Miss-Delectable
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Nicole L.V. Mullis: Celebrating undercover mothers | The Enquirer | battlecreekenquirer.com
I’d like to honor someone special this Mother’s Day. Technically, she isn’t a mother. She’s my sister and she teaches multiply-impaired deaf children at Michigan’s School for the Deaf.
Her kids are tough, suffering from various emotional and physical impairments. Many require one-on-one aides and medical assistance. Few schools can accommodate them, so they are bused to MSD. They range in age, race and background. All they have in common is deafness and my sister.
There is no grade progression, no mainstreaming, no graduation. These kids return to my sister year after year. They’re more than a class; they’re a family. A family my sister tends with great care.
Her goals seem modest. Give these children a language, some boundaries and a chance to belong to something larger than themselves. She harbors no delusions. She knows their futures are fragile, but she doesn’t concentrate on The Future. She concentrates on The Now.
Her classroom is open and inviting, with soft places, long tables, cozy corners and even a swing. She researches diligently for new ways to breech the silence and calm the chaos. Nothing’s out of the question except pity.
Smart. Crafty. Driven. These are the words my sister uses to describe her kids. They know what they want and doggedly pursue it. On a good day, these passions open the doors of communication.
On a bad day...Well, my sister’s skin bears the marks of the bad days. Scratches, bruises, welts.
Tantrums come with the territory, but these kids aren’t toddlers. Some of them have large, powerful bodies. Still, my sister holds her ground. She understands security breeds trust and trust enables learning.
My sister enjoys her kids and keeps their stories. She shared how one kid stalked a peacock at the zoo because feathers fascinated him. How another’s idea of Cedar Pointe is riding an elevator. How one turns every art project into an RV. How another, obsessed with Snow White, “poisons” her daily with imaginary apples.
We bumped into one of her students while on our family vacation. The sheer joy on this kid’s face at seeing his beloved teacher was humbling. He immediately took her hand and they spoke together in sign. When his parents tried to leave, he refused to let go of her hand, content to follow wherever she was going.
She went to court to keep one of her kids in school. She gave the eulogy at the funeral of another who died of cancer. I was there and watched my tough, introverted sister reduce the room to tears. She loved this boy. She loves them all.
A couple of years ago, my sister got a new student; a real force. My sister read, researched and restrained. Eventually, they forged a delicate peace. Now, due to budget cuts, the kid’s school district wants him back.
My sister is distraught. What would happen to him? Who else would understand and accept him? What about her other kids? They wouldn’t understand if he left. They would miss him.
This isn’t just a teacher talking. This is a mom; an undercover mother.
My sister isn’t alone. There are many undercover mothers out there. They don’t get holidays or homemade cards or even a break on their taxes, but they’re doing a mother’s work and they deserve our gratitude.
I’d like to honor someone special this Mother’s Day. Technically, she isn’t a mother. She’s my sister and she teaches multiply-impaired deaf children at Michigan’s School for the Deaf.
Her kids are tough, suffering from various emotional and physical impairments. Many require one-on-one aides and medical assistance. Few schools can accommodate them, so they are bused to MSD. They range in age, race and background. All they have in common is deafness and my sister.
There is no grade progression, no mainstreaming, no graduation. These kids return to my sister year after year. They’re more than a class; they’re a family. A family my sister tends with great care.
Her goals seem modest. Give these children a language, some boundaries and a chance to belong to something larger than themselves. She harbors no delusions. She knows their futures are fragile, but she doesn’t concentrate on The Future. She concentrates on The Now.
Her classroom is open and inviting, with soft places, long tables, cozy corners and even a swing. She researches diligently for new ways to breech the silence and calm the chaos. Nothing’s out of the question except pity.
Smart. Crafty. Driven. These are the words my sister uses to describe her kids. They know what they want and doggedly pursue it. On a good day, these passions open the doors of communication.
On a bad day...Well, my sister’s skin bears the marks of the bad days. Scratches, bruises, welts.
Tantrums come with the territory, but these kids aren’t toddlers. Some of them have large, powerful bodies. Still, my sister holds her ground. She understands security breeds trust and trust enables learning.
My sister enjoys her kids and keeps their stories. She shared how one kid stalked a peacock at the zoo because feathers fascinated him. How another’s idea of Cedar Pointe is riding an elevator. How one turns every art project into an RV. How another, obsessed with Snow White, “poisons” her daily with imaginary apples.
We bumped into one of her students while on our family vacation. The sheer joy on this kid’s face at seeing his beloved teacher was humbling. He immediately took her hand and they spoke together in sign. When his parents tried to leave, he refused to let go of her hand, content to follow wherever she was going.
She went to court to keep one of her kids in school. She gave the eulogy at the funeral of another who died of cancer. I was there and watched my tough, introverted sister reduce the room to tears. She loved this boy. She loves them all.
A couple of years ago, my sister got a new student; a real force. My sister read, researched and restrained. Eventually, they forged a delicate peace. Now, due to budget cuts, the kid’s school district wants him back.
My sister is distraught. What would happen to him? Who else would understand and accept him? What about her other kids? They wouldn’t understand if he left. They would miss him.
This isn’t just a teacher talking. This is a mom; an undercover mother.
My sister isn’t alone. There are many undercover mothers out there. They don’t get holidays or homemade cards or even a break on their taxes, but they’re doing a mother’s work and they deserve our gratitude.