Not quirky enough

A few weeks ago, I wrote about my reservations regarding Robbie's upcoming school conference and how I worried that he would be saddled with some label that he doesn't deserve. That conference was postponed by a snowstorm. Then my frolicking travel schedule got in the way of re-scheduling. Today, we finally met to discuss my little cub.

I arrived at school feeling nervous and defensive, fearful that these professionals who'd only spent 30 minutes or so with my son would try to tell me something that I knew was not right. So I said a little prayer, asking God to help me remember that we were all there to look out for what is best for Robbie and what we can do to help him be successful in school.

As we went around the table and each evaluator had her say, I heard a lot of what I already know. "Difficulty attending to tasks." "Does better in one-one-one situations." "Likes the attention of being the class clown."

Some things were shared surprised me, including that he is within acceptable limits in language expression and comprehension. We all got a chuckle when the director of the school resource center said that when Robbie is working with a resource teacher and is asked if he is working hard, he answers honestly.

"Robbie, are you working hard?"

"No. Not really," replies my truthful George Washington.

His most significant deficits are in the area of fine motor skills, though the occupational therapist indicated he might need some work on his core strength. She recommended that he receive OT services.

"Ok," I thought. "That's a start."

But not so fast. Turns out that occupational therapy is considered a "related" service and is only available to students who qualify for academically-linked services. Apparently, fine motor control -- which you need for coloring, writing, and cutting among other things -- is not considered critical to academic success.

So we continued the discussion and went through an "Autism Spectrum Checklist," which he "passed," indicating he does not have enough characteristics on the autism spectrum to qualify for services through the school.

And suddenly, I found myself at once both thankful and frustrated. Thankful that he does not fall onto that spectrum (which was confirmed by another evaluation by the children's hospital last year) and frustrated that, despite the clear recommendations that he needs some level of service and intervention, he isn't "quirky enough" (my words) to qualify for it. Actually what the evaluators said is that our state guidelines don't include services for kids with sensory processing disorder. Anyone have the energy to take on that legislative agenda?

My hopefulness that the conference would lead us to some useful services for him evaporated right in front of my eyes. That's the point at which I started crying, which just made me mad. I had promised myself I wouldn't do that.

The conference ended ok. The resource director said they would start implementing some of the evaluators' recommendations. The occupational therapist offered to meet with us separately to give us some suggestions of how to work with him at home. But I couldn't help but feel disappointed and, quite frankly, emotionally exhausted.

Of course we'll investigate other avenues for assistance, although going through the school would have been easier on our schedule and cheaper. But you can bet we'll do whatever we need to for our quirky little cub.