Search results matching tags 'preschool' and 'special ed'

triumph in the block corner

Anonymous — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 00:50:16 GMT

Almost every day, I have been sitting in the block corner at centers time with my little blocks-challenged friend. (On the days when I haven’t been there with him, my special ed teacher has been.) And each day, he has learned a little bit more. Let’s call him Crow, because yesterday, crow is what he did.

“Teacher, let’s make a train!”

“Okay, that’s a good idea. What are you going to do with those blocks in your hands?”

“Make a train! Yeah, make a train!”

“Okay, honey. Put the blocks down on the floor, yes, just like that.”

“This one goes here!”

“And I’ll put this one here. Do you want to go get some more blocks?” And so on.

Pretty soon we had a train. Crow could not stop grinning. ”My train! It’s a train!” And jumping for joy. ”I made a train! I love my train! I love Mrs. X.!”

After a while, it became clear that he didn’t know what to do, having built the train. (Knocking it down and starting over would have been stressful.) So we carefully took it apart, block by block, and Crow managed to put them all away in the right places. Then he went off to the dramatic play area, his second most favorite thing to do.

Today he came in uncharacteristically quiet. My assistant, who goes to get him off his bus each morning, was worried. Usually he chatters all the way to class, but today he was silent. I asked him if he wanted to sit on my lap, and he nodded. So we had a little snuggle, and a conversation about what we had each eaten for breakfast. After that, he was his usual self, except for the fact that he wanted to sit on my lap at least two more times, and before today, he had never been affectionate toward me.

At centers time, I rigged it so that he got to go to blocks again, and once again, he built a train. It was joyful, all over again. He was so proud of himself, and so happy that his teacher was proud, too.

the boy who doesn’t know how to play with blocks

Anonymous — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 21:37:44 GMT

One of my developmentally delayed sweethearts is a little boy who knows all the letters, and a lot of sounds. He knows numbers, colors, shapes, and that sort of thing. It’s obvious that he has difficulty with verbal communication — he will repeat what you say, or repeat one phrase over and over, and he doesn’t always know how to answer a question or tell you what happened — but it didn’t seem like he was that behind in other ways.

But this week, I started watching him in blocks. He doesn’t know what to do with them! They hold a real fascination for him — he picks blocks almost daily. But he doesn’t know how to build anything. He can’t make a plan (“I’m going to build a bridge!”), he can’t copy what I do when I build something, and he can’t clean up — he doesn’t know how to find where particular block shapes go, or put them in place with the correct orientation. He seems to be lacking creativity, planning skills, problem solving skills, and spatial relations.

So now my jobs are to help him learn in the block corner, and to have a diplomatic conversation with his mother about the importance of play. She does a lot of drill with him, is proud of what he knows, and thinks that he will be “caught up” by kindergarten or first grade. ( I’m thinking he might start to crash and burn in kindergarten.) Apparently there is no playing and no mess at his daycare, and I need to find out what he is doing at home.

art with Monkey

Anonymous — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 01:36:13 GMT

At art class today, the children were asked to make bugs out of a variety of construction paper shapes. They did pretty well with it, and the resulting mural is just lovely. I hope the art teacher puts it up in the hall near our classroom so we can enjoy it.

Monkey struggled with it, without ever knowing he was struggling. He found a circle for his “ladybug,” then started trying to figure out how to put legs on it. He wasn’t really sure what to do with the glue stick, so I showed him how to put a stripe of glue along one side, and then put the little legs on top of that, sticking off the body. Then I went to help other children.

While I was gone, Monkey got some legs stuck to his fingers, instead of to the bug. When he tried to get the legs off his hand and onto the paper, he got more glue stick goo on his fingers. He added more glue to the body of the bug. Finally he gave up on the legs and just smeared glue on his hands.

By the time I got back, the bug was covered in glue stick goo, had two legs, and Monkey was crowing, “Look! Sticky!” and holding up his hands for my inspection.

I sent Monkey to the sink to wash hands. Then we worked on the legs together.

“How many legs do you have so far?” I asked.

Monkey looked blank.

“Let’s count,” I said. ”One….”

Monkey didn’t respond with “two.” He just grinned at me happily.

“What number comes after one? One, …..”

Nope. No “two.” Monkey cannot count to two.

But he sure had fun with the glue.

needy

Anonymous — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 19:38:26 GMT

So I’ve got two students receiving special education services, one of whom also receives speech. I’ve got another student who is about to start receiving special education services, and she also receives counseling (we have an on-site counseling center). I’ve got a fourth student who will be referred for special ed soon, and who will probably qualify, and will also probably qualify for speech services. I’ve got a fifth student who is about to start receiving counseling, and a sixth who has been referred. I’ve got a seventh student who I will refer for speech, and an eighth student who is in the intervention/documentation part of the speech referral process.

Whew! I love this class. They are sweet and special. And young. And they need a lot of help with their communication skills — conversation, vocabulary, articulation. And they are….a bit needy.

I will do what I can.

new kids, old teacher

Anonymous — Wed, 22 Sep 2010 20:51:36 GMT

In the last two days I got three new kids. One of them was flagged as probably needing a referral for possible special ed services, another probably needs to be referred for speech services, and the third doesn’t speak any English, acts as if rules don’t apply, and is both independent (yay) and impulsive (sigh). All three of them are very cute and sweet, however, so they will fit in nicely with all my other cute, sweet kids.

I feel like I’m already behind. I’ve been thinking about new teachers, and how they work really long hours, and how I….um, don’t. Partly it’s because I don’t really need to, as an experienced teacher, part of it is because I want time for myself and for my family, and part of it is because I’m just so *** tired. My migraines have not been great lately, and my allergies are now knocking me flat. I can’t stand the idea of missing school so early in the year, but maybe I will have to. It’s probably not the greatest to have a teacher who feels (and perhaps acts) like she is far, far underwater.

However, today after the kindergartners came out, a few kids made a circle holding hands and started playing a game where they’d jump in the air and crash on the ground, still holding hands. They were getting rough and pulling each other’s arms, so I showed them how to play Ring Around a Rosie. Seriously, you’d think that none of them have ever played it before. Actually, probably none of them ever have. Each time we played more of my students and more of the kindergartners joined in. I showed them how to play it without pulling or crashing into anyone when we all…fall…DOWN! It was kind of wonderful, watching the children so happy about such a simple old game. I kept singing, and kept ringing around that rosie, even though I was losing my voice, and getting really tired.

Also on a nice note, Apple came over to hug me at recess. About 8 times. “Mrs. X!” she would exclaim with joy, and wrap her arms around me. She showed me how she can now count to five, which was great. (Her new teacher is thinking about referring her to special ed, which I was going to do but I dropped the ball. I’ll give her my documentation.) Squash came over, and pointed out another boy from our class last year. “Yeah,” I said, grinning, “but I don’t think he loves me anymore.” Squash said, “I still love you, Mrs. X!” Then he hugged me.

So I’m tired and feel like death warmed over, but I do feel loved.

my new babies

Anonymous — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 11:50:51 GMT

They do seem so young to me, but perhaps that’s just in comparison to last year’s group, whom I remember as they were in June. But still….only two of the kids just turned four, but several others also seem like they were three not very long ago. I’ve got one boy who has already turned five, and he is so different from everyone else — mature, articulate, knowledgeable. I think he can even read a little bit. I hope he is able to make friends, and that I am able to keep him challenged.

One little boy showed up with his mother in the morning yesterday and then decided he didn’t want to go to school, after all. I had to take him from his mother’s arms and bring him into the room, screaming. I sat him on my lap and listened while he sobbed, “I want my mama” over and over. I told him that I understood, and that he would see his mama pretty soon. Then I started making comments on things the other children were doing at the tables, and he got distracted. His crying lasted three minutes from start to finish; it was nice to be able to tell his mother that when I called her later.

One little girl is already starting to set off warning bells in my head. She seems a little bit like Pumpkin was at the start of last year, only not so happy and funny and self-confident. She is the only one having trouble sitting and listening, she raises her hand to tell me things that are only tangentially related to the topic at hand (and usually it’s just lists of words, rather than complete sentences), she is unable to explain what is wrong when she cries, and it’s quite difficult at times to decipher her speech. I’ve got another girl who is receiving special ed services who is light years ahead of her in maturity, speech, vocabulary, behavior, and ability to make friends. We were told to send in referrals early this year, so they don’t get backed up, so I think I will start working on this by late September.

They really are sweet, though. I love them already.

meeting edward

Anonymous — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 00:25:50 GMT

I have a new student. Edward (named after the character in Rosemary Wells’ Edward the Unready) was in my room after I came back from lunch. Miss Nelson helped his mother fill out paperwork while I sat with Edward and his puzzle.

He was calm, and seemed to feel comfortable, even though tomorrow will be his first day of school ever. He liked the puzzle, but apart from putting two pieces together here and there, really couldn’t figure it out. He put a corner piece in the wrong place, and I said, “Edward, you know what? This kind of looks like a corner piece. I think it might fit in this corner right here.”

He shook his head. “Goes right here,” and he pointed, to two pieces that definitely did not fit together.

I tried again, and failed again, so I watched him. The puzzle was a sensory experience for him, it seemed, not a logical experience. When he was done he pointed to the toys on the shelf, and with my help, got out some unifix cubes. While he played with cubes I put the puzzle together. When I was done, he looked at it, amazed.

Miss Nelson told his mother about our walking field trip to the library for storytime tomorrow, and asked her to talk to Edward about it again tonight, so that he’d be prepared.

When it was time to leave, Edward said something unintelligible to Miss Nelson. His mother came over to listen, and she translated: “He wants to go to the library.”

Miss Nelson and his mother explained that the library trip is tomorrow, and he just stood there, with tears streaming down his face. His mother said to me, shaking her head, “I knew this was going to happen. He never wants to leave.”

So tomorrow, Edward starts in our class. He can’t do puzzles, and has trouble with transitions, but he has a sweet face. We’ll see how it goes.

what this fall has really been like

Anonymous — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 19:46:40 GMT

I stayed late at school today for a meeting on Max. His parents were there, as were a social worker, a psychologist, a therapist, a special ed administrator, an occupational therapist, a physical therapist, Miss Nelson, and me. We all agreed that he is unable to be successful in my classroom, as had been hoped, and he will be moving in the next two or three weeks to a smaller classroom with more adult assistance.

I feel sad about this, although I know it is the right thing for him. I had never had any special ed students NOT make it in my classroom, and now all of a sudden I’ve had two.

But I got this email from Nan, who stopped by on Tuesday to pick up something she’d forgotten, and this really helps:

Dear Kiri;

I just had to drop a note to share with you an interesting observation
that I had today when I stopped in for my charger. Somehow things
looked very different as an observer than they did when I was in the
thick of it.

I only saw the class for a moment, but here is what
occurred to me. I think as we have struggled with David and Max
and, now with Leo, although it has been very challenging for me,
it required nothing more of me than doing my job. It is my job to try
and figure out how a child can adjust to a regular ed classroom. What
had not occurred to me before, was with children that lack the skills
to operate in a regular education classroom, the effect on the
classroom teacher is they can not do their job.

I think standing on the outside helped me see how frustrating it has been for you, such a talented teacher, to not be able to do your job due to the chaos. Every teacher has to deal with behavior, but I believe that David and
Max are the first time we have not been able to manage things with
any level of success. Poor Miss Nelson looked completely at wits end when I
looked her in the face. You looked calm but although you continue to
run your class, Max running around is a tremendous distraction,
not just to the teachers but to the students.

I guess I am sharing this because it was surprising to gain
an “outsiders” perspective. I want to reaffirm that your teaching and
your purposeful structure is good for students’ learning. I am not
writing to weigh in on Max’s next steps, I am merely wanting to
remind you that how you teach and what you teach work. I have seen it
time and time again. It has helped bright children blossom, it has
helped remedial children gain, and it has helped many special ed
children with some pretty significant challenges.

I know that the team will do well by Max and that he will either
succeed in your class or the team will find a placement where he will
succeed. I just want to be sure, if seeds of doubt are creeping in
your mind, please remember that what you do is solid and that there is
a long history of success that should guide you.

I will be thinking of Max and the team as I move on. I hope I can
consult with you when I don’t know what to do because I REALLY trust
your judgement. I am truly grateful for all you have taught me
about education, team work, and children.

Thanks for four great years. I am looking forward to that drink with
you and Ali.

Nan

What parents do

Anonymous — Fri, 30 May 2008 21:25:19 GMT

I mentioned M. once before — it was her birthday and I forgot to check the calendar, and missed it. And she is so non-verbal most of the time that she never mentioned it. M. is one of my special ed children, with developmental delays, speech difficulties, and possibly some sensory stuff going on. Lately she [...]