As the final hours of winter break tick by I find myself thrilled that school is starting tomorrow. Since Pete and I were both off from work last week we were all able to enjoy lazy mornings and extra family time but our household definitely benefits from the structure that work and school provides. Even Hannah seemed to miss school, asking me a couple days ago, in her sweetest negotiating voice, to do sight words and math. As if I would ever say no to that.

The last four months were a humbling and empowering experience. I cried out of frustration over Hannah’s unbelievable stubbornness. I cried happy tears at the look on her face when she succeeded. And we learned more than ever about Hannah’s educational strengths, weaknesses, and ability to learn. 

We always knew Home Hannah was quite different from School Hannah, like she turned off parts of her personality when she wasn’t home. Every report card, progress report, parent-teacher conference, and PPT had the same feedback. Academically Hannah kept up with her preschool peers; she was a delightful student but reserved, chose solo activities, and only spoke up when she was fully comfortable. Aside from the occasional email about an exceptionally good or bad day, that was the extent of our knowledge on School Hannah. Since Hannah never communicated anything about her days and I couldn’t be a consistent volunteer in the classroom it was difficult for me to have such a massive gap in her life. 

With Hannah engaging in remote learning we have the opportunity to witness a whole different version of our child. Now we know she learns sight words quickly because she’s a visual learner and has a great memory. We know she struggles with some math lessons because they’re too abstract unless she’s using manipulatives, but since she dislikes math in general she’ll likely try to toss everything on the floor anyway. We learned that shorter sessions are far better for Hannah’s attention span and that, depending on the look in her eyes, her quietness during a session is because she’s confused, tired, or flat-out refusing to work. We know Hannah behaves differently when she’s at her grandparents’ house than when she’s home with me and which activities are best suited for each location. 

Listening to Hannah interact with her teachers and service providers, seeing the unique relationships she has with each of them, even seeing how she gives them just as much stubbornness as she gives me, turns me into a real life heart-eye-emoji every time. Grandma and I are beyond thankful for the opportunity to work closely with Hannah’s team, to understand the fundamentals of teaching reading and writing, and to learn from them how to challenge Hannah in a supportive way. Virtual kindergarten certainly isn’t fun every day but the team’s collaborative approach has made it a lot easier than I expected. 

Even though Hannah was a quiet kid in class she really loved school and always knew the names of all her classmates within the first few days. My heart does hurt a bit during the virtual class meetings when all the other kids chat with each other and my kiddo is silent because she’s overwhelmed and doesn’t know most of the kids. But I know she’s watching them all, enjoying their company, and she’ll certainly remember their faces when she makes her glorious return to the classroom.

At the end of 2017 I was searching for a mommy and me style yoga class but everything in our area was for pre-walkers or ages 4+. A few days later a post popped up on my Facebook feed for a two day children’s yoga & mindfulness yoga teacher training. What started as curiosity turned into six weekends of trainings, all thanks to Facebook stalking my Google searches. I learned more than I ever expected, met some amazing people, and was pushed outside of my comfort zone but the best part has been including Hannah in this journey.

I didn’t have a plan when I walked in to that first training in March, besides a vague idea of yoga playdates with Hannah’s preschool/daycare friends or within our Down syndrome community. I knew Hannah had been introduced to some sort of yoga or “movement” at school because she randomly popped into three-legged dog during a shopping trip; worst case I could learn some new activities to do with her at home. I never would have guessed that day one of training would spark an interest that would turn into an all-out wildfire in my soul by the end of day two.

The beauty of yoga is that it’s a ‘come as you are’ party – even more so when kids are involved. As a parent or caregiver, how often do you apologize that your children are cranky because you turned off the TV, they didn’t get the cup they wanted, or because they had to wear a shirt? It’s okay if your child shows up in a bad mood. It’s okay if your child is utterly overwhelmed by the new people and place. It’s okay if your child runs around in circles and laughs the whole time or chooses not to participate and watches for the entire class. It’s okay if your child performs every pose wonderfully or struggles with balance or coordination. It’s okay…as long as you show up. That’s really the only requirement for yoga.

My goal is to make it easy for parents and their children, of all ages and abilities, to show up. I strive to create an opportunity for children to participate in a physical activity, connect with their peers, stretch their imaginations, and build confidence. That’s far easier to do when there’s no pressure from coaches or teammates, no clock counting down, and no points awarded to those who have the most skill. There’s no competition, no judgement, no stress. And while I work on that creation I’m able to test it out with Hannah.

There are days when Hannah is pumped to see her yoga friends, showing off all the poses she knows before we leave the house, but is worn out and uninterested once we get to class. She’ll stare at me like a bored teenager and not participate until relaxation time, reminding me to be quiet. Then she sings our ‘welcome song’ the whole ride home, naming the other kids from class because she was present enough to know who else showed up.

Some days she’s so eager that she unpacks my bag as soon as we walk in, knowing what I will need for class and what the kiddos can play with before we start. She hands me the chime and bluetooth speaker before toddling off with a bag of scarves or felt squares. When other kids arrive Hannah shares the toys and props and laughs with them as they play.

But most days she lights up the room with a smile that shouts “Look – I can do it!” During a recent class I played a movement-based song that we’ve listened to at home and I thought Hannah’s eye were going to pop out of her head when she heard the first few notes. She led the class for those 3 minutes and I have never seen her more confident.

The teacher trainings have also helped me be a more patient and understanding mother, learning to respond instead of react. No matter what Hannah’s mood is, my job is to acknowledge how she’s feeling and support her. Using the tools I’ve learned I can practice my own self-regulation and teach Hannah in the process. When I catch her doing “deep breafs” I know we’re on the right track.

Pete, Grandma, Grandpa, and I spent yesterday morning at Hannah’s school for the preschool end of year celebration. We finally got a glimpse of this secret life she’s been living since the end of February! 

The transition to preschool has been a challenge for me, and it has nothing to do with PPTs and IEPs. Daycare has been my safe place for Hannah. I know the teachers, the other children, and most of the parents. Birth to Three had appointments there and could reassure me that Hannah was happy and well-cared for.

Public school is a whole different ballgame. As a working mom I don’t have the opportunity to do drop-off and pickup. I’m not able to chit-chat with parents. I don’t get to see Hannah’s classmates say hello to her. Until yesterday I didn’t know a single child or parent and only knew the staff who attended the PPTs. I feel like an outsider to a big part of my child’s life.

Even though Hannah’s teacher and service providers have been great with communication, they can only speak to the moments they witness. The star of the show doesn’t provide much feedback. Every night at bedtime I ask Hannah about her day and the conversation is almost always the same:

Me: Did you have a good day today?

Hannah: YEAH!

Me: Who did you see at big girl school?

Hannah: [teacher’s name], [para’s name]

Me: Who else? What friends did you see?

Hannah: [preschool classmate], [unintelligible name], [daycare classmate]…A B C D E…

I’ve tried asking trick questions like “did you have art today or did you go to the moon?” The response is usually the same enthusiastic YEAH and occasionally blatant refusal to participate in my nosey-ness. It’s excruciating, as a parent, to have no idea if you’re child is enjoying school or not. To have no idea if she’s liked by her peers, if she’s excluded because she doesn’t talk to them, if she gets picked on. It’s excruciating to have little to no idea what your child, thought, or felt for half the day.

“Everything is overwhelming. Everything you’ve been through up to this point with Hannah has been overwhelming.”

My dad said that the other night as we discussed Hannah’s upcoming move to public preschool. I explained the transition meeting wasn’t bad. The team seemed impressed by Hannah, who was incredibly well-behaved. The Developmental Therapist from Birth 2 Three helped me and Pete communicate Hannah’s progress and needs. We agreed on a play-based evaluation in January. I was only slightly annoyed with two things said by the school’s team. Overall it was a good start; however, I left feeling emotionally drained.

Hannah started Birth 2 Three at six months old and we’ve been slowly working up to this handoff. Hannah seems too young and little to go to such a big school and take a bus to daycare in the afternoon. She’s never even been on a bus!

We have four more months to prepare her, and ourselves, to leave the safety and comfort of daycare. Four months to prepare for a 15 year relationship with the school district. It’s a little exciting and a lot of terrifying. My day dreams about Hannah’s future go from a beautiful, intelligent, prospering little girl to nightmares about fighting with the school for inclusion and services. The parent advocacy class I’m taking has me feeling prepared for the next era but also anticipating a fight.

I’ve always said my life as a special needs mom is not hard. It’s not sad. It can be lonely and frightening. And the very next day it can be empowering and magical. Overwhelming is the best word to describe it.

But… 

Hannah’s birth diagnosis was overwhelming.

The first three months of her life with a heart defect, the surgery, and recovery were overwhelming. 

The transition to daycare and building a relationship with the staff was overwhelming.  

The attempt to give your child a “normal” routine around doctors appointments and therapy sessions is overwhelming.

The transition to toddler life, verging on “threenager” life is overwhelming.

My Dad’s right. Life with Hannah Banana is overwhelming, and every time we come out stronger, smarter, and ready for the next challenge.