School Is Like Pound Cake

I love to watch baking shows. I hate baking. Weird, right? My favorites are Holiday Baking Championship and Great British Baking Show. I find them to be relaxing and I think maybe it’s because I know that NEVER IN 1,000 YEARS will I attempt to create approximately 99.9% of the recipes baked. It can be purely about entertainment.

One thing I have retained from this programming is the basic recipe for a pound cake - one pound each of flour, butter, eggs, and sugar. That’s it. It takes equal amounts of four things to create a successful pound cake.

This basic recipe is not unlike the recipe my family has created for my 10-year-old’s school success to date. Our four ingredients are one part each of Max, his teachers, his parents, and his IEP. Now, let me preface this blog by saying that I am unclear on whether this is the standard approach in public schools. I am also unclear if this is the standard approach in our school district. I am, however, 100% clear that this is the approach that I have constructed while advocating for my son over the past six years.

Let me set the scene.

I am formally trained as a social worker. I have a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree in clinical social work. Much of my time spent professionally in clinical practice was working with mentally ill children, ages 5 to about 12, in both outpatient and inpatient settings. Part of this work included supporting parents in their partnerships with public schools to create learning environments that best meet the needs of their children. The professional version of this work took place before I became a parent.

Fast forward five to ten years.

Now that I am the mother of two maniacs, this work is just a hobby…a required hobby. So maybe not a hobby at all. But I don’t get paid, and I have to do it. So maybe it’s just called motherhood?

Anyway, Max was a wild man from day one. He was noisy and busy, and couldn’t play independently or sit still or focus for more than a minute or two. But he was my first child and I didn’t realize until he was four-years-old that not all kids his age were akin to the Energizer Bunny. We jumped through the various educational hoops and Max qualified for special education in our district due to a developmental delay, which was later diagnosed as ADHD. The timing of this process was ideal and allowed for Max to enter kindergarten with an IEP in place, which is something that doesn’t usually take place until the end of kindergarten or beginning of first grade. My past professional experiences helped me to recognize Max’s needs and advocate for him, something I’m not sure I would have known how to do otherwise.

The first several years of public school were uneventful and I attribute that to the incredible team at Max’s elementary school. It was all hands on deck to provide a positive learning experience for my sweet boy. (Ms. Zimar, Mrs. Handwork, Ms. Zimar again, both Ms. Bakers, Mrs. Sperry, and Mrs. Churchill, we will be eternally grateful!) Kindergarten, first, and second grades are about building basic skills and creating positive social relationships. There wasn’t much for me to do, other than attend annual IEP review meetings and complete the occasional educational assessment. Most of the IEP accommodations included frequent motor breaks, allowing Max to work in spaces that didn’t require him being seated at a desk - say, for example, lying partially on the floor with legs elevated on a chair behind him, and working with an occupational therapist to help him learn how to better control his body and his emotions. Third grade is where it began to get tricky.

Now, let me start by saying that Max’s third grade teacher, Mrs. Ray, is a rock star. We loved her from the beginning. She was all the things we needed her to be and she was the first teacher to help us navigate homework. But Mrs. Ray’s rock star status became extra shiny when COVID entered our lives. In the course of a single weekend, she adapted her entire curriculum to an online format using a multitude of educational platforms like ABCya, Brain Pop, and Zearn. She created an virtual community through Microsoft Teams, where she would host a morning meeting for her class while wrangling her two-year-old, who would often need to removed from the kitchen counter behind her. She continued with reading groups and math tutoring and show-and-tell, always maintaining an air of calm, whether she actually felt that way or not. But none of this worked for Max. His anxiety spiked from the transition to online schooling, his worry over being infected by the virus consumed him, and he became depressed without regular play dates with his homies. It was all too much. So we altered course. Every morning I would log in to Max’s assignment portal and review his lessons for the day, noting the key concepts he should be learning. Then I would ignore the assignments, except for math - new math is hard, man, and I needed the Zearn videos just as much as Max did - and create my own assignments. We would read whatever he wanted to read, draft stories by creating Brain Pop videos, explore nature, and play soccer in our front yard. I checked in with Mrs. Ray regularly about our activities and asked for her help when we needed it. She was supportive and kind. She encouraged our adventures. She laughed with me when my lessons went awry. She remained, until the last day of school, everything we needed her to be.

When fourth grade approached, an incredible opportunity fell into our laps. Max was offered a spot in the inaugural K-4 classroom at a private, nature-based school in our town. Given Max’s PTSD - I say this jokingly to some extent, but do have concerns that it may have been real - from virtual learning the previous school year, we jumped at the chance for in-person, small group instruction. Our beloved Ms. Karen, Ms. Kate, and Ms. Lauren created a loving and fun multi-age community, where kids could explore who they wanted to be and feel accepted for being whoever that turned out to be. Max became a gentle leader, gained confidence in his abilities, and began to understand how he learns best. Much of the day was spent outside and active, and we found that Max didn’t need the supports he required to be successful in public school. I didn’t need to advocate for him here. His teachers grew to understand his personality, identify his strengths, and address his areas for improvement. They loved him, and hugged him, and laughed at his jokes. They healed him from his traumatic third grade pandemic experience and prepared him for success when he returned to public school in fifth grade.

Max’s fifth grade year brought him to middle school, and the new school brought new expectations to work independently. For example, it is expected that Max reads for thirty minutes each night. With the exception of screen time, Max has never excelled at independence. I’m not joking when I say that Luke, who is almost three, is more successful at independent reading than Max is. Seriously. Most nights, reading time doesn’t even approach thirty minutes. If we get to double digits, it’s a success. I’m okay with that. Here’s why. I don’t want Max to hate reading. Forcing a kid with ADHD, whose meds have already fully metabolized for the day, who is struggling with executive functioning and focus, to read for thirty minutes is just not a battle I’m willing to fight. So most nights, we search ESPN.com for an article about an NFL or NBA player that Max likes. He reads it. Then hubs or I read it and quiz Max about what he has read. This approach accomplishes three things. 1) It shows Max that reading can be interesting. 2) It shows Max that we are engaged in his learning process. 3) It shows Max that he is capable of working independently.

Given our ten(ish) minute reading approach each night, imagine how thrilled we all were when Max was instructed to choose a chapter book with more than 200 pages, and read it by himself. GASP! I mean, he did have, like, six weeks to finish it, but still. Let’s look at the ADHD iceberg graphic above. People with ADHD struggle with many skills, but most notable for this particular assignment is choice paralysis, executive dysfunction, and inability to focus even when there are no distractions. Choice paralysis is why Max couldn’t choose a book and stick with it. It explains why he changed his mind four times before I intervened and selected the book for him (Hatchet by Gary Paulsen). Executive dysfunction explains why the idea of reading 200 pages was too daunting to even begin. Max’s neurodivergent brain is not capable of mentally breaking up one large assignment into lots of little assignments to be tackled each day. And the inability to focus even when there are no distractions, explains why every time I would check on Max, alone in his room, during his reading time, he would be looking at his football cards, or arranging stuffed animals, or staring at the ceiling while kicking his headboard. So we changed course. We tried him reading to us. We tried reading to him. We tried taking turns reading to each other. Ultimately we landed on downloading the book from Audible.com. Max could slow the reading speed to a pace he liked and he could follow along with the story with his hard copy book. We finished the book, as a team, the night before it was due, despite all of Max’s negative self-talk that he would never be able to do it.

I know. That was a lot of information, right? Here’s the main idea. (Remember having to identify the main idea of something you read?)

Your child is YOUR CHILD. No one knows your child like you do. When something is not working for your child, it is your responsibility to advocate FOR your child and brainstorm WITH your child to find a solution that does work. This applies to all aspects of life. Sometimes, advocating for your child means teaching your child to advocate for himself/herself/themself. Teachers are part of a child’s education, and are responsible for meeting the individual needs of each child, but they are not individual sport athletes. Teachers are team athletes. It’s your job to join the team.

So, here’s your challenge. Join the team. Ask questions. Push back. Propose ideas. Request extended deadlines. Download Audible.com.

As long as your child is learning, it absolutely does not matter how.