My son

My son is the little boy in the front row that has to sit on a special seat because he can’t sit still. My son is the little boy who has a need to touch everything. My son is the little boy who flips the little girl’s hair because he likes the way it feels and looks when it flips. My son is the little boy who can only take one instruction at a time because he gets confused. My son is the little boy who has to watch other kids to figure out what is going on because the transition to another subject was too quick. My son is the little boy who makes noises and it takes four times of telling him to be quiet before he realizes that he’s making noises. My son is the little boy who will repeat things over and over because he likes the way it sounds – he’s especially fond of jingles and songs. My son is the little boy who will catch your conversations and hours later repeat it back while talking to himself. My son is the little boy who has little eye contact and when talking to you will let his eyes wander every where except your face. My son is the little boy who will walk into the house after school without saying a word, go into his room, and not come out until you make him come eat dinner or get ready for bed. My son is the little boy who, when frustrated, will refuse to open his mouth and talk. He uses his own special brand of sign language that we must figure out in order to know what he needs. That’s assuming he hasn’t completely shut down by that time. My son is the little boy that you’re weary of taking into a store or restaurant because you don’t know what’s going to trigger a melt down. My son is the little boy who loves to be around other children and, yet, he just doesn’t quite have the understanding of how to play WITH other children. He usually prefers playing games where there is not direct interaction. My son is the little boy who has to wear pull-ups to bed because he still wets the bed. My son is the little boy who still has accidents in his pants (both urine and bowel) and doesn’t realize it. My son is the little boy who recently laid in the hall and cried for over an hour because he couldn’t decide if he wanted to wear big boy underwear or a pull-up.
*My son is the little boy that tells me twenty times a day that he loves me. My son is the little boy that can brighten my room just with his smile. My son is the little boy that makes me laugh every day just by being himself. My son is the little boy that I wouldn't change for all the money in the world. My son is the little boy that I love just the way he is.

I had to write an appeal today. I didn't know what to write. I put in a lot of the IEP and eval wording and quotes from teachers and staff. I referred to all the tests he's been administered since April 2007. Then I put in a paragraph (up until the *, the rest I just added) to describe Deklan, my son, to them.