EYE EEE PEE
So, since Crash was four he has had an Individualized Education Program (IEP). It is a legal document that follows him wherever he goes, stipulating what he needs services for, and what those services will be, and what kinds of issues he has, and how the school will meet his needs. These parts are kinda groovy, no? .
Well, but: there are also some parts where the various professionals who work with Crash determine appropriate goals for Crash, and establish the guidelines by which we determine these goals are met. This is where the IEP gets very wonky.
So, my precious angel-child sometimes leaves his desk and wanders around the classroom. In IEP terms, Crash now has a goal to stay appropriately seated in his desk 80% of the time. I read this, blink over the vaguely Trekkian split infinitive, and then try to parse out what the sweet feathery Jesus this all means.
So, Crash needs to park his ass. Appropriately. What if he sits in his desk insouciantly? Or ironically? What if he sits appropriately 75% of the time, but then 5% of the time his ass is just a little cheeky?
Another one of Crash's goals, as I recall, was to refrain from inappropriately affectionate acts. You may imagine the eyebrow I popped when I read this about my then third-grader. You may imagine my discussion with Crash's teacher; or you can read the gist here: "Has Crash been touching someone inappropriately, omg, omg, please say no."
Teacher: "Calm down. Seriously. Actually there is a kindergarten student who just loves Calvin, and she keeps hugging him, and we are trying to get her to stop and trying to get Crash to tell her no . . . "
me: "Totally new rant, because my child is not engaging in inappropriate acts, he is ENDURING THEM, you assholes."
These are the kinds of things I deal with regarding the Eye Eee Pee. These documents are valuable and can be used for good, and at the exact same time, can be an incredible stress and pure fucking evil.
Well, but: there are also some parts where the various professionals who work with Crash determine appropriate goals for Crash, and establish the guidelines by which we determine these goals are met. This is where the IEP gets very wonky.
So, my precious angel-child sometimes leaves his desk and wanders around the classroom. In IEP terms, Crash now has a goal to stay appropriately seated in his desk 80% of the time. I read this, blink over the vaguely Trekkian split infinitive, and then try to parse out what the sweet feathery Jesus this all means.
So, Crash needs to park his ass. Appropriately. What if he sits in his desk insouciantly? Or ironically? What if he sits appropriately 75% of the time, but then 5% of the time his ass is just a little cheeky?
Another one of Crash's goals, as I recall, was to refrain from inappropriately affectionate acts. You may imagine the eyebrow I popped when I read this about my then third-grader. You may imagine my discussion with Crash's teacher; or you can read the gist here: "Has Crash been touching someone inappropriately, omg, omg, please say no."
Teacher: "Calm down. Seriously. Actually there is a kindergarten student who just loves Calvin, and she keeps hugging him, and we are trying to get her to stop and trying to get Crash to tell her no . . . "
me: "Totally new rant, because my child is not engaging in inappropriate acts, he is ENDURING THEM, you assholes."
These are the kinds of things I deal with regarding the Eye Eee Pee. These documents are valuable and can be used for good, and at the exact same time, can be an incredible stress and pure fucking evil.