Last week I ranted about a little one who was sobbing for her mother, and the apparent unconcern of the professional adult standing watching her.Common Sense I turned around from the computer, and there was adult, grinning, holding child, tears streaming down her face, by the hand. "The teacher doesn't want her in the classroom; she broke the teacher's glasses," the adult mouthed to me, pointing at child. I held out my arms, and the child ran into them, sobbing against my chest. I motioned for the adult to leave. She did, mouthing again that the child couldn't return to the classroom. "You're very sad," I said. She nodded. "And angry," I said. She nodded, burying her head deeper into my front. I held her, stroking her head, crooning, "So sad, so sad." A little bit later, she sniffled, "I want my Mommy." "I know," I said, "You miss your mommy when you are sad." She nodded, sniffling into my shirt, which was now very damp with tears and other fluids. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" I asked gently. She shook her head. She stayed against my chest, no longer crying, just occasionally sniffling. "What is your class doing now?" I asked as casually as I could. "Clean-up," says she, lifting her head to look at me. "What happens then?" I asked. "We wash our hands and have lunch," she told me. "Oh," I said. A couple minutes went by; she was just leaning on me now. "Would you like to blow your nose?" I offered her a tissue. She blew noisily. "I want to go back now," she said. We stopped at the bathroom so that we could wash our hands. In the classroom, I stayed with her while the others went to the bathroom to wash hands for lunch. I sat at the table with her while she ate, until I had to leave for another meeting with another teacher and another difficult child. I told the aid to come get me if she needed to. The child smiled and said "Bye" and I left the room. During our meeting later, with mom, the program manager (who is also the disabilities manager), the disabilities advisor, the adult mentioned at the beginning of this long treatise, the teacher and assistant, and me, the "broken glasses" turned out to be just the chain that holds them around her neck. The teacher just couldn't see that this child has deep emotional needs that must be met. She was more interested in punishment, or rather, finding a quick-and-dirty answer. Our mental health consultant joined us, with mom's permission, and the discussion generally was positive. We came up with some practical solutions that address the teacher's concerns about the child hurting others when she is offtask, but also try to meet the child's needs. Mom seemed to be satisfied. But I wonder about the other adult and the teacher; can they let go of their need for control to try to provide the safe environment the little girl needs? I don't know. But I DO know that the program manager will see to it that the plan is carried out. So, for the moment, I feel better about it. But tired to the bone. Oh, and the program manager is going to provide some special training for the family advocates that includes sensitivity to special needs children. Manditory.
7:10 PM
My, I'm tired tonight! I've been yawning...you know, those huge yawns where your jaw doesn't open far enough to get the oxygen you need...since about 2:30 this afternoon. My eyes are blurry without my glasses, and my neck hurts when I put the glasses on (I have to look through the bottom of my bifocals). I want to go to bed, but I have dishes to do and I MUST think about what I'm packing tomorrow. Too many heavy people problems today, I think.
Well, today, when I was trying to get caught up on the computer after two days out of the office, this same adult brought the same child into my office.
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