The Night Before Kindergarten

Dear Julia and Nathan,

Tomorrow you will go off to the big world of kindergarten.  I can’t believe this day has come.  Just yesterday I feel like I was bringing you home. 

When you turned 5 this year, I knew it was momentous.  But nothing can compare to handing you off to your first real teacher tomorrow in proving how fast you’ve grown.

I don’t know if I can adequately express to you how proud I am of you, and how much I love you.  Giving you to Mrs. M. tomorrow will be one of the hardest things I’ll ever do, because I know there’s no turning back.  Tomorrow starts an entirely new phase in your life – in all our lives.  And believe me when I tell you I’m so blessed and honored to be able to walk through it with you.  But know that driving away tomorrow my eyes will be filled with tears.  Tears for the babies you were, and for the people you are becoming.

Julia:
You are so anxious about school.  You have been for months.  And I’ve done everything I can to allay your fears and encourage you to see school as something exciting.  It’s ok to be frightened.  It’s new, and scary, and you’re still so very little.  I have no doubt, though, that you’ll be quite the kindergarten expert come back to school night next week.  You’re so very brave, my love, and I can’t wait to watch you go from a nervous preschooler to the confident student I know you will be.  You've got this, I promise.

Nathan:

You are so ready for this.  Sometimes I worry you’re so ready that they’ll want to shove you in first grade.  But socially this is where you need to be.  You’re still so very five.  I know you’re going to be the mayor of kindergarten in no time.  You haven’t met a kid yet who you can’t be friends with.  I wonder, though, if a little bit of anxiety will peek through tomorrow.  I’m so grateful that you and your sissy will have each other, because I won’t have to worry that you’ll ever be alone.  I adore your enthusiasm for simply everything that comes your way, and I hope you can keep that joy as you walk this new journey called school.

I love you both so much.  And as hard as tomorrow might be, as scary as it might seem, no matter what happens, we’ll always be here to pull you into our arms at the end of the day.  You might be growing up and we might have to learn to let go a little more than we’re used to, but you’ll always be my Peanut and Little Man. 

Love,

Mommy

Imagine If Who You Are Was Used As An Insult

Why is it so hard?  What’s so difficult about NOT using the “r” word?  I find it exceptionally difficult to believe that everyone who uses that word (and trust me, there are a lot), doesn’t have SOMEONE in their life that this word targets.  The guy who bags your groceries at the supermarket?  Your cousin?  The kid you saw sitting alone in the high school cafeteria?  Your neighbor?  Your best friend’s child?

Show me a person whose life hasn’t been touched by someone who the “r” word targets and I’ve got a bridge to sell you.

The thing is, you might not even know that the person behind you at the zoo while you tell your child to “stop being a(n) ‘r’” (true story happened to a good friend) has a child with special needs.  You might not know that the kid bagging your groceries every week has Cerebral Palsy.  You might not know that the cashier at that super expensive department store you bought your shoes at is working a second job to pay for therapy for her child with Autism.  You might not even know that your boss, who you see and talk to every day, has a sister with Down Syndrome she helps care for.  The truth is, it shouldn’t matter who’s around you, and what their or your connection is with people the “r” word targets.  Because integrity is what you do when nobody is looking, and using the “r” word is disgusting, ignorant, and hateful.

Movies like “The Change-Up” and “Tropic Thunder” are movies that prey on people for profit.  When Ryan Reynolds tells Jason Bateman in “The Change-Up” that one of his twins looks a little “downsy” and people let it go in the name of “comedy” we tell each other that there are people in this world that matter so little to us they are nothing more than a punchline.  I know, I know, comedians and movies make fun of people and groups all the time.  Heck, I’m a lesbian mom with two kids, I’ve heard plenty of gay jokes (not that I think they’re ok either).  But guess what, I can stand up and defend myself.  I’ve been called a “dyke” in the store and been able to make a decision about whether or not I do something about it.  The people that the “r” word targets don’t have that ability.

There was an entire campaign awhile back on television to remove the phrase “that’s so gay” from common vernacular.  You can watch one of them here:

“Imagine if who you are was used as an insult.”

Now, imagine if who you are was used as an insult and you were powerless to do anything about it.

Why is it that Hollywood champions the cause for us LGBT folks but continues to use people with special needs as a punchline?  Because the “r” word still gets a laugh, and people still make money.

There’s only one way to stop that.  And it requires using your pocketbook.  Or not using it, as the case may be.  GQ recently lost subscribers over an article about regional style in which the “journalist” said Bostonians had a sort of “style Down Syndrome.” GQ later removed the statement from the article but has yet to make a statement on the issue.  I don’t know if I know anyone who subscribes to GQ, and I don’t know anyone (I don’t think) who plans to see “The Change-Up.”  But if you stand with me in making sure people with disabilities are portrayed as more than a punchline, at the very least do the one thing you can, and refuse to give your money to this trash.

A few months ago, I stood in line with my five year olds to go through security at the Glee Live concert.  Yes, my five year olds watch Glee.  Most of it is right over their heads, and all they care about is if Finn and Rachel are singing.  But while they watch, they get to see a gorgeous girl play the role of Becky, a cheerleader with Down Syndrome.  They see her as part of the school: active, contributing.  And while we stood in line a young girl (12 or 13) was in front of us waiting with her mom.  She was holding a sign and wearing a puffy painted shirt expressing her love for all things Glee.  As she turned around to show us her sign I saw that she had Down Syndrome.  And my eyes filled with tears as I realized that more than teaching my kids that people with disabilities are equal and contributing members of society, Glee has given kids with disabilities a show on tv that celebrates them, includes them, incorporates them as simply part of the high school landscape.  Shows like “Parenthood” tackle the very real challenges of raising a young child on the autism spectrum, but in the very next scene delight in the joys and successes of that same child.  Target includes kids of all abilities in its circulars.  There are PLENTY of options out there to enjoy popular culture and spend your money without supporting people and organizations who treat defenseless people as worthless.

Money talks.  Use yours for good.  And if you use the “r” word, please stop.  And Pledge to never use it again here: http://www.r-word.org/

The Paradox of Choice*

When I was a kid and started kindergarten, I went to the school down the street from my house.  The daughter of a public school teacher, we were squarely in the middle-class socio-economic column.  We lived in a working-class neighborhood, and my elementary school was fairly diverse, both racially and economically.  The only choice we had insofar as where we went to school was whether or not we chose to move to be near a more desirable school. 

My how things have changed.  In two weeks I will officially be the mother of two kindergarten students.  Getting to this point has not been easy, and still now, two weeks before school starts, we aren’t exactly sure where they will be hanging up their backpacks this year.

We moved into our last house in a bit of a rush.  We’d had to literally threaten our landlord with legal action because he’d refused to repair the air conditioner during August’s triple digit weather while Julia had 104 fever.  This was the final straw in our dealings with him, and we moved out to be closer to my office.  We didn’t have much time to research schools and such, and honestly we didn’t even know if we’d be in the house long enough for it to matter.  Unfortunately, we discovered that the school of residence for where we were living was not a place we wanted to send the twins.  We were, however, right around the corner from a fantastic, and highly desirable, charter school.  In addition, ever since I was pregnant with the twins, I’d had on my radar another charter school that had multiple campuses.  We naively believed that we would get one of these two options, especially considering the one school had three campuses we were ok with moving near. 

As a plan C, we also put in for an transfer to the highest performing elementary school in our district.  What was ridiculous was that apparently we missed the “open enrollment” period because we didn’t already have students in the district.  Had we known about open enrollment, we could have saved ourselves a lot of frustration, but apparently notification was done by way of the phone system that parents with children already in school have access to.  A lot of good that does those of us with only 5 year olds.  But they decided to put together a waiting list, despite telling us that the chances were pretty much nil. 

Well, at one charter school, we got one spot.  And at the lottery draw I was told that I had no option for another spot unless another kid turned down their spot – almost 50 times over.  Nate got a spot but Julia was like 50^th on the waitlist.  Scratch that one off the list.  The other charter school came up empty for us too, at ALL THREE campuses.  I was heartbroken.

So, we did some extensive research, and ended up moving back to where we lived when we got pregnant and had the babies.  A lot had changed in the district since then, and all the elementary schools were now K-8, and doing well.  The high school had been transformed by way of a brand new campus site.  The school district is one of the few in the area NOT on the State watch list for finances, and the schools performed better than even the best elementary in the district we currently lived in (a district that is still awaiting possible State takeover).  Now, before you lecture me about test scores and API and how they don’t tell the whole story, trust me I know this.  Trust that I’ve done my research enough to make decisions for my kids based on more than a number on a piece of paper.

So, we find a house, move back to our old neighborhood, and the day the ink is placed on the lease agreement, Heidi goes to sign the kids up for school.  We were very excited, because we found a house in the boundaries of our first choice school.  Heidi goes to sign them up only to be told (in MAY, mind you) that they are already at capacity and Nate and Julia are like 11 and 12 on the waitlist and will likely be “overflowed” to the next closest school.  Ok, well, that school was on our radar and we’d actually looked at a few houses within the boundaries of that school as well, so that was fine by us.  A district employee told us not to worry, because movement of a few kids would probably make that unnecessary.  They just wouldn’t know until closer to the school year’s start.

Two weeks ago, I get two letters in the mail, telling me that the kids’ transfers to our school of choice in our old district were approved.  Are you kidding me?  Well, a lot of good that does us now, because we don’t even live in the district anymore.  But after moving, increasing our expenses by doing so, and gearing ourselves up for completely changing our expectations, finding out we never had to move was frustrating. 

Meanwhile, after a few tense emails with the principal of what we hoped would be their school (about keeping them in the same class – a topic for a whole other post), we found out just last week that the school they will likely overflow to (and now it’s almost a certainty) is one even FURTHER from our house and never even on our radar at all.  Heidi called me on Friday after she’d received an email from the principal of the school they are supposed to go to and started off with, “ok, you’re going to be mad, so just know you’re going to be mad.”  She was right.  But, to be fair, I took a breath and did some research.  This school isn’t bad at all.   It just wasn’t on our radar because it’s in an older neighborhood where we wouldn’t prefer to live.  But it’s a school that was relocated to the old high school campus and therefore the kindergarten classrooms and playgrounds are all brand new because they converted the old shop classrooms.  It’s the only elementary updating its website.  Kindergarten orientation is at 5pm to accommodate working parents.  The PTA is active enough to be doing an ice cream social after orientation for the whole school.  It’s the district school site for kids in the GATE program.  Now, we won’t know for sure for another week if this is the school they will attend, but given what we were told by the principal, it seems to be almost a sure thing.  I even spoke to the Admin at this school and asked about putting the twins in the same class and she made it sound like it would be no big deal, and while I’ll believe that when I see it, it certainly didn’t seem to be the federal case the other school made it out to be.

So, I’d gotten to a point where I felt really good about this school, and the path in front of us.  Until today.  Right after lunchtime my cell phone rings and it’s a number I don’t recognize so I let it go to voicemail.  Sure enough, it’s one of the campuses of the charter school that was my first choice telling me they had a spot for us, and possibly two spots by the time I have to make a decision about the spot on Friday morning. 

Sigh.  You know, I’m almost hoping the second spot doesn’t open up.  Because then the decision is made.  But you guys, this is where I’ve wanted them to go since I was PREGNANT.  I think the philosophy is fabulous, you can see the results in their test scores as well as the stories of the kids after they move on to high school.  But.  The school is now 27 miles from our house.  It’s full day kinder as opposed to half.  It’s 27 miles from home.  It’s amazing.  But it’s 27 miles from our house. 

Now, I wholeheartedly believe if we had gotten this call in May we’d have moved much closer to the school because the high schools out that way are great too.  But now, well, what are we supposed to do?  Suck it up for a year and do the commute and deal with it?  Because really there aren’t shots at 1^st grade spots.  It pretty much is a “if you don’t get a kinder spot, you won’t get a spot,” kind of school.

You know, the reality is, I know that success in school has often little to do with what’s measurable in the classroom.  Success in school depends on my involvement in their educations first and foremost.  And I know that if we’re involved in their education and advocating for them, the school they are at isn’t always the most important thing.  But the paradox of choice is that when you have a choice in front of you, even when presented with two equally acceptable options, you will always look to see if one choice outdoes another in some way in order to tip the scales.    

So now we wait, and see what Friday brings.  But I’m already believing that maybe the choice isn’t really a choice, because the hardship on a day to day for a school so far away when we don’t have the flexibility anymore to just pick up and move is just too much.  

But I can’t close the door just yet.  This school has been my dream for five years for them, and I will wait until the last possible second to let it go.

*If you're interested in where this came from, there's a great book called The Paradox of Choice by Barry Schwartz.  Fascinating stuff.