special needs child

There is still a huge assumption in the system that if a child truly had problems these would manifest in all settings the same.
Being a special needs parent brings with it “special” challenges.
I know with my soft fur and ears like velvet, it can be excruciating to look and not touch. I hope you can be strong, because along with this handsome physique of mine, I have a set of skills that set me apart from other dogs.
Guardianship may be necessary, but it is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do for Caleb. It boils down to petitioning the court to acknowledge that he is an incapacitated person. It is effectively taking away his right to make his own decisions, and that is a very sad process.
When I took my little guy to the park, I'd play chase with all the kids as the other moms sat and chatted over coffee. You see, all the park kids want to play with the fun grown-up, so being the fun mom creates social opportunities for your kid.
If you are ever tempted to question the legality of a handicapped permit, please leave it to the police. Not all handicaps are visible.
Two different parents reached out to my husband and I at the school to let us know their children wanted to help Thorin. I got the feeling I was going to be asked to write college references for these kids someday.
Pain is a natural part of life. As long as we keep our eyes and hearts on the rainbow, rainy days are no longer unbearable.
I know what Marie Holmes meant about wanting to provide for her children. I am the mother of a special needs child, and I know the hurt of wanting to provide for your child, and also the advantage of being lucky enough to do so.
I was afraid having a child with cancer had labeled me as defective. Everyone else was having healthy kids, so there must be something wrong with me.
Inclusion is a wonderful idea, and should always be the goal whenever it is reasonable. But inclusion must not be treated as an inflexible ideology.
When Max walks, says a word, feeds himself, picks up an object, uses his pointer finger, reads a word, writes his name, climbs the stairs, goes to the bathroom or uses his iPad speech app, I'll suddenly be filled with gratitude that he is able to do what he does. I take none of it for granted.
What I once feared so much is something I now would welcome with open arms. I enjoy my daughter, and the thought of having her around makes me smile.
For all of Abby's 9 years, I admit that I have been a very protective parent. Even before we knew she had special needs, let alone a terminal illness, I found myself trying to protect her from actual and perceived dangers.
She's dying. My 9-year-old daughter is dying. Today I can say it without crying, but not necessarily tomorrow.
We're talking about our children -- an arrangement that's supposed to be unconditional -- and as long as they're healthy! is alarmingly conditional. Everyone's happy for a new baby and congratulations are in order -- but only under certain criteria. Right?
"Difficult" recalls the top of the mountain and all the self-satisfaction you will be rewarded with if you just persevere. "Hard" is that same mountain, only you're unsure of your footing, and the rocks are jagged and scrape your skin as you climb.
This letter is for the Special Needs Mom, whose child is unable to write or say the words this Mom may long to hear.
People accept an 8-year-old who still acts 6. They are just "young for their age." They will tolerate a 10-year-old who still acts 6 if the parent looks exhausted enough. But a 13-year-old who is still acting like a 6-year-old is a serious social problem. I know, because this child is my son.