Ice Cream-A Second Serving

In a previous post, I shared a metaphor of ice cream for grade-level instruction. Today, I am going to use this metaphor to define all the instructional opportunities available to students and when to modify instruction for students with disabilities.

In this metaphor, I am going to equate grade-level instruction to a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Ice cream is not a finger food. It needs to be served in some sort of vessel. I am going to use a sugar cone because it is my favorite. So, we have a single scoop of ice cream in a sugar cone as a visual representing grade-level instruction served in a general education setting. Every student, regardless of their abilities, should be served at the very least a single scoop cone.

Some students need more “ice cream” to fully benefit from the instruction. When a student needs more support, they can receive intervention, sometimes referred to as Tier II or III, which is targeted skills-based intervention to support Tier I progress, but it is still based on grade-level standards and is available to any student who needs it. Basically, we can offer a cone with more than one scoop of ice cream if the student needs more.

Now, I hear you, not all teachers are vanilla. Some are bright energy, adding excitement and energy to their instruction. Others are quiet, but exude knowledge with passion. Still others are a bit nutty, finding ways to integrate humor. In short, each teacher serves theri own custom ice cream flavor, but they serve the same flavor to every student. Thus, it is still a single scoop cone served to everyone.

Some students, no matter how strong a teacher they have, need some support to access and participate in the instruction. Maybe reading is still a challenge, so they need stories read to them or audiobooks. Or maybe they are not afraid to make a mistake and need word-predicting software. There is a litany of options, but all of these are designed to help the student participate in the same instruction as everyone else. Supports provided without changing the instruction, called accommodations, are like a change from the sugar cone to a cup and spoon when eating ice cream. It is the same ice cream, served differently to make it easier for the person eating it.

Then there are a few students for whom the instruction, no matter how many supports are provided, is not accessible. The student needs different expectations, different instruction, and a different way to demonstrate they learned. This is what a modification is: changing what a student is expected to learn. Using our metaphor of ice cream, it is like needing dairy-free or sugar-free ice cream in order to make it digestible. The ice cream may be served in a bowl or a cone, depending on what the student needs.

Ultimately, an IEP is the custom sundae based on what a student needs to be as independent as possible when provided instruction in a manner needed.

The Third Room

I recently heard a sermon presented by Ian Stitt of the Neighboring Place in Denver. He said that the mission of the Neighboring Place, a coffee shop and gathering place for those who are houseless, is to be God’s living room. Most towns and cities offer God’s kitchen, a place for food, or God’s bedroom, a place to sleep. But there are a few places offering God’s living room. He went on to talk about living rooms as a place where memories are made.

As I listened, I realized that if I were to list the places where most of my memories were made, it would be kitchens, outdoors, and living rooms. But rarely are the most special memories in my living room. Instead, they were in places where I was invited, welcomed, and with others.

Our public school classrooms are often the third room for students. They are welcomed in at a young age with their name on the door and a desk or a hook. At an older age, with a roster and expectations of engagement. Special education rooms are third rooms as well. For many of the students in a special education setting, this is the only place where they feel a true sense of belonging. This is not because the general education teachers don’t welcome them. It is because the peers in the room have more in common.

The students in a special education classroom, particularly the settings where a student is likely to spend most of their day or instructional time, are composed of students who all struggle in similar ways. Communication, academics, behavior, or emotional regulation become the descriptors of the program. Inside the program are students who are bracing themselves each day to try again at the things the adults are demanding, and yet, seem too difficult or out of reach too often. It is no wonder that these classrooms become the “safe space” for the students. They don’t have to explain themselves if they have an emotional outburst or didn’t say “hello.” Everyone knows why.

I believe this feeling of commonality, shared experiences, and familiarity is part of why inclusion is such a challenge.

If I think about who I choose to spend my time with outside of work, it is most often with people with whom I share interests, hobbies, and values. No, we are not all clones believing in one single outlook, but we do share a faith, background, interests, strengths, and struggles. For example, I love to read. My friends are also readers. We talk about books, make plans to visit new bookstores, and watch movie versions of the books we read. We talk about a lot of other things, but the conversations about books link us. You can see this as trends like Book-Tok and book influencers grow in success. Another example is fitness. Those who like to run, walk, hike, lift weights, on hit the yoga mat tend to have friends who also run, walk, lift weights, and do a down dog regularly.

This is the key to belonging—inclusion.

We need to focus less on location and more on the strengths, interests, hobbies, and skills that students share. When we shift from seeing the student as the “one with the disability” to “one of the rambunctious boys” or “a social, chatty student” or “one of the quiet observers,” we find that all students belong in the classroom. It becomes a living room of conversations, laughter, and memories rather than a study in ethics and evidence-based practices.

Instead of a general education classroom and a special education classroom, we have a third room—the classroom for all students.

End-of-School Year Strife

I recently read “Mattering: The Secret to a Life of Deep Connection and Purpose,” written by Jennifer Breheny Wallace. She discussed the human need to matter and all the ways that our value is confirmed. One chapter was about the magic of places that make us feel like we belong. She told stories of a pub with a time for children to dance while parents chat, coffee shops that offer a table reserved for conversation among patrons, and game night cafes.

A well-designed classroom offers this magic for the students and teachers. The class expectations, routines, and layout can cultivate conversation, collaboration, and self-directed learning. Friendships deepen, support is given when someone struggles, and victories are celebrated. The school year becomes magical, and ends too quickly.

For many students, this is a time of year filled with state assessments, end-of-year banquets and parties, and “the lasts”. The last practice. The past group project. The last rehearsal. The last game. The last day with a teacher who created a magical place where they belonged.

It is a confusing time. A student is both excited for the summer break, tired from studying, and grieving that the school year is ending, all in a single moment. As adults, we watch them struggling and tend to ask complicated questions like, ” How are you doing?”

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that there are some classrooms that don’t have that magic. Some students are excited to be done with that class, that subject, and/or that teacher. But even when we are ready to be done, we might not be ready for change.

Also, let’s mention for a moment the “May-cember” that parents are juggling. They are doing everything they can to manage a calendar that would make anyone tired.

Teachers are also struggling with the end of the year. They have to say goodbye to students they have poured their heart, mind, sweat, and tears into for months. Simultaneously, they need to complete the end of the year assessments, grades, prepare files to hand off to the next teacher, make plans for the master schedule next year, complete their professional development paperwork for licensure renewals, finalize any outstanding evaluations, finish any progress monitoring data, plan the end of the year party, get/make gifts for their students, and at some point eat, sleep, and do laundry. I have always said, the thing we often forget about education is that it is the only professional career where every project has the exact same due date.

Somehow, students, parents, and teachers make it through the last month of school every year. They make plans for how to minimize the stress and chaos next year (as though they really can), and they greet summer with joy. They sleep in, stay in their pajamas, swim, play, read, travel, and, after a few weeks, dream about starting a new school year and all the magic that it will bring.

A Powerful Little Word

With.

The power to change the world is in this little 4-letter word.

I recently heard a speaker on tactile cues for students who are deaf blind. She ended by saying something that struck me: the student can now do it with the teacher rather than have it done to them.

With.

That small word changes the entire educational experience.  

I thought about times I felt most powerless. In each of those situations, things were being done to me or around me. I wasn’t a willing participant.

I thought about times when I felt like I was being lectured or talked at, with no interaction. I didn’t feel connected to the person speaking.

Engaging public speakers are separated from the audience, yet they use language implying you are working with each other, sharing the work. They don’t talk about themself as someone separate from the audience, but rather, lean into shared experiences to reflect with each other.

With.

I think about teaching. In my favorite memories, the class was working as a unit. We were working with each other to achieve a goal, cheering on each person and struggling together when one struggled. We were empathetic WITH the experiences of each other.

Reflecting on the different groups of teachers and administrators in each job, I can think of years when we were a well-oiled team, leaning into each other to figure out how to best support students. In contrast, the years when I felt alone, trying to connect to the work in the general education classrooms. We interacted as competitors rather than value teaming. Said simply, I thrived when I was working with my colleagues rather than alone.

With.

Collaboration is not a new concept. However, it is often viewed as a requirement to check off a list rather than a meaningful partnership.

In true collaboration, the individuals work with each other, valuing the strengths each person brings to the team.

With.

Consider the difference between an IEP team of individuals, each championing their personal agenda, and an IEP team working together to create a single cohesive program that meets the needs of the student. Better yet, consider the power of the IEP team discussion that includes the student.

With. It is a powerful little word.  

Reading Gave Me Language

I am so grateful for idioms, similes, metaphors, adverbs, adjectives, and all the other beautiful ways our language allows us to personalize our messages.

Time outdoors fills my soul, giving me strength while also making me grateful. I am constantly amazed by nature and want to share the experience with people. But how do you describe the infinite depths of the sky? How do you tell someone the taste of the perfect peach? How do you describe the hug from the smells in your grandmother’s kitchen? How do you explain the ache in your heart after loss?

When I try to describe my experiences, I find myself drawing on the words of others, most often read in a book, magazine, blog, or newspaper.

The other night, I was walking my dogs and the sun was setting, changing the sky to the pinks, blues, and grays of an oyster shell. It was magnificent. It was also the moment I realized that reading gave me the words and phrases to explain my experiences.

Reading isn’t simply a task for elementary children to accomplish. It is a portal that transports us. We can visit the past, riding across the prairie in a buckboard, seeking a new start. We can live in a rocket floating through space. We can be a rabbit in a meadow with our family and woodland friends. We can do anything, anywhere, at any time by simply opening a book. But reading is also the key to unlocking our hearts, minds, and souls. We can read about politics, other cultures, agriculture, rocks and gems, fossils, seaweed, celestial bodies, movie stars, horses, recipes, and, well, almost anything. And the most wonderful result of this reading is that we can agree, disagree, wonder, ponder, refute, question, or adopt the ideas. In short, reading helps us become our unique selves.

Reading Comprehension

I frequently travel for work, and typically this involves driving. There are times when I drive 4-6 hours a day. To keep me company on the drive, I listen to podcasts. I select the first podcast, but once that episode ends, the app I use chooses the next podcast based on my favorites and listening history. I have listened to interviews, stories, serials, and comedy sketches. As a result, I have learned a lot. But was it “reading comprehension?”

Some would argue no, because I was listening, not reading print. Some would say yes, because this is how they access print—using text-to-speech software, apps, or AI.

Regardless of which you believe, we can all agree that understanding the podcast is comprehension.

Listening for meaning is an important piece of reading comprehension because you have to listen to the words you decode and interpret what they are telling you.

As we read to an infant to lull them to sleep, or read with a toddler snuggling under a blanket, they are listening. Pictures or photos can help them focus and hint at the meaning of the words, but even if there are no visuals or the visuals are not accessible, the child will still be able to comprehend. One of my favorite children’s books, The Book with No Pictures, is evidence of all that a child can understand.

Reading comprehension begins early, starting with symbols. Young children can find their favorite movie, character, or restaurant using the symbols, brand logo, or words. They realize that the symbol is connected to the experience. This then extends to understanding stories and the emotions, experiences, and events that impact the characters. The young children don’t “retell the story using two details.” Instead, they demonstrate understanding through facial expressions, comments, and reflecting on the experience as it relates to their own lives.

Comprehension skills evolve as the child’s decoding skills grow. The child learns to decode and comprehend text simultaneously. Think about how amazing that is. Their brain is taking visual information, recognizing the visuals as letters, decoding the sounds into words, AND thinking about the phrases and messages conveyed by the words. Again, the brain does this all at once. Isn’t that miraculous!

When reading is broken down into its smaller elements, it is mind-blowing that anyone learns to do something so complex. So, it is not surprising that this is a challenge for many people. Yet, even though we don’t see them “reading,” they are comprehending a variety of printed symbols all day. We need to leverage the same strategies that have helped the child in the past. This can include direct practice in small, authentic moments, using visuals to support remembering details, adding color coding, creating a story map, or a variety of other strategies until we find the one that works for the child. All of us are different, and a classroom full of students may need a variety of instructional strategies. By presenting and teaching multiple strategies, we are more likely to find what works than by using only one method.

Students with significant cognitive disabilities will need more practice with a strategy to learn the process before it can be determined if it is a helpful strategy or not. Therefore, they must get more opportunities to try the strategy than their peers. Think about how to increase opportunities, and you will have found the key to accelerating their progress.

A few easy ways to increase opportunities for reading comprehension practice include: closed captioning on the television, handing the child a menu, magazine, or book every time you are reading, read the signs as you drive, listen to podcasts or movies in the car instead of music, pair the student with peers to read aloud together, use test-to-speech software, sing karaoke following the words on the screen, use AI to captioning while teaching.

In short, the more we expand our definition of reading comprehension, the more opportunities there are to include all students in the learning.

Literacy Is Messy

A, B, C, …

Did you start to sing the Jackson Five Song, or the Alphabet Song that is sung to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star?

Thinking about the alphabet probably invoked a variety of memories, because all of us, regardless of language, have an experience with learning the written or visual representations of oral or signed language.

The relationship between reading, writing, and communication is complex and interwoven. Reading only has value when you understand the written messages being communicated. If you don’t, then reading is a phonics exercise, and lacks purpose; kind of like the song John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.

When we think about learning to read, we often begin with the alphabet, yet for most of us, we interacted with literature long before we focused on the letters. We heard stories, looked at books, and saw shows or videos with words highlighted for songs and stories. Children with verbal speech also played with sounds, typically called babbling. This verbal play grew into songs like (I Like to Eat) Apples and Bananas and the Name Game, both songs that encourage the singer to exchange sounds and create new, nonsense words.

All of these activities support literacy.

Literacy is complex and involves the integration of a variety of skills at the same time. Many students progress in class, becoming fluent readers as they learn new skills and about the English language. But for some students, we need to provide focused, targeted skills instruction.

Scarborough’s Literacy Rope is a useful analogy for reading. It visually shows how the skills develop simultaneously while also demonstrating that students can develop a “rope” even if a strand is slower to develop and weave into their skills. This is important for planning instruction, but also for IEP development and planning a student’s day.

Students who have not become independent readers can benefit from instruction that provides them access to literature or text and conversations with peers. Maybe they listen to the text instead or read it. Or maybe they read the graphic novel version of the text instead. Simultaneously, they may have a time in the day when a special education teacher or literacy coach works with them on phonics and decoding. The combination helps the student develop a rope that is strong and will carry them into their chosen career.

When we look at literacy as a messy process with multiple pathways and ways to weave together a rope, we open the possibilities for students with disabilities. They might not be proficient according to grade level standards, but they are weaving together the skills and becoming increasingly literate. The timeline may be different, but it doesn’t make their learning any less important.

As we enter October, we will look at the various threads on Scarborough’s Literacy Rope and what that could look like for a student with a significant cognitive disability.

Fall Harvest

The bounty of food our plants provide amazes me. Each fall, I am overwhelmed by the sight of farm lands, orchards, and gardens reaching the end of a season. Juicy, sweet apples bloom from wood branches, small kernels become corn stalks, and delicate vines grow large pumpkins. A harvest is the result of hard work, favorable weather, and a little luck. In short, you reap what you sow.

While harvesting vegetables and fruits has a particular season, I also harvest the fruits of my labor throughout the year. I work in education, providing training and support to teachers. I see the result of this work in a million small ways all year, typically through the stories teachers share about their students. Teachers also reap their rewards in the form of smiles, hugs, lightbulb moments, and thank yous. They collect these treasures in their heart, and it is the reward of the work that generates the seeds for the next year.

Our actions and words are our seeds, and we will harvest what we plant, water, feed, and nurture. When we drop seeds of hope, hope sprouts all around us. When we drop seeds of doubt, we are surrounded by doubt.

Ultimately, we are the creators of our garden of life. We can make it as colorful, rich, and healthy as we choose. We can also grow a garden of weeds, ivy, and thorns. If you don’t like your garden, take the time to weed and cultivate it. Cut out the branches that hide the light, pull the spiny thorny weeds from the root, and plant what you want to see grow. It is hard work. It is often messy work.

Ultimately, I can only harvest what I grow.

In times when the world is stressed, I choose to grow hope, love, compassion, empathy, and patience. I am supporting these delicate plants with my trellis of knowledge and stakes of conviction. Weeds do some up, and it is my job to continue evaluating and protecting my plants. When the sun has been hidden for too long, I need to shine my own light. When the rain doesn’t go away, I need to protect them, covering them until the rain stops. Some plants will grow faster than I expected, while others will lag. Both will be beautiful and worth the work.

Welcome September

September is the beginning of fall. With the arrival of September, students go back to school, nightfall comes earlier, and the temperature cools.

September is also a great time to adventure outdoors. Apple picking, corn mazes, and fireside s’mores create memories and give us a chance to enjoy the cool weather.

September is also the perfect time to start a new routine.

Routines are important, and almost everyone has several routines they have followed for years. I have a routine for when I wake up, another for getting showered and dressed, another for planning and organizing my work day, and yet another as I wind down for the evening.

When we have houseguests or go on vacation, routines are disrupted, and often, the change adds to the experience. But for some people, altering a routine is stressful, frustrating, and invokes fear.

This September, consider adding a routine “disruption.” Use a jar of fun autumn activities, an app with suggestions, a bucket list, or a bingo card to help randomize activities or disruptions to your family’s routines. Maybe you plan to disrupt the routine on Saturday. On Friday night, you draw a slip of paper out of your autumn jar, full of fun ideas. You then have the evening to plan for the disruption to routine.

Making trying new things a routine creates predictability, planning, and a sense of control while also teaching the importance of flexibility, spontaneity, and adventure.

If an adventure every week feels like too much, you can add blank paper slips to your jar to signify, “no adventure this week.”

Or maybe you select a number between 1-31 using a spinner or app and that is the day you disrupt the routine.

It is not about quantity, but about having a systemic plan for the unexpected.

And who knows, you may discover an activity that you enjoy so much it becomes a tradition to look forward to every time you welcome September.

Ice Cream

I love ice cream. It is one of my favorite treats. I love it in a bowl, cup, or cone. I am a purist at heart. My husband loves it best as a sundae with hot fudge, whipped cream, and a cherry on top.

Whether you like sundaes, ice cream with mix-ins, or plain vanilla, one thing remains constant: it is served in something. Walking up to the freezer full of flavors, the clerk asks, “cup or cone?” Why? Because they don’t serve ice cream by placing a scoop in your hand.

I share this because the National Center for Educational Outcomes’ former director, Martha Thurlow, once used ice cream as a metaphor for education. In this metaphor, ice cream is standards-based instruction. Any additional scoops or flavors are extra support provided through response-to-intervention (RTI) or multi-tiered systems of support (MTSS). But these are still ice cream, so they are aligned to standards. The cup or cone is Tier I or general education. Whipped cream, sprinkles, and a cherry are special education services, providing a unique blend of additional treats to add to the ice cream.

Using this metaphor, it is clear that special education is the extra, on top of standards-based instruction, not a replacement. And everyone gets standards-based instruction with access to Tier I. We aren’t going to serve students with whipped cream and a cherry with no ice cream in a cup or a cone while everyone else has an ice cream. That would be blatant discrimination. Yet, when we deny students access to standards-based instruction because they have a disability, we have served them an empty ice cream cone.