped for a few weeks after grandma moved to a different apartment. Yeah, she's easily rattled and takes time to warm up. She was in the EB problem (birth to three) for about a year, with weekly SLP visits, and she said a total of one word to the EB SLP. "Yeah" slipped out once. She's a tough nut to crack!

This is the little girl who got kicked out of nursery school for not being potty trained, who languished for six or seven weeks without services until I got the ball rolling about a month ago. I've been out to see the child three times now. I actually look forward to it, because my whole goal for the visits is to build a rapport with the child--and give mom strategies--but mainly to develop a relationship. I need the child to like me and trust me. I don't need to build "therapy" into things, just focus on having FUN. How awesome is that?

I had mom use her camera phone to record the child talking, to "surprise" me with when I came for my second visit. The child loved my first visit, because I am an insane person with no sense of embarrassment when playing with a three-year-old. I don't care that mom is watching. If it gets the child to talk, I'll make a fool of myself! Apparently Little Miss told her family a million times that week about throwing monkeys and laughing with Miss Annie while she (that would be me) made crazy monkey sounds. When mom told me that, I knew Little Miss would talk to me. I didn't think it would be so soon!

When I walked in the door for my second visit, the child ran at me full speed, skidded to a stop right in front of me, waved a drawing at me, and said, "Daddy!"

That was great... but she said not a word for the next 30 minutes.

The reason I had mom record the child and let me watch it was so that the child's "secret" would be out, and one barrier to talking to me would be removed. I hoped it would speed up the process from a year of not talking to me (though I hoped that my awesomeness would get things moving more quickly than the very vanilla EB SLP did) to mere months of not talking to me. The video started (audio only.. mom wisely hid the camera in her lap), and I heard Little Miss singing her ABCs. Adorable! I acted all excited about it and asked Little Miss (who had grabbed the camera, enthralled by her own talent) to play the video again. I just enjoyed it so much. She did, and then she flipped through the videos and found one of herself cleaning up with daddy, and she said, "Daddy clean up abba flabba blah bee famma mappa!" Yeah. I understood about a quarter of what she said. That was disheartening. But she was talking! To me! And she kept talking for the next 10 minutes. Unfortunately, when I said it was time for me to leave, the light left her face. She shut down and wouldn't say good-bye when mom prompted.

She didn't talk on the third visit, because the educator was with me. It was really disappointing, but not unexpected. I would say the chances of this child talking the first time she meets someone are zero to none. But she talked to me!

Save the Mods for Somebody Who Needs Them

The other day I was giving a math test to two children. Bet you wouldn't expect an SLP to be giving a math test! We do a lot of role sharing. :) So I'm giving this math test to two of the deaf kiddos, and I had the visuals used in class available for them during the test. I was letting them work at their own pace and presenting individual directions for each item, and the boy got to the story problems the girl. I began to set out the visuals for "in all (+)" and "left (-)" but he shooed them away, tapping his head to indicate his intelligence and saying, "I know it, I don't need those. Give them to [girl's name], she doesn't know it."

Picture the sign for "ego." Yeah. But you have to respect his confidence!

Yay, She's Oral!

Sometimes I wonder how much my students with CIs hear--or more like how much they miss. One student that I like to call "Glued-To-Me" showed me recently how much guesswork she's doing on a daily basis.

A couple of weeks ago, I was reading (over several days) the Knuffle Bunny trilogy. I highly recommend these books, if you have not read them. In the first book, toddler Trixie and her daddy, who live in Manhattan, take their clothes to the laundromat, where they (gasp!) lose Trixie's stuffed bunny. The TOD and I spent some time discussing laundry and explaining what a laundromat is. We showed the children pictures, sequenced the process of doing laundry... I thought Favorite, Obsessed, and Oblivious had it, but Glued? You just never know. So I'm reading the book (using a combination of ASL, spoken English, and Sim-Com), and I got to the part where they go to the laundromat and load the washing machines. I asked the children, "Where did they go?" Favorite answered right away, signing "Laundry store," which was what I had dubbed the laundromat. Oblivious spoke, "Laundry." Close enough. I made Obsessed imitate my signs: "Laundry store" (she's not really a fan of communication). Glued's turn. Yes, she had seen/heard the answer three times (after I said it to begin with). I always ask her last, to give her a fighting chance at getting the right answer. Or at least close. And what, you must wonder, was her answer?

She signed and spoke... "Math."

Technically, she signed Math and spoke Mat. She can't say "th."

I guess you could confuse laundromat and math... if you completely ignored all the signing... sigh.

Today, we discussed Halloween, practicing describing words, such as, "scary ghost," "orange pumpkin," "furry bat." The kids were really into it. Every time you say the word Halloween, Glued says, "Hae-uh Tae-uh." Hannah Montana. Her costume. "This month is October. Soon it will be Hallo--" "Hae-uh Tae-uh." It's kind of cute how excited she is to be Hannah Montana.

So we used this simple book, Boo Who?, to work on the describing and on answering "who" questions... TOD took notes. The kids LOVE this, because she writes down what they say. As always, I did the reading, using both languages (sim-com or consecutively). After the book, I was describing things and having them look on the board (or use their brains!) to figure out what I was talking about. "It's white and scary. It says boo! It can fly." Glued said, "Gote!" I turned to her to correct her articulation, only to see that she had signed it as well... and her little V hand was on her forehead.

She was saying goat. Not mispronouncing ghost. Goat.

I would think that she would wonder how goats fit into Halloween, but I suppose there's so much she doesn't understand that she's used to things not making sense.

I like CIs, because the kids like them. Oblivious was heartbroken and became practically catatonic the day he broke his in PE. He cannot handle silence. Laynie loves her CIs, doesn't go a day without them--even though she is and always will be primarily an ASL user.

But it worries me when parents have their kids rely only on the cochlear implants for language development, because they are NOT like hearing people's hearing. Many kids do very well, but there will always be things they miss, and I hate to see guesswork involved in education. And yes, I suppose that there is more going on with Glued than just deafness... most deaf kids would at least pick up on the signs. She's just so used to relying on her hearing, because that's what she did as a toddler and preschooler (family only signs when her CIs are off, preschool program was TC but heavy on talking). Plus, she's mainstreamed nearly all day. Although there is an interpreter around, I think very little of what the interpreter says is comprehensible to her--too advanced, trying to meet Obsessed and Favorite's needs, and their language is a couple of years ahead of Glued's. Glued is definitely more attuned to her hearing than her vision for language. And now for education. But her hearing is not cutting it!

I will say what I've said in the past: Deaf kids need ASL.

{stepping off my soapbox}

Now that I'm off my soapbox, I want to write an addendum entitled "Good Things about Glued."

-She is very responsible. If she knows what to do or where to go, she is all over it.

-She is always happy to see me, especially on Thursdays, when I come to her school just for the afternoon. I feel like a celebrity walking in, the way she exclaims "Haytee!!" and nearly hyperventilates. (My name is Hasting, in case you couldn't tell. ;)

-She becomes beside herself with excitement when we both have a ponytail on the same day.

-She feels guilty when she answers wrong (I don't know if this is good so much as endearing).

-She wants to mother the other kids, especially Oblivious. She can often be found herding him to where he ought to be. Or waving at us and pointing to him, wrinkling up her nose. "Mammin no wur." [Name] no work. Her artic is so bad, I'm not even worried you'd get his real name from that. Sigh.

-She has a decent moral compass for a 6-year-old (although she has been known to smack kids who don't follow her motherly directives... hehe).

-She loves to be helpful--passing out pencils is her specialty.

-She is understanding of Obsessed's moods, often shrugging and giving me a wry smile when Obsessed snaps at her.

-She always wants to hold my hand and sit in my lap. She is very direct about it, too, pointing at my legs and saying, "Ap," or threading her little fingers into mine. Unfortunately, I can't let her... but it's the thought that counts.

-She looks up to her big sister SO MUCH. Apparently, she will sit and do "homework" with Mom for hours, as long as sis (several years older) is doing hers.

-Her smile always brightens my day.

Upsetting

Favorite almost started crying Monday morning, saying that his right CI (pointing to the internal device, just anterior of where the coil sits) was hurting and itching. He had tears in his little eyes. We tried to send him home, but his parents could not be reached. Of course, I got in touch with his district audiologist (Ski Bum) right away, and she forwarded my email to the child's Johns Hopkins audiologist. I'll call her Useless. We heard nothing from Useless, and Favorite soldiered through the rest of the day.

On Tuesday, I stopped by before care (babysitting before school) to check on Favorite, who reported that his head hurts and itches still. I had a 504 meeting before school, so I went right into that. As the meeting finished, the teacher of the deaf came to the door to speak with me and Ski Bum, because favorite was now sitting in the nurse's office, in tears. He said it's red, it hurts, and it itches. Ugh. It actually was not red, but I understand that feeling. The nurse was annoyed that she couldn't get in touch with the family, as always. We finally got someone at the factory where dad works, and the guy agreed to track down dad and get him to call us. In the meantime, Ski Bum and I had Favorite try his implant turned off but stuck to his head, totally off his head, etc., just trying to see if anything made it better. And I was trying to ask him if it hurt when he woke up that morning. He said it did. It hurt all the time but was made worse by the processor being turned on.

He did end up going home that day. We tried to convey to his Baba that this is a BIG DEAL, and that he needs medical attention. To his credit, Baba brought the child in to see someone at the clinic at Hopkins that very day. We finally heard back from Useless, and she forwarded an email from the nurse practitioner:

I saw him today urgently. He was at school and when he put his right processor on, he had pain. They sent him home(W******* school). I saw no redness or middle ear problem. I had him turn it on and place it on his ear and head and there was no problem at all.

so they should try back up equipment then let someone know if there are still concerns. if the right ear is the new ear (and i cant look that up right now) it could be the feeling that happens when the nerves start working again after surgery.

I was so pissed, I didn't even answer. But Ski Bum did. She kind of let Useless have it, and Useless said she would mention it to the surgeon.

I realize that they don't want him to sign, but come on, we're talking about his health. He should have had an ASL interpreter.

Even without an interpreter, surely they can ask him to point to where it hurts. They could gesture. And he does understand the English word "hurt." He's eight years old; he is old enough to know where it hurts and to point to the correct area!

Today (Wednesday), I again checked on the little man in before care, and he said, with an exaggerated smile, "Better!" Eh? Okay...

Then the nurse called us down to let us know that before care had told her that when mom dropped off Favorite this morning, she filled his pockets with Skittles and told him to have a good day ALL DAY at school. (I love that before care keeps us informed... everyone really likes this kid and wants what's best for him.)

I hope he really does feel better.

What a Difference an S Makes

I got to the school where I see my deaf kiddos yesterday during their lunch. I was waiting for a college student, who was coming out to observe me, so I hung out in the cafeteria, which is close to the front doors. Of course, my little Favorite came right up to me, as did Glued-to-Me girl (Obsessed with Speech and Oblivious were also there).

As a side note, Favorite and Obsessed got their math tests back yesterday. The ones I had administered on Wednesday. 95% and 90%. With no modifications! Standard issue district tests! Obsessed got moved from sped math to regular lowest math group math. Favorite was already there. And I spent most of math class yesterday trying to get her to look at the interpreter (TOD was out, and the sub was useless). Rolling my eyes. You'd think a deaf child would want to look at the person who makes sense, but she'd rather take the crumbs that fall from the general educator's hands. "Oh, she touched the number two on the board; I'll touch a random two on my paper." And she expects that the para will repeat any directions she missed (which would be all of them) and can't figure out by copying others, so she just ignores all the language coming out of the interpreter and waits for the Reader's Digest version from the para.

Anyway... Glued was trying to hold my hand and showing me her headband and how she put her lunch box on the cart, and Favorite came over to say hi. I'm going to differentiate between spoken and signed in this little story. It kind of matters.

I signed to ask him how he was, and he signed fine, and he spoke, "Obsessed!" and pointed to her. Well, he used her actual name. I signed, "Obsessed happy?" (Sadly, we're at the mercy of her moods.) He nodded, smiling. Then he frowned. He shook his head and spoke, "Obsessed bitch!" The lunch monitor (hearing, of course) gave me a "What do you people teach these kids?" look. He did NOT learn that at school! I said something to the para, who told me that he's been picking up vocabulary from his adult brothers. Hm. I went to where he was now sitting with Glued, and he looked at me and spoke again, "Obsessed bitch." I signed, "Obsessed what? Bitch?" He looked at me like I had ten heads. Of course he absolutely would not know the sign, since he sees signing only at school, and we would never swear in front of kids. Actually, we don't even swear when we're not in front of kids. I signed, "Word [spoken]bitch, [signed] not nice. Mean. Obsessed she friend." He shook his head and spoke again, "Obsessed bitch" while signing, "Obsessed speech."

Right. Thursday. Obsessed has speech. And it did relate to my original question of whether Obsessed was happy... Obsessed had probably been told scolded all morning for signing, "Speech! Speech! Speech!" during class. Yes, she signs with exclamation points. If you saw it, you'd agree.

I don't normally drill Favorite on his articulation, but I can see that there's one word we need to sit down and practice.

Little Smarty Pants

So you all know that I have a favorite student... I don't exactly keep it a secret. I was really proud of him today!

He showed up to school last week with new CI processors on, ones that doesn't work with the FM system he had. The district audiologist came out yesterday to set him up with a neckloop FM receiver but realized that she had no idea whether his processors were set to work with a telecoil. His new processors have a remote control. Which was at home. And the family doesn't speak English. Or sign. (Yes, IEP meetings are interesting.)

So the audiologist found pictures of the remote online and told the child to tell Baba (dad) to let him bring it to school. We never know how much this child understands, and honestly, who's going to trust a first grader to bring something in when you ask them to do so?

Well, get what the little genius hands us this morning? That's right, the remote, in a Ziploc bag. Cindy (the teacher of the deaf) gave him a sticker. The kids consider me a human sticker dispenser, but Cindy? Getting a sticker from her is HUGE. Usually she rewards kids by putting a bottle opener shaped like a thumbs up on their desk.

Well, after we got said child set up with his new FM, it was time to administer a math test. We pull the kids for all math testing to reduce distractions. I was glad this test was on a day I was at that school, because we have two sets of kids: the youngers, who are pretty oral (though DELAYED) and the olders, who are pretty signy (though DELAYED). It's hard to give them a test and meet everyone's needs. Plus, the youngers take longer, and one of the olders will act up when she's bored. Today one of the youngers was absent, and Cindy gave the test to the other younger one on one. I gave the test to the olders. This was a good arrangement for the kids, because Cindy's more oral and I'm more signy--go figure, the SLP is more signy than the CODA. If I'm not there, she will speak the test and let the interpreter handle the signing.

Anyway, it was a district test. We were to read the directions as is, and we were to read each item, and the kids could use some visual supports that they had used in the classroom, but we couldn't help them, stop them if they were on the wrong track, etc. Neither of the olders used the extra supports. Actually, one tried to use the visual support of the other's paper, but I stopped that with a folder placed between them. Can't blame her for trying, I guess. She missed a few items, and my favorite missed one. One! The funny thing was that he didn't even need me to read the items to him--he read the English himself. What a good day for him.

I Did Good

I have a little student that I met four or five months ago, when she was transitioning from the birth-three program to the preschool program. We were all set for her to be a Pals child, meaning that we would provide her IEP services in whatever preschool her parents placed her in, rather than having her come to a special education preschool. Wouldn't you know it, she got kicked out of the preschool due to losing her potty-trained status (got sick over the summer and developed hardcore potty fear).

We're now six weeks into the school year and the child has had no IEP services, because the special educator, who is the case manager, is new to preschool and is new to Pals, and she hasn't followed up on things. She'll send an email or leaves a message, and if no one responds, she just lets it go. Sometimes it's really frustrating that I'm not the case manager, although it's great when you work with a good special educator.

Technically, we couldn't have seen this child even if she had been in preschool, because she wasn't registered with the county (you have to do that before an IEP can be implemented), because the special educator didn't tell mom to do that. Ugh.

So our assumption has been that the child would go to the special education preschool at the local elementary school, since the family couldn't get her back into the private preschool. No one expected the potty training saga to drag on this long. Never underestimate the willpower of a nonverbal 3-year-old!

On Monday, the mom registered the child at the local elementary school and told someone there that she doesn't want their preschool. She has a good reason: she works late afternoon into the evening, and she loves her morning time with the child. The special education preschool is four days per week, and she wants more than one day with her child. I think it's great that mom is pushing to keep the child home a couple of days a week. But she was ready to deny services for the child, which I didn't think was great. Like I said: nonverbal 3-year-old.

Anyway, so that statement by mom set off the email chain. The special ed preschool teacher told us what she had said and asked what was going to happen at our IEP meeting on Wednesday (that would be today). The Pals special ed teacher (new girl) didn't know. Eh? Not an answer I can accept! I got fed up with people not getting down to brass tacks with mom, so I called her Monday evening. I knew she was a reasonable person, because I had worked with her to transition the child from IFSP to IEP, and she was great.

After a long chat, we got some things in motion. She has canceled on us several times now and avoided returning phone calls, and I learned that it was because she was nervous to face everyone after being kind of flaky up to now and because she honestly didn't know what she wanted for her child. Totally understandable! I explained what to expect at the meeting and gave her the names of other preschools to try, including one co-op that I adore. I worked it out to have home visits for "parent training," just to keep the child on an IEP until she's in preschool again and can have direct services. Parent training is currently being piloted by one special educator, so I was glad to get that approved. So we got all of that worked out Monday and yesterday, I modified the IEP document, and we were able to have a quick, smooth meeting today. And the mom shared that the super-awesome co-op I recommended has ONE space left in the 3's class! And they definitely do not require potty training!

The was nice. But here's the part that made me feel good:

The mom said she had been stressing herself out on Monday, not knowing what to do, feeling guilty for saying what she had said at the local elementary school, and that my phone call was exactly what she needed. Seeming kind of embarrassed, she said, "Actually, you were an answer to prayer."