Wednesday, September 21, 2011

When you read this,

I might very well be in the second or even third hour of Sophie's IEP, or Individualized Education Plan. In lieu of feeling the usual butterflies and nausea (this seems to be a theme this week) because this is our 13th annual IEP, I have decided to rename the acronym to what it might better signify. That way, those of you who think of the IEP as one of the wonders of the education movement -- how do those kids get educated? you might think -- and those of you who, like me, have participated in this oft-hellish few hours of a day might be amused.

Because I'm telling you, the old sense of humor, bitter and dark, is what sustains me, at least, 90% of the time with 100% consistency. (That, too, is a joke that only the insiders will understand. Please let me know if you do.)

The IEP, or Individualized Ecmnesia Plan (the definition of ecmnesia is loss of memory of the events of a specific period)

Amnesia by Dominic Piperata


The IEP, the Individualized Ecorche Plan (the definition of ecorche is a human figure portrayed stripped of the skin)


The IEP, the Individualized Emberlucock Plan (the definition of emberlucock is to confuse, to bewilder)

is an ass-kicker in every way, no matter how many years I've been doing it.

We must remember this:


  1. Thanks for the new additions to my vocabulary.

    I've only been through 5 or 6 IEP meetings now... and always feel guilty at how easy they are; Yup, he's staying in the School for the Deaf, yup we're following their curriculum... have a nice day everyone.

  2. Yeah, with my daughter it could have been called a Shit Load of Useless Tests and We Don't Know What to do Next.

  3. You are brilliant and wickedly, darkly, outrageously funny.

    Best thing so far today (and probably all week).

    "Thank-you" seems far too inadequate a response!

  4. Yes, remember that beautiful face. I am sorry you go through this.

  5. I can only hope that someone on the IEP team shares your sense of humor and offers you the relief (however minimal) of shooting dark looks across the table during the endless hours.

    If not, I'm sure some of your readers would offer to be in the room "virtually" with you. Sign me up!

  6. The last one we had with the middle school, I briefly considered punching the principal, but decided it would take less energy (or at least get me less arrested) to just sigh say what I had to say. It wasn't an academic issue we were discussing, so I decided it was okay to let him enjoy his ignorance for the time being.

  7. I LOVE this picture of Sophie.

    IEP's, not so much.

  8. When you are funny, you are onehundredpercent funny. And when you are serious, I love you too.

  9. If you're in your third hour, it's time to get up and leave. They can't change a thing until you have signed a new IEP. And in case emberlucock has set in, don't be signing anything
    at the meeting, take the papers home.

  10. this is darkly funny, and not funny at all because it cuts so close to bone, and i hope it all works out ninety percent of the way you want it to if you can't have one hundred percent of good sense prevailing. that might be too much to ask, i know, i know.

  11. I like the fact that the last word, Emberlucock, means to confuse or bewilder - and that it has the word c*ck in it. As in, a c*ckup, Emberlu. Your sense of humor in any situation is a continual source of delight.
    And I hope the IEP meeting goes as smoothly as possible.
    I say this all the time, but your children are SO beautiful.

  12. I love your acronyms.

    I had an IEP meeting today (was the teacher and facilitator.) The mom was so nervous, so worried that she wouldn't get what she came in for. I wanted to hug her.

    My son has only been in special education for 3 years. We've had a zillion IEP meetings. Many of which make me want to punch the special ed director in the neck. Sadly, I work within a broken system and I wish it weren't such a joke.

    Heavy heavy sigh. I'm glad to see up above that it was easy peasy.


  13. I have been through dozens with my own and 14 years of foster children. I have no words. Yours are sufficient.



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