Image credit: Photo by Chocolate Geek on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons

I broke down and cried in my son's parent-teacher conference last week. I did. Mrs. Chaudhry, my son's mainstream teacher, seemed a bit taken aback; she jumped up and dashed across the room to grab a box of tissues. Mrs. Fontaine, his special education teacher (who probably sees more parental breakdowns than the mainstream teacher does), kept talking calmly to fill the space between my sniffling gasps and the frenzied search for the tissue box that was going on in another part of the room.

I'm usually fairly stoic, but many things child-related bring me to tears: from the very first tears I shed when my son was a newborn and I could. not. calm. him. down. to last week sitting in his classroom and talking to his two new teachers for the first time.

I won't lie. We had a rough year last year. All of us. Austen, his teachers, his principal, his aides, my husband and I. Austen is autistic, and like many autistic children, changes and transitions provoke a tremendous amount of anxiety in him, and anxiety causes rigid, obsessive, disturbing behavior. Yet, due to a series of mishaps and emergencies, he had three different special education teachers last year. Perfect. A year full of transitions and changes. Also, like many autistic children, Austen shuts down in the face of strict, punitive discipline. Yet, in another glorious coincidence, he had a very rigid, authoritarian, old school mainstream teacher last year, one who (thanks to the turnover in the special ed staff) had no consistent support.

Last year, my son would come home each day cranky and exhausted. When the phone would ring and "Simpson Elementary" would appear on the caller ID, I would cringe:

"Mrs. Jones, Austen insists on capitalizing the first letter in every word, please have him rewrite all his schoolwork correctly at home and talk to him about proper grammar and punctuation."

"Mrs. Jones, we told Austen you were going to take away his TV privileges this week because he was rolling around the floor of his classroom, giggling and saying 'poopy butt.'"

"Mrs. Jones, we took away Austen's outdoor time today, because he was lying under his desk and lifting it with his feet. We had to restrain him to keep him from going outside."

"Mrs. Jones, we're sending work home with Austen because he refused to finish his worksheet today."

"Mrs. Jones, Austen had to be sent out of his mainstream class for getting out of his seat and walking around the classroom."

The school seemed to have no idea how to handle him. Much of their approach involved calling me to: detail his crimes, tell me the ways in which their punishments had been ineffective in changing his behavior, and expect that, by some mothering magic, I'd be able enforce their limits for them and talk or badger or punish or cajole him out of being anxious, overloaded and confused the next day. Mark and I pushed for a behavioral plan, which was eventually instituted, but we realized that, given the upheavals and the particular personalities involved, the best we could hope for was to support Austen at home, wait for the next school year and hope for the best.

On Austen's first day of school this year, he bounded off the little yellow bus beaming. He told me about his day. And he told me his teachers were nice. I was overjoyed, until... The phone rang. Simpson Elementary. Crap. I hesitated. I really didn't want to pick it up. He seemed happy. What on earth had gone wrong now, already, on day one? Well, I might as well get it over with...

"Mrs. Jones?"

"Yes."

"This is Mrs. Fontaine, Austen's special ed teacher."

"Yes," I sighed, my heart sinking.

"I just wanted to call and introduce myself, and tell you that Austen had a great day."

"He... What? I... Um, I mean, thanks."

"I just thought I'd let you know that you can contact me anytime you need to. Austen seems like a very bright boy and today went very well. I'm really happy to have him in my class."

I got off the phone and cried tears of pure joy. Then I set up a meeting with Mrs. Fontaine and Mrs. Chaudhry. Things sounded good, it was true, but the mainstream teacher was still an unknown quantity and I was taking no chances this year. I went in armed with questions and ready to keep a watchful eye on the situation, lest it spiral out of control again.

At the meeting, I was greeted by two bright enthusiastic smiles. I learned that Mrs. Chaudhry, the mainstream teacher, has worked with autistic students before and has been trained on positive behavioral techniques. I found that Mrs. Fontaine and Mrs. Chaudhry have a good working relationship and communicate daily. I could see that they seemed to know Austen well (already) and have some well thought out techniques for engaging him. They give him choices, so if he's having trouble working on writing, they let him do math for a little while instead. If he refuses to do his work in his mainstream class, he still has to finish in special ed. They give him freedom to get up, take a break and walk around the room if he needs to. If either classroom gets overwhelming, there is a quiet part of the special ed classroom that children can retreat to voluntarily. They don't restrain him, but redirect him. I thought I could see the sky burst open behind them as they talked and heavenly light rain down on their heads.

Then they told me how smart Austen is and what a delight he is to have in class. When I asked if he had been disruptive or if they'd had any problems with his behavior, they looked at each other shrugged and shook their heads. Nope. Not me. Nope. Me neither. No major problems or complaints. It was as if I were suggesting he was some other child they'd never seen at all. When I asked about the reactions of other children and his interactions with his mainstream peers, they said that the other children understand that he learns differently and does things differently and that his classmates like and help him. No wonder he comes home smiling this year.

And as I struggled to thank them -- for calling that first day to say all was well, for meeting with me, for saying that my son is a joy, for seeing him as a good kid with his own unique needs, for getting to know him and treating him as an individual -- I burst into tears. I tried to choke out my gratitude. I tried to say how very much it means to me to have people see past my son's inability to do things quite the way other kids do and to see him for all he is and all he can do. I tried to tell them all this between gasping sobs, as I covered my eyes with the tissue Mrs. Chaudhry offered. I looked up at last to find them a bit startled, as if what they were doing wasn't extraordinary to them at all and it was strange that I should think it was. And I though, "I wish it weren't extraordinary, but it is."

Last week, the TC Palm reported that the case was still under investigation by the district and that teacher Wendy Portillo was still on temporary administrative assignment away from children until the investigation is completed. The district says the investigation has been slowed by the presence of lawyers on both sides. The Barton family has retained a lawyer and filed notice of intent to sue, but no lawsuit is currently in progress. (Presumably, they are awaiting the outcome of the investigation.) One can only hope that Alex is in an educational setting with appropriate supports for him this year, but I suspect that, given the level of scrutiny his treatment has received, he is indeed in a better situation.

On a related note, Alex's treatment has created ripples in the Florida educational system. The state Attorney General's office is currently investigating over 100 new claims of mistreatment since beginning their investigation into the treatment of autistic children in Florida schools. Officials state that they are attempting to arrange a meeting with families, but scheduling has been complicated due to the number of complaints. If you are the parent or guardian of an autistic child in Florida who has experienced abuse or mistreatment in public schools, please call the Attorney General's office at (866) 966-7226.

I also read that the school board elections in St. Lucie County (where Alex resides) were close, with incumbents squeaking out a narrow win. There has been speculation that the uproar of Alex Barton's situation contributed to dissatisfaction with the current members of the board.

Photo credit: Image by bloomsberries on Flickr

This is another quick update on Alex Barton, an autistic kindergartener who was voted out of his class. Barbara at Mommy Life sent her last care package to the Barton family filled with good wishes from folks around the world. In Melissa Barton's thank you message, she says "We are taking the case to federal court and I expect that this will be a landmark case for autism."

One of the most recent news reports I saw said the Bartons' lawyer "put the district on notice they intend to sue" and quoted him as saying, "If they [the school district] do that ["investigate the claim, and come to us with a possible resolution"] then we can it's a realistic possibility we can work things out with them and we won't have to file a lawsuit."

I'm not familiar enough with the way the legal system works to know if we can read anything into those two combined statements to get a sense of how the investigation is going. It may be that the federal Melissa Barton mentions is separate from any lawsuit seeking damages or one of the outcomes she desires: having teacher Wendy Portillo dismissed.

First, an update on the story about Alex Barton, the kindergartener who was "voted out" of his class. The school announced today that his teacher has been reassigned to an administrative post as they investigate the incident and determine a course of action. And I have to say, it's always nice to see school districts start to half-assedly respond to things after being flooded with public outrage. I'm gaining a whole new level of appreciation for my son's school by watching this play out. (But, shhh! Don't tell them! I don't need them thinking that, since at least they're not actively abusing my son, they're doing such a super job that they can rest on their own intolerant, law breaking laurels.)

Second, I'm leaving in two days for Long Vowels' wedding, and I have a ton of end of the school year stuff on my plate as well, so I may not get a chance to post for the next few days, and if I do, it probably won't be anything too substantive. So, I'm going to have to keep you all hanging on, mouths watering, waiting for me to get back on track.

For those who aren't aware yet, Alex's teacher, Wendy Portillo, apparently became frustrated with his behavior and decided to discipline him. Her chosen method was to shame him, Survivor style, by having the other children in the class say what they didn't like about him and then vote on whether or not they wanted him in the class with them. The children called him "disgusting" and "annoying" and voted 14 to 2 to kick him out of the class.

Of course, the decision of a bunch of five year olds isn't binding on the school district, but needless to say, Alex hasn't wanted to return to class (if one can even call screaming at the sight of the school building "not wanting to go"), nor has his family wanted him to return. Ms. Portillo has admitted that the incident took place. And in the comments on the news story, to my surprise (though it shouldn't be), plenty of people back the teacher, whom they feel -- like the leader of a gang of righteous classroom vigilantes -- should be free to take the law into her hands and use any means at her disposal to punish the disruptive little criminals that populate our classrooms.

My thoughts on what this says about our society's own particular brand of insanity is, unfortunately, going to have to wait. But I do want to say this:

I salute the two children who voted to keep Alex in the class. It takes incredible courage to stand up in the face of an overwhelming majority and say that you simply don't agree. (Courage I don't even have as an adult most times.) I ache for Alex, who at 5, can't possible understand why someone who was supposed to care for him would want to hurt him like this. (Frankly, at almost 40, I don't either.) I ache for the classmates who were taught that bullying and shaming others is acceptable behavior. And I ache for Alex's family -- especially (as a mama) Alex's mother -- who have to witness his pain in the wake of this event. What mama is not going to cry to hear her baby say over and over again, in that nightmarish perseveration, "I'm not special. I'm not special. I'm not special."

But I'm also trying to feel compassion for the teacher and the school district, because it is one of my most deeply held beliefs that hatred, however just or righteous it may seem, is toxic. And genuine compassion, however hard to muster, is healing. I know how difficult it is to be a teacher and an administrator, because I've done both jobs. I also know how frustrating it can be to balance the needs of an autistic child with the needs of neurotypical children and adults, because I live that every day. And I know that using shame as a teaching technique is a learned behavior, so someone, somewhere taught Wendy Portillo to use this tool the way she taught her students. And that's a terrible thing.

Still, compassion (and this can be very hard for us codependents to understand) does NOT mean tolerating abuse. The teacher participated in and sanctioned bullying, cruelty, and abuse. And that's true regardless of how frustrated she was, how bad or just incomprehensible Alex's behavior might have been, how cash strapped the school district may have been, how unsupported she may have been, how lengthy and arduous the diagnosis and IEP planning process is, or what messages she received from her upbringing or the culture around her that this was ok.

If you are as heartbroken and horrified by this story as I am, you can voice your opinions to the St. Lucie County School Board. The Autistic Self Advocacy Network is tracking the response and has asked that you cc them at info@autisticadvocacy.org if you do write. ASAN asks that everyone use respectful language in addressing those listed.

Morningside Elementary School Principal:
Mrs. Marcia Cully
cullym@stlucie.k12.fl.us
(772) 337-6730St.

Lucie County Schools Superintendent:
Michael J. Lannon
4204 Okeechobee Road
Ft. Pierce 34947-5414
Phone: 772/429-3925
FAX: 772/429-3916
e-mail: lannonm@stlucie.k12.fl.us

St. Lucie County School Board Chair:
Carol Hilson
772-519-0397
HilsonC@stlucie.k12.fl.us

Vice Chair:
Judith Miller
772-528-4545
MillerJ@stlucie.k12.fl.us

Update:

• E-mail messages of support to Alex and his family at supportalex@treasurecoast.com
• Mail letters or cards to Alex and family through the Alex is Special card campaign. Deadline is June 20, 2008. More information is available at Mommy Life.

• Teacher Wendy Portillo reassigned
• Musings on media coverage
• Wendy Portillo's side of the story
• Thoughts on behavioral change
• Update on school district investigation and possible lawsuit
• More on the status of the lawsuit
• Alex Barton case sparks statewide investigation into treatment of autistic students
• Update on the continuing local and statewide investigation, as well as school board elections
• Alex Barton's Tie Dye Project (with an update on Wendy Portillo's suspension)

In the news:

• Slate's full story on Alex Barton
• Early Show interview
• Bartons plan on suing school district

• Asperger Square 8
• Ballastexistenz
• Whitterer on Autism
• Autism Vox
• Stop. Think. Autism.
• abfh
• Maternal Instincts
• The Joy of Autism
• LeftBrain/RightBrain
• Action For Autism
• Along the Spectrum (plus a second post)
• Drive Mom Crazy
• Odd One Out
• Cogitamus
• Odd Time Signatures
• Andrea's Buzzing About
• Foggy Rock
• The Diaper Heads
• Memoirs of a Chaotic Mommy
• Life with Joey
• The Rettdevil's Rants
  
• Autistic Self Advocacy Network, SW Ohio
• Liv's Journey
• Big White Hat
• aspie-editorial.blog-city.com
• The Ant Hill
  
• Thinking in Metaphors
• Lone Wolfs Den
• Jonathan Turley
• lyndon.
• Retired Waif
• Lorem Ipsum
• Digital Journal
• Disability Studies
• Mommy Life
• Panic's Deep Thoughts
• Are You Going to Be This Way the Rest of the Time I Know You?
• Charming Bitch
• The Adventures of Leelo and His Potty-Mouthed Mom
• DC Metro Moms Blog
• Enter the Jabberwock
• Suspect Device
• Incertus
• Eric Berlin
• Awalkabout

And discussion groups:

• Democratic Underground
• Wrong Planet
• Soap Zone

See, I told you all I was late to the party!

Update: additional posts I found after posting mine:

• Marla Baltes
• Shirley Buxton
• Infinite Monkeys
• Charlie in Wonderland
• Joeprah
• The Quirk Factor
• Muddy Boots
• Man or Maniac?
• Sugar and Sprouts Blog
• Rambling On
• 4 Daves
• Gary William Murning Online
• 11D
• Massachusetts Mom
• My Life as a Platypus
• Radical Sapphoq
• Girl
• Momma's Living in Paradise
• Planet of the Blind
• ThaLunatic Daily
• Mom Logic
• A Life Less Ordinary
• on life and other inconveniences
• Posautive
• Good Times
• Social Skills and Asperger's Syndrome
• Watson in the Adirondacks
• Curbside Chat

I fell into a light sleep, listening to the kids alternately giggling and bickering as they got ready to leave, then slipped into a deep sleep and into a dream. In the dream, I had just received a letter from a music teacher at my son's school (which proves it's a dream. Music teachers? No Child Left Behind didn't mandate those. Next I'll dream about Siberian Tigers.)

The dream letter described my son's imaginary (but realistic) behavior in the dream music class: he had started screaming at the sound of recorders being played by elementary students during rehearsal, then he yelled at the teacher and tried to push past other kids to get out of the room when the teacher tried to hand him a chocolate chip cookie for a snack. The letter went on, in an arrogant tone (you'll just have to believe me), as the teacher ranted, indignant at my son's disruptive and rude behavior. He signed the letter, "Sincerely, Allan Holle, Music Teacher."

I read the letter and thought, "Of course my son would react that way! He's extremely sensitive to sounds. Screechy elementary recorder playing gives me a headache, for goodness sake. And he's scared to death of non-preferred foods!" I ranted to my husband about how this was going to come up in the IEP meeting, and instead of working with us to help my son and the music teacher understand each other, they were going to blame my bad parenting and punish my son.

Then I woke up, and thought, "Wow, I sure am stressed about that upcoming IEP!" Then I thought, "Why Allan Holle? Where did that name come from and why do I remember that detail now that I'm awake?"

Allan Holle. Allan Holle. A. Holle. a-hole.

Ha! My subconscious is the best! It was calling the folks at my son's school a-holes in a joke designed by me, for me. Thanks for the laugh, Subconscious!

Photo credit: Photo by Muffet on Flickr

I was recently called to school to pick my son up because he had been running around the classroom instead of sitting in his seat. A discussion between my son and an administrator at his school ensued on my arrival.

Now, if you are neurotypical and hear what they said to each other, you will probably think that my son is being rude and disrespectful (as the administrator, no doubt, did when he heard this). If you are autistic, you will know that my son is responding to the literal meaning of the questions; his responses will seem reasonable and logical and it will be the administrator who isn't making sense.

Administrator: "Do you know why your mother is here?"
Son: "Why?"
Administrator: "Because you were running in the classroom instead of sitting in your seat. Is that what big 7 year olds do in school?"
Son: "Yes, because I'm 7 and I did it."
Administrator: "No, we don't. You're a first grader now, not a kindergartener anymore. Do first graders run in the classroom?"
Son: "Yes."
Administrator: "No, they don't. Were the other first graders running around?"
Son: "No, but I was, so first graders do run around."

I hate to say it, but I think I snickered. It was like one of those situations where someone is learning a new language and inadvertently says "suck my balls" when they mean to say "I'm having a ball!" As official translator between the two worlds, I clearly have some work to do.

Photo credit: Image adapted from a photo by KRISnFRED on Flickr

In the mothering world, compliments are hard to come by. Oh, sure. You'll hear, "Your kids are so cute!" But that's not really about you, or even (usually) your kids. It's one of those generic statements, like "have a nice day" or "how are you." You much more often hear from others when they disapprove of your parenting or your child's behavior (which usually means, by extension, your parenting). This seems to be doubly the case when you have a child with autism.

For example, I have yet to hear from my son's school when he's doing a good job. They wouldn't call me up on the phone and say, "Hey, your son ran in to save a puppy from a burning building! What a hero!" That wouldn't even warrant a note or an e-mail (unless they wanted to complain that he ran back in after being told not to). I'd find out about it from some other parent, or child, or the evening news, or maybe even my son. But let's say he, oh, I don't know, calls the teacher a boogerhead? We get instant calls from the principal on my husband and my cell and home and work phones. It's an emergency! Drop everything! Your son called the teacher a boogerhead! (Oh, man. I'm sorry, but I think that's kind of funny.) At this point we are expected to DO SOMETHING. Do something! Right now! Give him a lecture! Make him change! (If he ever breaks his leg at school, I'm in trouble, because when my caller ID lights up with the school number now, I just roll my eyes and think, "Good lord, what's the crisis now? Did he giggle in class again?")

Recently, we stopped by the home of a neighbor to drop off a gift for her new baby. When we were invited in, I knew we were in trouble. The polite thing to do (I think. I'm not great with etiquette, but that's another post) would be to go in when invited and see the baby, and my daughter was dying to go in. My son, however, had no interest. So, I did what I usually do in such situations: ignore social norms and do what works for us. I left my son outside and went in with my daughter to see the baby. He ran around in circles and hopped up and down outside while we ooed and ahed.

Our neighbor offered us snacks, which my daughter, never one to turn down tasty looking treats, happily accepted. I went to the door to see if my son was comfortable enough to come in now. He was. And we confronted what is always our thorniest social situation: food. It's amazing how easy it is to overlook how integral food is to social situations unless you are someone or know someone who has difficulty eating. Food as a universal good is so ingrained in society that it positively shocks people to see it vehemently refused. They simply don't expect it. So, he refused, and I tried (as usual, unsuccessfully) to intervene, "No, thank you very much. He won't eat it. It's all right. He really doesn't want it. It's very kind of you, but please, please, don't even offer it." This is a scene that's been repeated many times over the years. I babble ineffectually over his screams of terror as the host or hostess pleasantly presses on, "Don't you want some? Look, cookies! Everyone likes cookies! Here, just try a little bit."

Having turned down the food, my son took to jumping off the furniture and then lying on the floor, refusing all polite offers of a chair by the baby's grandparents. Throughout, I tried to be patient and soothing to my son, who was clearly (to me) scared and uncomfortable. I asked him if he wanted to wait outside again, but he didn't. I told him he didn't have to sit on a chair, but that other people really don't appreciate having their furniture jumped off. I told him I knew he was nervous and anxious about being someplace new (we'd never been in the neighbors' house before), around new people (he'd never met the grandparents before and rarely saw the new mom). I told the grandparents and the new mom that my son got very nervous around new people and in new situations, and that this was the way he acted when he was scared and nervous. And then, as he was rolling peacefully on the floor and I was chatting while waiting for my daughter to finish her snack, the most extraordinary thing happened. The mom turned to me and said, "I really liked the way you handled that situation."

I wanted to kiss her. Really? My son wouldn't come in to your house and then came in stood on your couch and jumped off your furniture and rolled on your floor and frowned and grunted at you when you offered him food. And I didn't DO SOMETHING. I just told him that I understood, and told you that he was nervous, and that was admirable? In seven years, with two kids, no relative stranger has ever told me I'm doing a good job with my kids. They've stared and frowned, and told me a lot about how I'm doing it wrong. But no one has ever seen a little snapshot like that and told me I'm doing it right.

I felt so relieved, like the weight of the world's expectations and judgments had been lifted from me. Those things don't always bother me, but I'm always conscious of them; I still carry them and feel their weight. How nice to have that weight lifted for the space of a snack and a visit with neighbors.

• My friend, Ellen, whom I thought of on her birthday but neglected to call or e-mail. Um, happy belated birthday on my blog, if you are reading. (How lame is that?) I thought of her tonight because I was eating cookie dough ice cream straight from the carton. Back in college, Ellen taught me it worked better if you ate it with a fork, so you could rake out and enjoy all the cookie dough, maximizing your eating pleasure.

• How much I wanted to massage the knots out of my husband's neck and shoulders tonight. He fell asleep putting the kids to bed and is out for the night, meaning we didn't get our post-kids-in-bed time together. There is a bottle of lavender massage oil on my bedside table, taunting me.
• My nice clean bathroom. It helps to have a visitor in town who will play with the kids while I get work done around the house.
• The condolence card and (separately) the home video DVD we thoughtfully received from a friend and how much I appreciate that friendship.
• How I need to come up with some new tags and topics to make my ads more interesting.
• How much I want to find time and privacy to sit down and write a real blog post!

I'm trying to avoid thinking about...

• The thousand and one things on my to do list: thank you notes, returning a phone call from a friend, putting away the laundry, getting an oil change for my car, etc.

• The complaints I have been getting from my son's school about his behavior. I'm frustrated with the school and a bit at a loss as to how to handle both the school and what to do with my son.
• My husband's addiction. My mind is not quite where it ought to be. I've slipped into seeing things from inside the Matrix occasionally, instead of staying outside where I have been for the past few years. I feel like I'm looking at my finger in a glass of water and thinking it looks broken. I can see the warp, I know where it's coming from, but I can't make my mind see the finger as whole yet.

After a summer filled with down time, and work with one of the world's great amateur behaviorists and OTs (yes, me), my son and I worked out a solution to his problem. He started the school year and has made rapid progress in his former problem area, to the point where he no longer requires assistance. Thanks for nothing, school district.

Of course, a new problem has cropped up in a different subject. I received a note last week from his teacher stating that she was sending his classroom work home for me to finish with him, as he had not been doing his work but had been "fooling around" and "wasting time." I (very calmly) wrote back and said I'd be happy to help him at home, but shouldn't we, oh, I don't know, find out why he wasn't doing his work in class and figure out how to address it? She wrote back and very tersely said that any suggestions would be appreciated.

What?! Um, unless I'm mistaken, she's the teacher. She's the one with the degree. She's the one with the actual training in working with kids with special needs. She's the one whose job it is to figure out how to engage kids in learning and how to ensure that they behave themselves in class. Oh, and lest you say she's overworked and underpaid (which she is). She's also the one who was such a big expert, so perfectly capable of handling my son's needs herself, that she adamantly and repeatedly stated that she didn't need or want to bring in an outside specialist to help her with my son last year. But my unpaid, inexpert labor, under her direction, is, of course, always welcome.

So, I sat down with my son for 10 minutes, quickly determined what particular obsessions were preventing him from doing the work, thought up several ways in which we could break the task down into more manageable components for him and got him to finish the work. I wrote the teacher a note with my suggestions on getting him to complete the work in the classroom, put the completed work in his backpack and haven't heard back from her since. And to top it all off, that important classroom work we did hasn't been removed from his backpack all week; each day, it comes back home to me a little more crumpled and worse for wear, because nobody has bothered to take it out and look at it.

This year, I am going to try something new. I am done with threatening to sue. I am done with going into debt to pay for representation to force the school district to bring in someone with even more "expertise" to help in the classroom. From now on, I'm going to be a bitch in a new way. I'm going to tell the teachers how to do their jobs. I'm going to teach them all the amateur OT and behavioral techniques I've painstakingly learned through the last six years. I'm going to share the knowledge and share the wealth and maybe, just maybe, one day they'll be able to DO THEIR FUCKING JOBS! If not, I'll at least have saved some money, stayed out of blood pressure raising IEP meetings and ended up no worse off in terms of the education my son is receiving.