Lina is a few weeks into kindergarten, and a lot of friends are asking how she’s doing. The answer is… pretty well? I think? It’s actually harder for me to answer than you might expect.

I don’t get a lot of information from Lina about her days. (To be fair, I didn’t get much from Corin at this age, either.) If you ask her if she had a good day, she usually will give an enthusiastic, “Yes!” But she generally doesn’t want to talk details, and sometimes she says no when people ask if she likes school. Which seems to be more about contrariness than an actual barometer, because she seems really happy to go to school and is in a good mood when she gets home.

We’ve had some definite transition challenges. Lina was anxious and overwhelmed with all the change, and she fell back on her standard control mechanisms: noncompliance and social aggression. The first few days saw a lot of worksheets coming home with no name at the top and scribbles rather than any attempt at completing the assignment. Then I started getting messages about hair pulling, pinching, pushing, kicking… I met with her general ed and special ed teachers the second full week of school to talk things through.

Tangent: I want to say how very, very grateful I am that we are in a school system that is committed to inclusive education. I don’t have to defend Lina’s right to be in a general education classroom, learning alongside her peers. Our county does not have segregated special education classrooms at the elementary level. Everyone in the system is committed to providing the right supports to help Lina be successful as a full-fledged member of her kindergarten class – as they should be. This is not the case for the majority of kids with disabilities, despite decades of law mandating a “free, appropriate public education” in the “least restrictive environment.” This needs to be said (shouted) as often as possible. My daughter is lucky because her parents were able to make the sacrifices we need to make to live here. I get angry every time I think about kids whose families can’t afford to live in districts like this one, and thus wrestle and fight just to give their kids the opportunity to prove they can learn in a general education classroom.

(If you have questions about why it’s best for kids with disabilities to be included in a general education classroom, PBS provides a great, simple overview. But if you’re interested in learning more, I would encourage you to dig deeper. There are decades of research showing that inclusive education benefits BOTH children with disabilities and their classmates. In fact, no study has ever shown any negative effects of correctly provided inclusive education.) /End tangent

So, I had a great meeting with Lina’s teachers. We worked together on plans to support positive behavior and to help Lina engage with learning. I came away with a lot more information about the hands-on learning opportunities Lina is getting every day and the tools they’re using to help her succeed. Her teachers are fantastic, and the passion they have for helping Lina reach her potential is obvious. The right supports are in place, and we know what the next steps are. I came away feeling much better. The work coming home has improved pretty dramatically in the last week, and we’re seeing a jump in speech development, too.

Honestly, I may be having a harder time with this transition than Lina is. Kindergarten is a whole new world. Lina’s early childhood public preschool was wonderful, and it was a blended classroom, meaning about half the kids were typically developing “peer models.” But it was still a special education class. We are both learning to navigate a much broader world this year, and I am keenly aware of how much higher the stakes are. Decisions we make in kindergarten can impact the trajectory of Lina’s educational path – no exaggeration. I am finding there is a lot I didn’t know. (For example, what’s the difference between an accommodation and a modification? If my child is getting dotted lines to trace her numbers rather than writing them freehand, which is that? How does the distinction matter?)

I am struggling to find the right balance in my level of communication with Lina’s teachers. I feel disconnected, because I have fewer opportunities to speak casually with her teachers at pick-up, and really, it’s just new and I haven’t reached my comfort level yet. How do I stay engaged without driving them crazy? How often should I expect updates?

I find my insecurity and guilt flare up in these transition times. Knowing the stakes have gone up means I’m constantly questioning whether I’m doing enough. I don’t drill Lina a lot at home. She’s tired from her long days, and frankly, I’ve got my hands full making sure everyone gets snacks and goes to the bathroom and there is something resembling a healthy dinner on the table at a reasonable hour. In my head, I know she needs time to play, just like every kid. She needs to unwind and be able to decide how to spend a little of her own time. That’s as important to her development as drilling sight words and practicing counting. I know this. Head knowledge never quite silences the fearful whisper, though; it’s the one that suggests she might fall behind because I’m not working hard enough.

If that all sounds gloomy, it’s really not. There is a lot of great news here. I have an awesome community of parents at my back who have been right where I am. Our Down syndrome family is remarkable. I ask, and they give me specifics about how they have learned to manage communication with their kids’ teachers and how they stay on top of daily progress. They can talk to me about accommodations and modifications and how they matter. They connect me to resources and help me find my way to what I need to know. They remind me I’m not alone.

Just like with every new step of Lina’s nearly six years (or the past 8 1/2 years of parenting, for that matter), we learn as we go. I don’t have to solve every problem right now. Today, I am learning about daily communication logs and accommodations versus modifications. Next week, it will be something else, and I’ll learn that, too. I take a deep breath, and I remember that Lina has already proven many times over how capable she is and how much she can accomplish.

And now I’ve looked at the clock and realized I’m late to go sit in the pick-up line for an hour. (See my eyes rolling.) I think today, I’ll use my time to send that update email to Lina’s teachers, and then I’ll close my eyes, breath deeply and thank God I get to do this job. Because even on the hardest days, it’s the absolute best gig there is.