Sunday, September 5, 2010
I'm not going to throw up.
My baby is starting kindergarten on Wednesday. It's Sunday night and I still don't know what time school starts on Wednesday, or what time the bus will pick him up. I don't have a school supply list.
He's three weeks shy of his fifth birthday, he has the pragmatic language and social skills of a three-year-old, and he's going to kindergarten.
All I know is he will be in a class of eight children with autism, taught by Mrs. J, her two assistants, and a battery of therapists. Up until this week, that has been my sole concern: to secure his place in the most supportive possible environment, with as much assistance as our school district can provide. But now, all those practical details, like when the hell he's supposed to show up, seem pressing, and I'm a little surprised how much work it seems to be to find the simple answers I need. I guess I'll be making a few phone calls on Tuesday.
Ryan attended three different preschools, and I was able to walk him into each of them a day or so before school started to help his transition. This time, there's no comfy-cozy buffer period provided (though we might show up at the school unannounced on Tuesday, just to check it out). I don't know who I'm handing my son off to, and he does not have the language to tell me about his day after the fact. I have to rely on his new teachers to write notes home, or I have to interpret any new and unusual behaviors as possible reactions to whatever happened at school.
I'm not going to throw up. I'm not going to throw up...