I usually enjoy going to church, it is a place of renewal, encouragement, and support. Nonetheless, there have been times in life when I would like to pull away and do my own thing, but I can’t because I am a pastor’s wife. So I have dragged my children to church after having a rotten morning, put on my happy face and answered, “Good!” with a big smile when people ask, “How are you this morning?” Because I know people don’t really care, it has been years since someone stopped me at church and asked, “How are you really doing?” As a matter of fact, this has only happened once in my ten years in ministry.

It happened three years ago, we had been home for only a couple of months after adopting Nina. I left church early, and had the girls buckled in the car when my dear friends approached me in the parking lot.

“Ellen, we are worried about you. How are you really doing?”

I couldn’t even answer them. I broke down and began sobbing; I literally fell into their arms and cried and cried. I was not doing well at all emotionally. They helped me come up with a plan where I could do some self-care and ways they could help our family along with our “adoptive grandparents.” That was God lifting me up through other people.

Ministry can be extremely rewarding, but it can also be hard. When  I don’t like church, it is because of several reasons:

• The lack of authentic relationships. Sometimes, it feels like there is a lot of pretending at church – like we all had it figured out. Well, I don’t!

•  The pressure of being the perfect wife, mom, and Bible Study Leader extraordinaire. I might be a pastor’s wife, but I am a person facing the same struggles and challenges all women face. Some people find it uncomfortable when the pastor’s wife admits to shortcomings.

•  Doing it all. I have certain gifts and passions, but when I become the designated leader of whatever ministry needs to be filled, I minister outside of my gifting and I feel emotionally drained.

•  People that don’t like my husband or his choices. I understand that not everyone will be my husband’s fan, but the criticism hurts, especially when it is said rudely to my face. Or when people make assumptions with no willingness to talk things through.

• The lack of support as a wife, mom, and special needs mom. Maybe we are supposed  to have it all together – being a pastor’s family – and maybe people assume we don’t need help. We do.

•  If I am not doing well emotionally or spiritually, it is difficult to attend church. I am a broken person with much need for grace and mercy like everyone else. I have a big and amazing God that carries me through these times and holds me in his arms while I wrestle, and question, and cry.

You might not be a pastor’s wife, but maybe you can identify with me. There is no perfect church, perfect family, or perfect people. So for now, I hold on to the promise that even through the hard times in ministry, God is good. And good doesn’t mean easy, it means that God has it all figured out, and I need to trust in Him alone.

Photo courtesy of worradmu/freedigitalphotos.net

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“No, this is the perfect speed for me too babes, this way we can be really careful when we cross the streets.”

Ellie learned to ride her bike without training wheels a few weeks ago. She is now ready to go on longer trips, so I am taking her to a little deli close to our house to get a chocolate malt. It is a beautiful day. The sun is high, it is warm, but there is a gentle breeze.

At the deli we get Ellie’s chocolate malt. We sit outside, the deli has cute little tables for their costumers to enjoy the outdoors. Ellie picks the one with the “Pepsi” sign printed on the large umbrella.

As we ride back, we pass two girls on a tree. It is hard to see them as they hide between the branches and the lush leaves.

“Can we get some boards on our tree so we can climb it?” Ellie asks.

“Yeah, maybe daddy can do that for you, it would be fun!”

We stop by our neighbor’s house – a Mexican family – and Ellie plays with their little boy while I visit with my friend in her back porch.

We say goodbye and we head back home.

This bike ride with my daughter will be a memory I will treasure for a long time. She is growing up so fast, and I want to create lasting and meaningful memories with her, mom and I used to ride our bikes and get a treat on Sunday evenings. Maybe from this day she will remember the little girls hiding in the tree as we rode by and how fun it looked, or the taste of the chocolate malt while she looked at me with her bright blue eyes. Maybe she will remember the love between us.

“Mom, can we do this every Sunday?” She asks.

“I hope so babes, I hope we do this for as long as we can.”

Join the writing prompt community, this week we are writing about: A bike ride.

1. Link up your specific post.

2. Link back to this post!

3. Visit at least the person that linked-up before you and leave an encouraging comment.

Looking forward to reading your words!

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“Wait! Nina wait!”

I take off running after my daughter.

“I said wait!”

I can hear her giggles, and she has no intention to stop. On the contrary, she runs faster, so I also have to pick up my pace.

We are attending a school field trip, and she stops running when she reaches her friends who wait for us by a large green wagon the farm let us borrow.

When we arrived at the farm, one of the owners approached us and asked if it would be helpful for us to borrow one of their wagons. I was thankful for the offer, as we quickly realized that the terrain was not ideal for my daughter’s walker. I got Nina in the wagon, then I folded up her walker and put it in there, along with my backpack full of water bottles for our little group. The wagon saved her from exhaustion, as there is no way Nina could have walked around the farm for four hours.

Thanks to her fancy ride, when she got down to play she had energy. Enough energy to take off running! She might have an awkward gait, and her knees clank together with every jumpy step, but nonetheless this girl can run and cerebral palsy won’t stop her.

“You little rascal!” I say as I catch up to her just as she falls down besides the wagon in a fit of giggles.

I am laughing too, she is amazing! Once, we thought she would never be able to walk independently, now she is running and her walker is neatly folded up. Thank-you-very-much.

I am blogging over at Not Alone, to keep reading, click here.

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“It is a small town.”  I replied

“No, this is a city, right there on that sign it says there are over 400,000 people living here.”

My husband Andy – then just my boyfriend – had traveled with us to Mexico to visit family.

“Believe me, it has a small town feel.”

He started laughing.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No.” he answered, “But I suppose we have different perspectives about small towns and big cities.”

“I suppose, but if you had been raised in Mexico City, with 22 million people, this would feel like a small town.”

Andy was born in a for-real small town in Wyoming, barely 1,500 people. I was born in Mexico City. He grew up attending public school; I grew up attending private schools. He was raised away from his extended family because of the nature of his dad’s job (he is a pastor too, and where God sends you, you go); I grew up surrounded by my extended family, and Sunday dinners at my grandma’s house. He grew up speaking English; I grew up speaking Spanish. He grew up in a place where you can trust people; I grew up holding on tight to my mom’s hand because even at a young age I knew there were bad people that stole little girls, hurt you, or tried to steal your money.

Even the difference in our mom’s responsibilities was different. My mom had help at the house, someone that took care of the cleaning, cooking, and laundry. My mother-in-law did it all on her own, (and she did it well, I could really learn from her).

When Andy and I got married, we were not only two different individuals, we also came from two different cultures. Sometimes, this means we have different perspectives about life, family, and parenting.

But we are in the same team.

We talk, we look at options, we try to understand each other’s perspectives (sometimes more successfully than other times). Sometimes we compromise, and sometimes we get creative and come up with our own solutions, looking at our own little family and what works for us.

And doing life with this man is an honor, even though there are challenges, and even though sometimes we have different perspectives. It has not always been easy, but it has been good, and God has been guiding us all along.

So as challenges come our ways, and while we might approach those from different perspectives, I know that in the end we will come together, because we are in the same team.

Join the writing prompt community, this week we are writing about: Different perspectives.

1. Link up your specific post.

2. Link back to this post!

3. Visit at least the person that linked-up before you and leave an encouraging comment.

Looking forward to reading your words!

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My grandma and grandpa on their wedding day

Mami and I sing together in the car. We have our special and favorite songs. She is the only one that never criticizes my singing. I feel so free, so accomplished. I love our car rides together.

Once, Mami gets pulled over. The officer approaches the car and my grandmother smiles at the young officer, she asks flirtatiously, “Officer, you just wanted an excuse to talk to me didn’t you!”. He shakes his head with a smile and tells her to “be careful.” He too, has fallen to her charm. I understand, for I am under the same spell and will do anything for her.

Mami sings, performing on a large stage. She wears a long, velvety, maroon dress. A grand piano accompanies her in the background and a full house of spectators are gathered to hear her sing. She invites me up on stage and I hold on to her leg. I am so proud of her. And she is mine, my grandma.

We lay on her bed, playing “kitchen.” I think she has just as much fun as I do. I forget that she has a weak heart, and that she needs rest. We laugh together, and I offer to put on a play for her. I perform and she claps for me, she tells me it was the best act she has ever seen.

Sitting on a kitchen stool I watch as Mami separates the yoke from the white. One smooth motion as she cracks the egg and separates its contents. She pours the yoke into a small china cup and dumps a couple of teaspoons of sugar and hands it to me. I enjoy the sweet treat while she continues to bake. Later, we make flour tortillas together. We like to spread butter and sprinkle sugar on them. It is our weekend tradition.

My parents say I am being disobedient. She asks, “Ellen, won’t you do that for me?” I do. I do it for her, no questions asks.

As I grow up, I enjoy talking to Mami about life. I want to know what she thinks; I want her advice. She listens, she asks questions, and then I lay down with her as we watch a Mexican soap. She needs some rest, but her presence is peaceful, comfortable, and familiar. She has always been there for me.

Mami greets my husband, Andy, with a hug and a kiss. She tells him, “Pero que guapo eres mi chulo!” Andy understands some Spanish and loves that she calls him handsome. She says she is proud of me, of how I have lived my life. I want her to be proud.

Mami sits on a chair looking outside her window, watching as birds fly by. She holds a rosary in her hands and her lips move in silent prayer. I know she woke up early and has been praying for her family, for me, my husband, my girls. She has always prayed.

I still needed her when she closed her eyes for the last time. Yet I can imagine the celebration of her homecoming in Heaven. I can close my eyes and picture her hazel eyes sparkling as she met Jesus face to face. Her heart, always weak, has now been restored.

But I miss her. Oh how I miss her. I wish you would have met her. You too, would have fallen to her charm.

Mami singing while my uncle accompanies her at the piano

Three women have made me who I am today: my mother, my aunt, and my grandmother. Being from a Latin culture, these women raised me, loved me, and invested in me. Two of them I still get to hold. But my grandmother has gone ahead of us. Happy mother’s day Mami, oh how I miss you!

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As we walked the streets of Kiev, browsing the stores, waiting for the adoption documents to be completed, I welcomed these gestures from strangers in the city. They did not know my makeshift “sling” was a banner of hope. The promise of a future. I was giving my daughter the little I could give her at that time. I was giving her my legs.

Really, their response seemed inconsequential when confronted with my daughter’s responses as she experienced the world for the first time. Her squeals of “machina” as cars drove by, the towering buildings that mesmerized her into a trance or the pleasure of choosing a candy bar at a store.

For almost four years, Nina lived in one room. A room where she slept, ate and played. Her life consisted of four walls. Even within those walls, she was confined due to her mobility. And while other children might have been taken outside to play occasionally, she was left behind.

The first time I visited Nina after a Ukrainian judge had pronounced her our daughter, I asked if I could take her outside. Other children played and walked around the orphanage grounds. I could see them through the window. I pointed at myself, then at Nina, then at the windowpane.

“Can we go outside?” I asked, knowing that it was the gestures they understood, not my words.

One of the workers looked at me in disbelief and shook her head, “Niet!” she responded in Russian.

“I want to take her outside,” I repeated firmly, while pointing at the window one more time.

A string of expressive words I did not understand followed along with hand motions. Her hands, constantly patting her legs and shaking her head. As if I didn’t know Nina had cerebral palsy and couldn’t walk. I quickly took out the cell phone and called my translator.

“Nadiya,” I said as she answered the phone. “I am visiting Nina and I want to take her outside. Could you please explain this to the worker? We are not communicating very well.”

I handed the phone to the worker, who was even more passionate on the phone. She handed it back after a short conversation.

“She says you cannot take Nina outside because she cannot walk,” Nadiya tells me.

“Tell them I will carry her,” I said, handing the phone back to the worker. The exchange was short, then the phone was handed back to me.

“She says it is too hard,” Nadiya continued, “She cannot be carried like a normal child.”

“Tell her I don’t care,” I replied.

“She says you don’t understand the situation.”

My daughter — denied of the pleasures of the outside world because of her disability. She had lived far too long in the world of “no.” Not anymore. Now, I would be her “yes.”

“Tell her she is my daughter,” I said firmly. “And I am taking her outside.”

The worker hung up and shoved the phone in my hands. Without making eye contact, she took Nina out of the wooden playpen, my daughter’s jail. She got her dressed in a snowsuit, which was not necessary. Nina stared into nothingness with a lost smile on her face. I could not tell if she was excited, or even aware of what was taking place.

I carried Nina and stepped outside, closely followed by the worker who motioned for me to stop. In seconds, she was back pushing an old, wobbly, metal stroller. She snatched Nina out of my arms and sat her in the buggy.

I had to forcefully push the stroller along the crooked path. After only a few minutes, I took Nina out of the stroller. It was impossible to maneuver along the uneven ground. I knew she could point and tell me where she wanted to go. As we walked around, she would look at me and smile. The reality of her life began to sink into my heart. Her world was so limited not only because of being an orphan, but because of her cerebral palsy. Nobody had been there to open up her world.

Nina had never had someone stand before a road, willing to explore, to walk, to be her legs. Nobody ever had, and in this place, nobody ever would. I asked myself, “Will I be her yes? When necessary, will I be her legs?” Emotion welled up inside me. It needed to come out, to be released. So I took off running. With Nina sitting awkwardly on my hip, we ran as fast as I could and for as long as I could. We ran and ran and ran.

There was pure joy on my daughter’s face. In that moment, she had legs, and in that moment, she could run. It was pure bliss.

A worker shook her head at us, her disapproval evident in her frown. But that day, disapproval was tossed away and my child felt the cold wind on her face and knew what it felt like to run. I would be her legs from that day on, I would be her yes. An orphan no more, Nina would run with her mama.

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Join the writing prompt community, this week we are writing about: Running.

1. Link up your specific post.

2. Link back to this post!

3. Visit at least the person that linked-up before you and leave an encouraging comment.

Looking forward to reading your words!

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Growing up scares me because I want my children to be successful. Maybe my kids have special needs and I am okay with that because they are young, and they are beautiful, and I see them spread love and joy to those around them.

On Wednesday, I took Nichole – my daughter with Down syndrome – to a follow up appointment with an ENT and to redo a hearing test. She hates getting her ears checked, but she did awesome at the hearing test. I was so proud of her. As we were exiting the clinic, a young man with Down syndrome was also ready to leave. He excitedly announced, “I go home now!” Then he turned to me and said, “I go home now!” I told him I was excited to go home too. I noticed he was beautiful…handsome, teenagers are handsome, not beautiful.

Then he turned to his dad and said, “I go home now!” and he began jumping and cheering.

This was my, I don’t want that to be us moment.

My daughter celebrates the same way this young man does. She jumps, she cheers, she claps her hands. As a matter of fact, our daughter has taught us what celebration looks and feels like. This girl can celebrate life! If she is happy or excited, she shows it. There is no holding back.

This young man was doing the same, celebrating the fact that he could go home. Then why was I so taken aback?

Because it is cute for my five year old to act this way, but it is not cute when you see a teenager do the same. When my daughter jumps and claps, people smile, it is endearing. But I saw the reactions of people in the waiting room when the young man cheered; it wasn’t cute. It was socially awkward. Younger kids seemed a little bit scared, including my daughter.

The young man’s dad smiled at his son, I saw his face, I saw the love. It was no different than mine.

Love is a powerful thing, because it allows us to see beauty in what others might label as odd, different, strange, even socially unacceptable.

I do not know what challenges this family has had. I do not know their journey. Perhaps just a few weeks ago their son lay in a hospital bed, and they wondered if he would make it. What a wonderful sight it would be to see him now, rejoicing, jumping, celebrating life! It is so easy to judge, to stare. Even for me, a special needs mom.

Maybe someday I will find myself much like the dad, taking in the joy for life I see in my child, even when others don’t see it.I know in many ways I already do. Because how could you squelch excitement for life? Could you really say, “Hey, stop being so happy!” Would denying my daughter to celebrate life go against her very nature? I don’t have the answers.

This day I wrestled with the question, will my kids be accepted by society when they grow up? And this is only one of the many questions I have.Where will they live? Where will they work?  Will they feel as if they have a meaningful life? So I take one day at a time, because I don’t know who my children will become as they grow up. I don’t know what challenges will come their way and I cannot live in fear of the future.

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Although I did not understand what the Lufthansa worker had announced in Russian, by the loud and exuberant responses from the Ukrainians, I knew it meant a delay in travel.  I had been gone from my family for seven weeks. I had missed Christmas by three days. Emotionally, I was not sure I could do another hour, let alone another day.

To my far left, I noticed a Lufthansa worker who walked purposely towards the service window. Somehow, I managed to squeeze through the crowd while pulling hard on my suitcase and kept a protective arm around Nina – who was in a trance – overwhelmed by the large crowds and the shouting.

“Excuse me!” I yelled towards the man. “Excuse me!”

The man acknowledged me and walked to meet just a few feet away from the yelling crowd.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

“Yes, how can I help you?” His English was polite and sounded well practiced.

“Can you tell me what the announcement was?”

“The airport is closed.”

My knees felt like buckling and panic threatened to overcome me.

“What…what do you mean the airport is closed?”

“Due to the snow storm the airport has been closed today.”

“What about my flight to Frankfurt?” I demanded.

“Your flight has been cancelled since the plane was not able to arrive today. Maybe tomorrow you will have better luck.” The man gave me a polite nod and turned toward the back door of the service desk.

“Wait!” I called after him, “What am I supposed to do!”

“You need to stand in line and wait for your turn so we can get you rescheduled for another flight.”

I watched him walk away.

The sting of tears burned my eyes while I willed them to stay away. Not now, I cannot lose it here.

Like a film in slow motion, I watched as the mob continued their shouts of complaints.  There were no lines, no order. It was survival of the fittest; whoever can push their way towards the window got served first. I was no stranger to crowds and pushing my way through, I was a tough girl raised in Mexico City. But I carried a child, a backpack, and a suitcase. Worse, my emotional stability was already so depleted I knew I would not be able to stand and fight the crowd.

I eyed a folding chair by the service window. I reached for the empty chair with my free hand and began dragging it towards the crowd of people. A man grabbed the chair and tried to pull it back to its empty corner.

“Niet” He said.

I was not going to lose my grip on the chair. “I am sorry, I did not realize this is your chair, but as you can see, I could really use it for a little bit”

“Niet!” he pulled again, more Ukrainian words followed. My legs were about to give out, I was emotionally spent, sweat now coming from my forehead and soaking my bangs.

“I need this chair.” I begged.

“Niet!”

I was going to cry, to break down in the middle of the airport and sob uncontrollably. I could feel it coming and I had to fight it.

“LISTEN TO ME!” I yelled so loud people were now looking our direction. “I am taking this chair and I am sitting on it. See this child I have here? She is disabled and I am about to pass out, so let go of this chair right now because I am going to sit on it!”

The man let go, rolled his eyes at me and made a mocking gesture of surrender. As I turned toward the crowd, dragging my suitcase and the chair, people stared. I was the loud and crazy American throwing a scene. I didn’t care.

I sat on my chair, as close to the service window as I could get it. I was shaking, my lip trembled.

Okay Lord, I am about to break down here. I cannot do this, I cannot do this anymore. I have nothing to give, I am completely empty.  I need you to step in and send me an angel. I need to know you have not abandoned me.

I could feel tears running down my cheeks as I looked up. People stared. They whispered and pointed. One woman stared so intently, I mumbled at her, “Please don’t stare at me.”

“Can you re-pit plis?” she asked.

“Never mind.” I turned away from her, wiping a tear with the back of my hand. I felt her hand on my shoulder.

“Plis, re-pit. What you sai? She asked.

I stared at the woman.

“I help you” She encouraged. “I no gud English but I help you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

We looked at each other in awkward silence. It would have been natural for her to turn away from me, instead, she kept looking at me. Finally, she pointed at Nina. “Tis your children?”

“Yes.”

“How old?”

“She is almost 4”

“What her name?”

“Nina”

“Nina! Beautiful name, Ukrainian! My name Svitlana”

“Hello Svitlana, I’m Ellen”

“Why you carry her like tis?” She asked pointing at my makeshift sling.

“She cannot walk. She has Cerebral Palsy”

“Ah!” Svitlana looked at me with understanding, then she gently patted Nina’s head “You pretty girl. Nice girl.”

“She doesn’t understand you.” I said

“Oh” She smiled gently at Nina and patted her head once more. I realized she had understood my statement to mean Nina had a mental delay.

“She only speaks Ukrainian, and I believe some Russian too.” I added.

Svitlana looked at me puzzled, “Tis not your children?”

“Yes. But I just adopted her.”

“You adopt her? Tis child? Wif Paralysis Cerebral?”

“Yes.”

Svitlana looked directly into my eyes. She gently nodded and stood tall, a hand placed on my shoulder once more. Because of my previous scene, people around us had been paying close attention to our exchange of words, so when Svitlana cleared her throat and began to speak to the people around us, they were listening. I knew she was speaking about me.

A man with a deep voice yelled out at me “Tenk you.” A young woman, her English crisp and lacking the strong Russian accent approached us and offered help. Svitlana used the opportunity to have someone translate for her, “Thank you, this woman says you have taken one of our children despite her disability…we hide them in institutions…we do not take care of them…we are ashamed…but you have saved one of our own and loved them in a way we never could… thank you.”

A person next to the service window called to me, “Plis, plis, you come. You be first.” The crowd nodded in agreement and moved to the side to let me through. I slowly rose from my chair. Svitlana quickly grabbed my suitcase “I help you.” She nodded toward the service window.

Sling without winter coats (how I carried Nina in Ukraine).

Svitlana stayed by my side for 2 days. She fed Nina, she changed her diapers, she sang lullabies, and rocked her to sleep.

Once in Frankfurt, it was time to say goodbye to Svitlana. I clung to her in a tight embrace as we both cried into each other’s arms.

“I know you will disappear as soon as I let go” I said to my new friend.

“Why dis-pir?”

“When I was sitting on that chair and you spoke to me, I had just prayed and asked God to send me an angel, and He sent you to me.”

“I no angel Ellen”

“Yes, yes you are my sweet friend, yes you are.”

P.S. Svitlana and I continue to have a friendship. We occasionally find time to Skype, and she is one of the most generous women I have met in my life.

You can also read more about Nina and I arriving home HERE.

Join the writing prompt community, this week we are writing about: Coming home.

1. Link up your specific post.

2. Link back to this post!

3. Visit at least the person that linked-up before you and leave an encouraging comment.

Looking forward to reading your words!

If you are new here, learn more about the writing prompt! We would love to have you join our writing/blogging community! You have till Monday morning to link your post.

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I want to share with you 5 simple tips that can help you as you prepare for your child’s IEP meeting.

    1. Make a list of goals you have for your child.

Ask yourself: “What do I hope my child will accomplish in the coming school year?”

Break it down into the different areas where your child will be receiving extra support, therapy, or special education modifications.

Remember, IEP goals are for school settings only. What does your child need in order to excel in an academic setting? I would love for Nichole to learn how to ride a tricycle, however, riding a tricycle is not necessary for academic achievement. Building leg strength and coordination, on the other hand, is important as children participate in Physical Education. Riding a tricycle might just be a great way to get her to achieve those goals.

Here are some examples I came up with before the IEP:

Speech: Nichole will be able to spontaneously use 3 word sentences.

Speech: Nichole will respond to “wh” questions: what, where, which, who

Fine motor: Nichole will independently cut a 6 inch wide piece of paper using adaptive scissors.

Fine motor: Nichole will trace her name with capital letters.

Gross motor: Nichole will climb safely on the playground equipment.

Gross motor: Nichole will demonstrate proper gait when running.

Social/emotional: Nichole will engage in dramatic play with a peer.

Social/ emotional: Nichole will take turns.

Academic: Nichole will rote count to 10 consistently.

Academic: Nichole will identify “on” “under” “besides” consistently.

The more specific you can be with your goals, the better!

  2.  Ask for a copy of your child’s IEP draft before the IEP meeting.

One of the reasons you might want a copy before hand is to deal with the emotional aspect of an IEP on your own, at home. I know how overwhelming it can be to read tests results and have your child’s delays “packaged” together in a document. As we do life with our kids day to day, we do not deal with all of their delays at once. At home, it really doesn’t matter that your child is not able to identify letters when they have finally mastered using a fork at the dinner table (and you are over the moon with this new accomplishment). But with an IEP, every single area where your child struggles is documented and this can be difficult. It is okay to cry. Deal with those emotions so that when you are meeting with the team, you can put those aside and remember that your child does have great potential. The goal of the IEP meeting is to make sure there is a plan set in motion so that your child’s potential is achieved, so keep that in mind.

The IEP will have a list of goals from the teachers, therapists, and other support staff that might work with your kid.  Remember the list of goals you came up with for your child? This is where you get to compare the goals. Were some of them the same? Are some of them confusing to you? Is there anything  you think is important and should be added? Make sure to bring a list of the goals you want to see added, as well as questions you have concerning the “why” or “how” of certain goals listed in the IEP.

Remember, parents are team members in the IEP meeting. Do your part and be prepared!

3. Bring food.

Yes, I did just say to bring food. Why? Because food breaks an unspoken barrier, it says, “I want to be friendly, I don’t want to fight and I am thankful you are here.” Bring paper plates and napkins too.

The last few weeks I have seen one of the special education teachers stay for IEP meetings after school almost every day. She has kids at home and it means she is not making it back to her family until late. Yes, it is part of her job, but she is also a wife and a mom. Bringing some brownies, donuts, cheese and crackers, or other snacks says, “I appreciate the time you have taken to be here for my child.” It speaks volumes when you do something to show appreciation for someone’s time.

Gifts is one of my love languages, if I could fit it in my budget, I would have taken orders from all of them to Starbucks, no kidding! Instead, I bring granola bars and cheese and crackers. (Granola bars have chocolate chips in them, we are mostly women, chocolate is known to sometimes brighten a woman’s day. Enough said).

    4. Know the law.

You want to be friendly, but you are your child’s advocate.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute.
Speak up and judge fairly;
defend the rights of the poor and needy.”

Proverbs 31:8-9

A woman I trust and admire gave me this verse as I asked her questions about the IEP process. She is the mother of an adult child now, and was reminding me that yes, you want to be nice, but you also have a responsibility to be an advocate for your child!

Bring food, be friendly, but when it is time to speak up, you speak up. In order to do that, it is important that you are familiar with the special education laws!

Here are some great resources for you.

Wright’s Law: This is a website dedicated to special education law and the law surrounding IEP’s.

Wright’s Law: From Emotions to Advocacy:the Special Education Survival Guide: This is one of the most valuable books you will read if your child has an IEP. It details and explains the law, your rights, your child’s rights, and what the school can or cannot do. Seriously, get this book! I in no way benefit from you buying this book, but it has been a valuable resource as I learn to navigate the world of special education.

    5. Take lots of notes and ask questions.

During the IEP meeting make sure you are taking notes. Things will be said and comments will be made that you might want to come back to. Jut down where you asked for a goal to be included. Write the comment from the physical therapist that was encouraging. Make sure you take notes of the teacher’s concern about your child’s safety in the playground. With your notes in hand, you can go home and do some brainstorming as you process the conversations that took place.

Don’t hesitate to ask questions. If you are confused why your child is not getting more time in speech therapy, ask. If you still don’t understand, ask again. Be polite though, don’t point fingers, and make the questions about yourself. For example, you can say, “I am still puzzled, if we all agree speech is the greatest area of concern, why is my child only getting 40 minutes a week of speech therapy?”

So that’s it. Five simple tips that will hopefully help you feel better prepared for an IEP meeting.

Remember, you are an important and valuable member of your child’s IEP team. Your know your child best. Be professional, be an advocate, be prepared!

And pray! Ask God to help you through the emotions of the IEP, to help you be a good advocate, and to help you build strong relationships with the rest of the team.

What has your IEP experience been like?

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When you came into my life, your diagnosis of Down syndrome threatened to crush my heart. That tiny extra 21st chromosome seemed too powerful for me to stand up against. I cried constantly, and I feared our lives would be covered with limitations. I wanted to wake up and find that you were a “normal” baby, that Down syndrome was part of a bad dream. But it wasn’t a dream. Your almond shaped eyes – the obvious physical sign of your diagnosis – seemed to remind me you were different every time you looked at me. Then one day, I thought you were looking not just at me, but straight into my heart.

I don’t know how to describe this to you, so I will do the best I can. It was as if I had been dreaming for most of my life, and then you came in and you woke me up. Love, joy, and peace became almost tangible. I felt as if my eyes had been opened to the real things that matter in this world.

Maybe I had a “distracted heart” and then you showed up ready to fix it and show me the way.

Not only did you awaken something inside of me; you changed me. God, using you – a little baby girl with Down syndrome – to touch the places of my life that needed to allow Him in.

I look at you now, and  Down syndrome, although it does not define you, is something in you that I cherish. It is something that I celebrate. I would not change a thing about you. Every single chromosome you have is absolutely perfect! You are exactly who God intended you to be, He created your inmost being.

Thanks to you, I realize that disability is not to be feared, but that every life is to be celebrated. Thanks to you, we adopted your sister, a step of faith and trust as we knew little about cerebral palsy. What we did know, thanks to you, was that her life was meant for celebration too. Oh how you have taught us about celebrating life! Something this world could use a little bit more of.

I wish I loved more like you, and that I gave my hugs as freely as you do. I wish I celebrated others with the same excitement you show. You changed me, inside out, and I am blessed to have you my sweet girl.

Love,

Mom

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