I took the kids to school early since there was a Problem-Solving Meeting scheduled to discuss Buzz. It was a formal discussion with a table full of different teachers, their laptops open, ready to explain the many evaluations that were soon to take place as we forge ahead to the next stage of an IEP. All in an effort to obtain the additional help my son needs, since his speech delay can now safely be classified as a communication disorder.
It was difficult to get to the group, however, as my son had a grip around my leg and wouldn’t let go.
The time came for the meeting to begin, and as I peeked in on the room where it was to take place, I saw Buzz’s kindergarten teacher waving me in. I must have shot her a look, because she stepped out to evaluate the situation at hand.
Taking notice of what I was dealing with, the teacher instructed me to lead him into his classroom where one of her assistants were waiting. Which would have been a wonderful idea, he’s been there for 3 weeks now and it’s familiar with toys!, save for the fact that my child had removed himself from me and was now hunkered down under a cafeteria table, in tears.
Nope. Nothing to see here. Not at all.
“I see they marked ‘separation from parent’ as another problem”, the Life Skills Superintendent read when I finally made it in after literally dragging my son to his classroom by the hand, then turning my back without a second look while he cried for me to come back.
“Yeah”, I agreed. “I think we still need to work on that, too.”