Parenting can be such a roller coaster.  Like the extreme kind that takes you around twists and turns at 100 miles an hour followed by a slow climb just to drop you 75 feet with zero notice.

We’re struggling right now with Max using hitting as a way to express frustration and communicate when he doesn’t understand what’s expected of him.  With a lack of verbal communication and a long journey to learning a complex communication device, I totally get why he’s frustrated.  I’m frustrated with him.

He’s also four and a half and is asserting his independence anywhere he can.  That part is very age appropriate. And let’s not forget that he had brian surgery six months ago to relieve pressure in his head caused by a Chiari 1 Malformation and is learning about life without headaches.

His hitting increased at school about a month ago, but so did the demands being placed on him.  He had a really great start to the year.  There were very few days where he cried at drop-off (maybe only one) and most days he walked right to his classroom to begin his morning routine.

I was starting to receive feedback almost daily about his hitting and kicking and general resistance to being engaged.  After a conversation with one of his teachers the week of parent/teacher conferences I felt especially defeated.  He is a very unique learner – very curious, routine-oriented and adept at facilitating his own learning.  In many ways, he’s very “Montessori” in the way that he plays and learns which generally works for him.  However, he also doesn’t fit the “typical” mold of that teaching philosophy, making it awfully tricky to figure out just where he “fits.”

Our conferences informed us that he was hitting more, wasn’t particularly interested in using his talker at school, was interacting with materials that weren’t intended for him, and repeatedly leaving the classroom unattended (we’re talking about a four year old walking down three flights of stairs, past the front door that leads to a busy street solo). While it wasn’t directly said, what I heard was that he wasn’t a good fit for that environment.   I left the conversation reeling. 

And in the matter of thirty minutes, this was my stream of thought… 

“How do we make this work better for him? Do we request a review/revise of his IEP to increase his time in the special education setting and less time in a classroom with 30 kids?”

“I’m not convinced our district is equipped to create a learning environment that is optimal for the way Max learns.  We’re clinging to individual teachers who seem to “get” him but is that sustainable?”

“Can we open enroll him to the district Mike works in so by high school they’ll be at the same school?” “That doesn’t really help us now.”

“Maybe we should open enroll him to the district 70 miles from here where a dear family friend will be working next year.  With all of her experience supporting kids with unique needs, that could be a great option for him.” 

“I’m just going to home school him.  We have such a short window of time before school becomes negative and once that happens, we won’t get him back in any building.  He learns best in the pool and in nature.  We could base our learning in environments that eliminate the stimulation created by 30 other kids in a class.  That would be better.”

“Why are we forcing this?  He is 4.  He doesn’t legally need to be in school right now!  We could power through and work really hard to get him what he needs, but at what cost?”

And then before I realized it, I was crying out of feeling overwhelmed and frustrated.  But also the unexpected reminder that our little guy isn’t a traditional learner and most definitely does not fit neatly into a traditional education system…. WHICH I would argue isn’t necessarily set up for most kids to succeed.

The next day, still deep in thought, I saw this beautiful tree standing out among the brush adorning the hill where it appeared.  Gosh, what a metaphor for our sweet babe.  He’s unapologetically bright, brilliant and bold. He doesn’t fit neatly in a mold because he always has and always will do things in a way that works for him.  He’s not like anyone around him and certainly doesn’t blend in – that in itself is a gift.

Mike and I had a long chat.  Initially we didn’t arrive at a guaranteed plan moving forward, but definitely weighed the pros and cons of each of my thoughts above along with others.  The overall theme of our conversation was the fact that our baby is never going to be a traditional learner, he won’t be a traditional anything.  And for that we’re grateful.  Watching him grow and evolve is one of our greatest joys.  It just gets hard when we encounter systems that weren’t set-up to help kids like Max thrive.

We had a review/revise meeting scheduled for the Tuesday following conferences.  My aunt was going to observe Max in the school setting in the morning and join us with her expertise for the meeting.  We were going to give the new plan until Christmas and then decide if we’d keep him in school or pull him out at semester.  But by the day after conferences, after several conversations, we ultimately decided that a new plan in the existing system still wouldn’t give him the support he needed to thrive in the way we know he can.  So we made calls that evening and the following day was his last.

I trusted my gut.  All along it was telling me that we needed to pull him, to do a hard reset and set-up things at home in a way that help him strengthen the neuro pathways that support his verbal communication.  There were voices telling us to wait, to give it time, etc.  But we knew that while we had many things – time wasn’t one of them.  We couldn’t risk school becoming a negative situation for Max, as that could have terrible implications for him down the line.

I’m reminded that sometimes as parents we feel content and satisfied with how our kids are being nurtured and developed when they’re not with us.  And then in a matter of days or weeks all of that can change – no matter how much we respect and appreciate the other adults in their lives.

There are so many growing pains that come along with raising kids, especially those that have specific needs.  The longer we’re on this journey, the more I’m learning to trust my instincts and use the resources we have in order to ensure the best possible outcomes for both of our kids. Sometimes that means challenging the systems in place.  Sometimes that means having really difficult conversations.  And sometimes it means acknowledging when something just simply isn’t working and fighting like hell to figure out what will.  

I have a special education background and a lot of flexibility in my job.  I know that positions us differently than many other families.  I’m not at all suggesting that if school isn’t working for your child you should immediately pull them out, nor am I suggesting that figuring out how to do school at home is the only solution.  What I’m emphasizing is the importance of being your child’s advocate, sticking up for your family and challenging existing systems that are old and antiquated and quite frankly ineffective for so many of our kids.  

If you had asked me even a year ago if we’d be doing school at home for Max, I would’ve told you probably not.  But here we are.  I’m fumbling my way through the first two weeks with library story times, trips to the zoo and nature centers and creating organic learning experiences for Max wherever I can. But I’ll tell you that I haven’t had a single moment of regret.

Is it easy?  Absolutely not.  But it’s rewarding and a joy to be able to follow his lead even when it’s hard.  I’m getting even more insight into who he is as a learner and trying to tweak the way we do things to meet him where he is.  That way, if at some point he re-enters the traditional school setting, I’ll have even more of a road map to help set both Max and his educators up for success.

For now, as we navigate uncharted waters, I’ll continue to trust my gut.  It’s the brightest, most reliable guiding light we have on this path that often feels dark and unfamiliar.