My asst. principal called me in the middle of our class meeting this morning.

We've been going over Ten Truths in our Classroom, I think we're up to 6? There are statements like "We are here to share our gifts and work on our challenges." Or, "We are here to try new things." Today it was something about there will be no "teasing, bullying or put downs." The children were volunteering their thoughts about what this means, and how we can keep that statement true. I have some really great kids who say some really great things. Sometimes we write about the statements as well. It's supposed to set a tone.

She wanted me to come down because E's mother was down in the office and we were having an impromptu meeting about his behavior. I wasn't totally cool with leaving my para with 23 kids, but there wasn't much choice.

E's mother is a young Puerto Rican woman who speaks no english and has circles under her eyes. Her nails this morning were an inch long, painted in complex patterns of red blue and gold. Her nose and her mouth are exactly E's.

E was invited to wait outside the door. E's mother, two asst. principals, myself and the counselor were present. E's mother was told by translation exactly how he had been behaving, what he had been doing the past few days. He'd swore repeatedly at the counselor and the asst. principal, he wrote "fuck you" all over the papers on the principal's desk. After he kicked the counselor a few times, she took his shoes off and put him in the "quiet room" which, really, is like a rubber room. Solitary confinement. It is an room the size of a small office. The walls are sound proof. There is nothing in it. He allegedly kicked and banged his head against the wall quite a few times. Listening to this, and then in translation made me think about last year.

Once last May when E was turning over desks and jumping off chairs in the in school suspension room he was put in the "quiet room." I just happened to come check on him at that moment. He was crouched down in the corner with his hands over his face. I went over and put my hand on his head.

"Ms. Lowe, I don't know why I do this. Why do I do this, Ms. Lowe."

"I don't know, E. But I wish I could help you. I would do anything I could to help you, you know."

"I don't know why. Why do I do this."

Did I mention that despite the behavior, I am crazy about this kid?

The meeting went on longer than it should have, only because of all the translations going on from English to Spanish, Spanish to English.

E was diagnosed ADD and was on medication. I knew this last year, and it was always clear the days he came in forgetting his pill. That May day was probably one of them. Anyway this summer he went to Puerto Rico and missed counseling appointments, and after a few are missed, the state appointed psychologist drops the case.

"They won't schedule another one now for four months," our school counselor pointed out. "We'll have to wait until November."

Red tape. There are mountains of it.

I'm exhausted recounting this meeting. The bottom line is that E is being transferred to another class. His mother thinks my para is too rough with him. This was news to me. Frankly the story is more like this: E was giving my para too much information. We had to file reports. DSS showed up at their house. Mom came in spewing spitfire Spanish to my para and my para said something back that cut to the truth and too deeply into mom's dysfunctions. She has not liked her since.

So. He's going to another class. I'm so sorry, Ms. C ... Good luck... Maybe when he gets back on his medication...

"You're going to be in another class from now on," I told him.
"Really?" he squeaked.
"I'll miss you," I said.
Big brown eyes... He just kept looking at me... Did I mention that despite every little thing, I am crazy about this kid?

And then again... WHEW.

The Asst. principal told mom that he had to go home with her today. They left. I left a minute later, and watched them ahead of me walk down the long hall. And I watched his mother grab him by the ear and drag him.

Nice.

But admittedly, the day was so much better. Even when my new SPED ELL kid ran from the line, even when MD came in from recess and marched with her crayons and coloring book to a table when we were doing a read aloud (let her color. Fine.)... it was so much better.

And the asst. principal approached me about my letter and had already talked about moving E from my class. And the counselor wanted to know the names of all my HH kids, and when could I meet to talk about strategies for them. Thank God they heard me, and thank God they listened.

However, my dear A who has been doing so well apparently flipped a nutty at dismissal. On the line to the stairwell he turned around and shut out the kids behind him, locking the door closed. The dismissal escort called him out and they battled a silent war where A wouldn't budge. She took his arm and he dug his fingernails into her wrist until she bled.

They were in the hallway downstairs, I don't know how they got there, and his former foster mom was in the hallway, picking up her new foster kid. "Hey, I had that kid for 8 months!" she called out.

It went even more downhill from there.

Which means that tomorrow I don't know who I'll be getting... The A who's been trying hard and doing so well this week, or the one that fights everything and everyone, and fight or flight merge into one.
Is it just a matter of time? Is it just a matter of time that M goes off, or S starts scratching the crap out of her own face again, or screaming that she wants to die?

Today was a better day.
Today was a better day.
There is no point in projecting what tomorrow might bring.
Today was a better day.

I can't forget that.

Patchy blotchy broken writing tonight. I don't have it in me to be eloquent. I need some sleep.