2013 Update

Oh, twenty thirteen, it's been quite a year so far. Time flies when you're busy, even if you're not always having fun.

I'm coming down from a few busy months, starting with my birthday weekend in San Francisco, followed by my trip to San Diego with Jelly, then her birthday, and peaking on Mother's Day with Listen to Your Mother. It all came to an exciting conclusion last Friday when I had all four of my wisdom teeth pulled.

At the beginning of the year, it all seemed so far away, and now here we are. One more month and the year will be half over.

This time last year, we were right in the middle of some nasty IEP meetings. And although that was a very tense time, and meant a significant change for both of us, I will never regret pulling Moe from school.

That decision doesn't exempt us from IEP season, however. Because this year would be Moe's third since he started school, he was due for his triennial assessment. For those of you who don't know, while a new Individual Education Plan (IEP) is written every year, a full assessment is generally done every three years. Moe's first with the district was when he left early intervention, funded by the regional center, and entered our district's autism preschool special day class.

The assessment started last week, and involves several standardized tests, questionnaires for me, an OT assessment and some observations. We know the people doing the assessments. They are kind and smart, though seeing them again has brought up some pretty strong feelings.

At the end of the assessment, we will have an IEP meeting. The district will set goals and make some offer of services. We still feel pretty strongly that a classroom environment is not appropriate for Moe right now, but we do want him to return to school eventually, so we continue to go through the process.

Moe turns six next week. We won't have a party, but we will have cake. I will try to make it a special day for him. I am trying not to think about what might have been. How, in another version of our life, he might be finishing up kindergarten. That we would be planning summer vacation and choosing a camp.

Instead, I will continue putting one foot in front of the other, and start thinking about what the second half of the year may bring.

Lucky

Every few days I walk the perimeter of our backyard. It is a nice yard, not too big. It is a simple rectangle with a patio and a lawn. I can see the whole yard from the patio, not typically the kind of property that would need someone to walk its perimeter.

But I do. I walk the perimeter checking the fence. I make sure every board is in place, that no new gaps have appeared since the last time I checked, just a few days prior.

Because one time, one of those boards was loose. Moe walked by, and it must have tipped over. He walked right through it into the neighbor's yard.

He wasn't scared. He wasn't escaping anything. He was just curious, saw an opening and walked through.

I didn't see him go through the fence. I was there in the yard with him. He was swinging, and I looked away. Maybe there was a bird. Maybe I stooped to pick a weed out of a crack in the patio or swat away a bee. When I looked back up the swing was going, empty, like a scene from a stranger danger PSA.

"Moe?" I called, peering into the playhouse, the one spot he can hide in our yard. He wasn't there.

I don't know what made me check the fence. But I saw the hole. I rushed through, thankful that I was able to fit. Moe was right there. I grabbed him (and our dog who had of course followed us through), my heart pounding, and ran into the house. Locking the door safely behind me.

I was lucky. Moe was there. He was right there.

Moe was lost once other time, at school. They messed up, two aides each thinking the other had him. He popped into an open classroom. He could have been anywhere, including the creek they walked to every Friday afternoon.

Again, were were lucky.

Moe has been lost twice. Twice found. But I have nightmares about losing him. Shouting his name as he walks away. Begging people to grab him while no one listens.

We recently trimmed some branches from our grapefruit tree. Moe has learned to climb the tree, and as the branches grew closer to the neighbor's fence, I could see him peering over the top. It wouldn't be long before he decided to leap right over.

We are diligent. We are paranoid. And yet, we are human. Just the other day, Moe and I were in the yard. The dog started scratching at the neighbor's dog through the fence. I rushed over to stop her, knowing that the scratching could compromise the fence in that spot. When I looked up, I didn't see Moe. He was fine, just in the opposite corner of the yard.

This week, we lost several beautiful children (in unrelated incidences) who wandered from safe places and drowned. My heart breaks for them, for their families and caregivers. I will not dwell on the people who have chosen judgement and blame. I do not know what happened, but I do know how it could happen. How it has happened. To me. To Moe. Unless you've lived it, you do not know.

We are diligent. But we have also been very lucky.