Orientation Night

August 4, 2006 at 7:15 am (Crazy Kids, Good Deal)

You may remember me mentioning that my newly-three-year-old daughter had been accepted into the Public Preschool for Children with Disabilities.  Although Rosie has no physical disability, there is a large delay in her speech and behavior, and consequently, she needs intensive therapy.  School officially begins on August 14, and tonight was the only night for Orientation.  I learned about it, um, YESTERDAY.  Praise God for my mother-in-law, who agreed to keep my older daughters for an hour while Rosie and I went to check out her new school.  I was the first parent there – please don’t have a heart attack from not surprise. Rosie’s teachers were the same women who evaluated her last May.  They were astounded by how much Rosie has matured over the summer, plus how much more she is actually saying.  I have to give at least some credit to her big sisters, who no longer ‘translate’, then give her what they think it is that Rosie wants.  I’ve trained Halie (7) and Catie (5), to tell Rosie the word that they thought they heard her say, and to try to get her to say the word again, as practice.  As a result, Rosie is speaking more slowly and more clearly than she was in May.  Woo-hoo!! I was instructed to leave Rosie with her teachers (yep. there’s four of them) and head down the hall to another room to the orientation.  The parents got the 4-1-1 on the whole schedule for our kids, then we were instructed to fill out some forms for the district.  Since I filled out those papers back in May, I was told that I could go and pick up my daughter.   I walked up to the classroom door and peered through the small window in the top.  I saw Rosie, who has been at home with me since birth, who I expected to grasp at me desperately as I dropped her off, happliy playing with her four year old classmates.  My heart caught in my throat as I backed away from the door and sat down on the hallway floor and let a tear slip down my cheek.  I was certain I had at least two more years, I thought. When I actually went into the classroom to pick my daughter up, she refused to even acknowlege that I was in the room.  Gah!  I let her continue to play (ie: ignore my presence) while I talked to the teachers (did I mention that there are FOUR for 15-20 kids?).  When it was time to get going, I picked Rosie up and headed toward the door.  Of course, my daughter was having NONE of it. As she kicked me, hit me, and screamed bloody murder, one of the teachers said, “Rosie is a happy, satisfied customer!”  Instead of being embarassed by my little girl’s display, I was comforted, knowing that I’m leaving her in the right place to get some help.  Ten days to go!