and the truth comes out

Earlier this week I attended a Meet and Greet at Garrett's school where I was introduced to his teachers, speech therapist, and a handful of administrators. At the beginning everything seemed to be going just fine, on the surface at least. As I entered the building, I ran into the principal, a really nice lady who already recognizes me as "that adorable Garrett's mom." Outside Garrett's classroom I met the mother of one of the girls in his class. She correctly guessed what child I belonged to by looking at Caleb, and proceeded to tell me how her daughter is always talking about this boy in her class named Garrett. Then it was to the gym where the actual meeting took place. As I sat waiting for things to get started, I caught, in between smiles and welcomes, whispers of "that's Garrett's mom." I should have suspected something then, but, optimist that I am, I didn't think much of it.

The meeting started. Everyone introduced themselves and school policies and classroom procedures were reviewed. I then met one on one with his speech therapist, who told me that Garrett was doing great. "He's not throwing tantrums?" I asked, remembering some of the fits he had with Lina over the summer. "Oh no," she told me. "He works really well, and I think he'll make a lot of progress this year." Well, okay, I thought. Wonderful. I thanked her and went to speak with one of his classroom teachers.

"How is Garrett doing," I asked her. And then the truth came out, horrifically spilled all over the floor as she listed all of the problems Garrett was having at school. Apparently he cries several times a day and throws tantrums. He has a hard time sitting still and following directions. A lot of these problems have to do with the fact that he is the youngest in the class, and by a long shot, too -- he is barely 3 and the majority of the other children are 5, which is a huge gap, and something I was originally told would not be the case. His language delays are not helping matters either. Because he is in an integrated Pre-K program, his teachers, who are both special-ed certified, are required to teach from a science-based curriculum mandated by the state, which is proving difficult to adapt to someone of Garrett's age and ability. She told me repeatedly that she thought he was in the wrong class, that he'd do better in an all-day program in a class with fewer children and no state-mandated curriculum requirements. She also informed me that his IEP goals were totally inappropriate and definitely needed modifying. In all of this she had very few positive things to say about Garrett, except that she's surprised at how well he uses the potty at school.

I wanted to do a thousand things as I stood there listening to her, first and foremost being to just run far, far away. Instead I cried. I was upset with Garrett for behaving this way, and I was upset with his teacher for telling me all of this so harshly. I knew going into this experience that, based on what I know of his personality, Garrett would have a rough adjustment period to school. But that didn't make any of this less difficult to hear, especially after hearing so many good things, from Garrett, his other teacher by way of his class journal, and his therapist. His teacher apologized and tried to make me feel better. She told me that the situation was difficult but not impossible, that she had ideas formulating for how to help Garrett and was planning to work with his other teachers, the speech therapist, and me to work through these issues. But even so I still left the school feeling incredibly frustrated, confused, and embarrassed -- both for my son and for my tears.

At home I began the process of sorting all of this new information out. I called Blake and I called my mom, and after each conversation felt a little better. I drafted a letter to his teacher, which I sent to school with Garrett the next day, asking her to keep me informed so we could help resolve these issues at home. I told her I wanted to be involved in the process of helping Garrett acclimate, and reminded her that despite it all, Garrett did still love school.

I was a little embarrassed, knowing what I now know, to put Garrett on the school bus the next day, but by his happy return home, I realized that I didn't need to be. Even though there's work and teaching to be done, I know that with time things should improve, that a lot of these problems will solve themselves as Garrett gets older. As of right now I plan to keep Garrett where he is (I don't want him in an all-day class; he is only 3 after all), and I'm eager to be involved with his teachers as we work together to solve these problems. In the meantime I guess it's just another "welcome to motherhood," as my mom told me. This day was coming eventually, and I guess it was just as well that it happened sooner rather than later.