My oldest son, Bob, is ten years old and in the fourth grade this year. As such, I have been involved with our local public school district for five years. Since Bob's formal diagnosis (mood disorder, ADHD) in the spring of his kindergarten year, I have been working with--and against--teachers, counselors and school administrators in an effort to allow my son the best quality education possible.

Before I decided to share them here, I hadn't read my old personal blog entries chronicling Bob's two inpatient hospitalizations in 2008 since writing them. As I read them four years later, the confusion, hurt, anger and hopelessness are just as palpable. Amazing how the past can provide perspective into the present.

If you've read my previous posts about my son, Bob's first inpatient psychiatric hospitalization at the age of 6, you may understand my mixed emotions surrounding his release after only six days. On one hand, I was happy to have my boy home, and to no longer be under the scrutiny of the hospital staff. On the other, I couldn't help but think six days was a very short time to turn Bob into a "normal," functional kindergarten student.

I'd like to thank all of you for the kind words and shared stories regarding last week's posts regarding my son, Bob's first inpatient psychiatric facility admission. I have more to share on that matter, but I'm returning to the present today for the ongoing saga of the 504 Plan.

As I continue writing Bob's 504 Plan (previously blogged here and here), I am amazed at how much of it seems to be common sense. Does a child really need "frequent restroom breaks" put into writing in order to use the restroom? (Being a substitute teacher, I've learned most kids won't go to the restroom every 20 minutes unless they're bored, need a break, or have a real physical need.) Sadly, it seems much "common sense" in education (indeed, all matters concerning children) has become anything but . Case in point: the accommodation in Bob's plan that created such a buzz--his notebook.

Like an errant child avoiding homework, I've been putting off something important for almost a week: writing Bob's 504 Plan. Wait--isn't someone affiliated with the school district supposed to do that? One would think.

*continued from Part 1* Last week, I was ruminating on whether or not to select special education as an area of teaching specialization. It may or may not surprise you that I've decided against teaching special education.

I've been ruminating my return to the workforce for the past few months, and have made a decision--I will be returning to work, but not in the same capacity. After taking required coursework necessary to supplement my degree, I plan to teach. I've been substitute teaching in our public school district since November, giving me an opportunity to "try on" grade levels and subjects. Because of my experiences with Bob (my son diagnosed with bipolar disorder and ADHD), I've been told I should teach special ed. I've been told I'd be great with special ed. I just don't think I want to teach special ed.

Yesterday, I met with the "team" to discuss an IEP for Bob (my 4th-grade son, diagnosed with bipolar disorder and ADHD). Apparently, the team has met before--without yours, truly--as I discovered a couple of weeks ago when I emailed the principal asking whether we were going to meet before or after Bob's teacher returns from maternity leave. The return email I received from the school psychologist indicated no meeting had ever been held, but Bob's ineligibility for services via IEP had already been determined and we could meet to discuss a 504 plan.

(Continued from Part 1 and Part 2) I suppose for the past five years, I've been living in my little suburban cave, sheltered by Bob's elementary school and our middle-class neighborhood. I hadn't realized just how great a gap exists within our school district, or how many children like Bob are getting trapped in that gap.