This is quite the reversal from where we were a month ago. (Did I mention I found 2009 a difficult year? Even -- nay, especially -- in its last month?) We withdrew him from his last preschool at Christmas break and he had been at home with me in January. The story of why is a long one and not particularly a lot of fun to tell. Years from now, we may laugh or just shake our heads remembering it, we may be grateful for the experience. A short version of it is that in our second parent teacher conference of the year, the teachers said they felt that Zeke has "sensory issues" and should be evaluated by an occupational therapist for sensory processing disorder. We got this news, as did at least 8 other families in 4 classes of 3 and 4 year olds or about 40 children. It was not handled compassionately or intelligently by the teachers or school director. I am a staunch believer in early intervention and an advocate for the value of teacher observations. However, the situation was farcical, the presentation unprofessional and their observations lacked the force to support their diagnosis. If these educators had worked with me in my previous professional life, I would have reported them. If they worked for me, I would have retrained them and reprimanded them. What happened seemed to be the epitome of a sort of modern treatment of children in our culture that no longer lets us see some children as more than the sum of their developmental labels, their food allergies, their enrichment activities, their preschool achievements. There is so much to share about this outrageous story, but I will keep it simple and say: the school was not the right place for our family.
While I do not believe that Zeke has sensory issues any more than any other 3 year old, it did make me revisit the topic of the October meeting regarding their observations about Zeke's imaginative and associative play, possible cognitive issues. It also caused me to question Zeke's overall development and if he really is at the place he should be at, including some of his social skills, expressive language, and even motor skills. It also made me question whether some of his gifts -- being a fantastic reader, not being terribly mischievous, for example -- were really gifts when they in fact were symptoms. I got onto what I call a "hamster wheel of compulsion" where I could not stop thinking about Zeke being delayed, what labels might fit, what we should do, where he should go to school, why he might be different. I interviewed various specialists and set up appointments, rejiggered Zeke's health insurance and spent way too much time on the internet -- the internet where every malady you have probably means you have cancer and every flaw your child has means they are autistic. I learned all the diagnostic criteria for hyperlexia, sensory processing disorder, Pervasive Developmental Delay and Asperger's. I found a lot of worried parents' blogs about their neuro-atypical kids. I spent hours talking to friends who were kind and generous in sharing. I lost sleep. I got angry at Zeke sometimes. I probably drove Aaron nuts.
But, then, it got better. At home with me and away from school, I saw a Zeke that I have always seen. Sweet natured, gifted in some ways, a little quirky in others. We spent a lot of time with other children and I saw that Zeke was pretty on par developmentally with them and that those children had their fair share of quirks and that their moms had their fair share of irrational worries. I saw some of those developmental leaps we see about every six months. I started thinking about what my own advice would be (and has been) when a friend tells me they are worried about their child: take three months, watch, maybe take another 3 months and, then if you are still worried, evaluate. I cancelled the evaluations. I enrolled Zeke in the school he went to when he was 18 months and I moved on.
Yet, I still worried about how Zeke would move on. In looking back over what I have written about his most recent school, I see there were a lot of times when he had a hard time getting into the routine there. I see now there may have been a reason for that. Regardless of that, he really loves his friends there and the time to play with them. I valued that he had a reliable routine. I didn't want to put him through a transition like moving to another school right before the biggest transition of his life -- the addition of Butterbean.
I tried to prepare him. We made use of the mom's morning out program run by his old school, we got together to play with old friends from the school, and I asked him if he would go to school with one of his old classmates, our neighbor and his favorite girl, Divine Miss M. Then he got sick with a yucky stomach bug and had to stay at home for a week, depriving him of his favorite thing of playing with other kids. So, today he was all revved up to go, ready to escape being at home with me. I expected some trepidation, some worry from my sometimes sensitive kid. Wrong, Mom!
Zeke walked in the room, said "Good morning" enthusiastically to his teachers, sat down at a table and started playing with Play-Doh. When I left, I peeked in and he was singing while playing. Laughing. Even dancing in his seat a little. Perfectly Zeke.
It felt good to see that, really good. I went home happy. After school, I bought him a cup of strawberry ice cream. He gave me a picture he drew at school and we hung it on the refrigerator. Everyone loved the first day of school, even if it was in the middle of the school year.
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