I’m hip-deep in preparations for our next IEP meeting, which I’m told should NOT include some of my brilliant ideas, such as screaming, “You people are inefficient, heartless asses” or suggesting that my child could, in fact, receive a better education in a cage full of premenstrual orangutans. (I only believe one of those statements, actually.) (But I’m not saying which one.)
This time we’re bringing the Big Guns, by which I mean that we have hired representation because it’s become clear to us that that’s the only way anything’s going to get done. Sad, but true. And really, all of that pesky money I had tucked away was making my mattress all lumpy.
In addition to having many other brilliant ideas, our shiny new advocate has suggested that I bring food to our next meeting. (Don’t you love her already?) She suggested a number of things which are easy enough to pick up at the store, but you know me. If I’m going to kill them with kindness, I’m going all the way. I’m baking, baby.
Have a recipe guaranteed to turn even the most curmudgeonly drone to pliable goo? Please share. I need a good one.