Talkin' I.E.P. (Ya You Know Me!)

I'm quite proud of myself. Quite proud indeed.

This morning April and I attended an "I.E.P" meeting at Michael's school and I didn't cry or yell at anyone or anything. It appears I'm actually maturing in my old age. Or at least beginning to resemble a "grownup."

So hats off to me! Get Pops a medal!

These annual I.E.P., or Individualized Education Program (yes, I had to look this up), meetings always wreak havoc on my already sensitive parenting confidence. April and I sit around a conference table in a cold and sterile room with Michael's teacher, his two therapists, the school special education teacher, the school nurse and the principal for a little heartfelt "chat." Each specialist delivers a five to 10 minute "presentation" outlining their accomplishments with Michael, their struggles with Michael and their basic plan for his future. They might mention a few of Michael's strengths, but the core of the presentation revolves around his weaknesses.

This is perfectly understandable when approached with a rational mind. Of course they are going to concentrate on his weaker areas. Their job is to pinpoint them and work toward improvement. That is what therapy is all about. It all makes sense, as long as you approach this rationally.

Unfortunately, my mind is far from rational (as I'm sure you already know). When they say things like, "Michael has been struggling with his handwriting and still needs to learn the proper way to grip a pencil," my mind doesn't exactly process this correctly.

Instead my mind hears, "YOU ARE A HORRIBLE PARENT! A DISGRACE TO THE HUMAN RACE! I CAN'T BELIEVE MICHAEL CAN EVEN WALK, LET ALONE WRITE WITH YOU AS HIS MENTOR. YOU DISGUST ME!!!"

So a few minor details get lost in translation. And I may react a wee-bit irrationally on occasion at these meetings.

But for some reason this meeting was different. I found myself actually hearing their comments without any colorful editing. I actually heard these comments and, gulp, they actually made sense. I agreed with them.

Lord help me, I agreed with them.

I also found myself glancing around the table and realizing something. These people REALLY care about Michael. They've fallen for his charms just like I have. They're cheering for him just like I am. They just happen to be smart and know that they're doing, so they've got an advantage over dear old Dad.

There are times in life when you can really feel positive, loving energy overtake a room. And boy that conference room was absolutely overflowing with it this morning. For the first time in a while I didn't feel alone and overwhelmed. I realized I've got allies here. Experts on the front lines that love Michael and are working hard for his future.

I am truly grateful for this experience. I know without a doubt that Michael is growing and thriving in kindergarten. I have full confidence that my little superstar will continue thriving next year and beyond.

Thanks to a little help from our friends.

Here's to Daddys acting mature and stuff, aye kiddies?