Sweet Bette has been in school for about six weeks now. And people have kindly been asking us, How is she doing? How is it going?

And the simple answer is that things are going great. Bette is doing so well. And we are so pleased with the progress she is making with her language.

But that was not the case at the beginning. In the beginning, we were not pleased. And we were not happy. And it started on the very first day of school.

I took her the first day school full of hope and optimism. After six long months of being stuck at home with a child who yelled all the time, we had made it. She was finally in school – exactly where she needed to be – with other deaf children her age – who were all learning to hear and speak together. And she would be in school most mornings, giving Lilla and I plenty of time each day to get her work completed and out of the way.

Everything started out completely normal. I dropped Bette off in her new classroom, met her teachers, and then went to what I knew would be a lengthy parent meeting. At one point, a microphone was passed around so each of the one hundred parents in the room could recap their summer. The thought of standing up in front of all those people terrified me. So I escaped to the bathroom and stayed there as long as I could. After 20 minutes of hiding out, I figured my turn had passed and it was safe to head back.

On my way, I ran into another mother, whose child I thought would be in Bette’s class this year. But her daughter moved up to the full time program. And she was so glad her daughter would be in six hours of school a day instead of two hours. Um, excuse me? How long is the class Bette is in?  Two hours. Are you sure? Pretty sure. It is only two hours? Yes.

I almost threw up. Because I was absolutely sure, without a shadow of a doubt, her school day was a full three hours. Her camp this summer was three hours a day – 15 hours a week – so I assumed school was the same.

And just so you don’t think we are totally stupid, the hours were never written down anywhere. Definitely not on the contract we signed last spring. We have a copy. We checked.

I excused myself and headed straight to the administrators office. It only seemed fair to double check that this new information was correct before I flipped out. The secretary confirmed yes, her school day is only two hours.

I walked outside to playground and called Jay. I tried to not get upset. I tried to hold it in. I didn’t want to overreact. And I didn’t want to cry. Because it is obvious for hours afterward when I have been crying. I get red and blotchy and puffy. It is not a pretty sight. I didn’t want all the other parents to see me have a meltdown during hour two of day one of the new school year.

As soon as I began telling Jay the whole story, I started bawling. On the playground. At Bette’s school. On the first day. It was ridiculous.

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Because for six months, I had been holding on. Holding on until Bette started school. Not to mention, I had created an extensive homeschooling plan around Bette’s school hours. And I structured all our activities around when Bette would be in school.

And in the first hour, of the first day, it was all shot to hell. My grand plan completely fell apart.

Jay was not happy with the news, but did his best to calm me down. Once my borderline hysteria subsided, we agreed to look at everything, all the numbers and the hours and the cost, that night. And I made it through the remaining time at school without blubbering like an idiot.

I cried a lot for the rest of the day. Once I stopped crying, I was just mad. Really, really mad. Partly because Bette’s stupid school hours were never written anywhere for us too see. Partly because I wasn’t sure we were getting a good value for our money. But mostly, I felt like Bette was getting ripped off. She wasn’t getting enough hours she needed for speech therapy.

That night, we talked for a long time, about what we should do, and would doing anything even make a difference? Jay didn’t think it would. He knew from a business standpoint that the school’s budgets and schedules were set.

But I was adamant. We were going to raise a ruckus. This needed to be addressed and we were going to address it.

So we came up with a plan of attack. Jay would deal with the business office and I would talk with the director of Bette’s school.

I almost felt bad for them. Because if there was going to be any resistance on their part, it could only be because they didn’t yet understand who they were dealing with.

Me. A mom. A mom willing to take on, or take down, anything, if it was the right thing for her sweet, special baby, who also happens to have some extra needs.

I went to the director’s office first thing the next morning. After a few brief pleasantries, I said, Okay, we are unhappy, and I am going to give it to you straight.

And to her eternal credit, she took everything that tumbled out of my mouth really well. She could not have been kinder. She understood exactly where we were coming from. And she said she would figure something out to make sure Bette was getting what she needed.

I was so relieved. I didn’t walk out of her office with any solid answers or a solid plan for Bette, but I felt so much better. Because after talking with her, I knew she was on our side. Or more accurately, I knew she was on Bette’s side. And that was all that mattered to me.

Since then, a plan has slowly developed. Bette is now spending a significant chunk of her time at school in an older class. She is being exposed to higher language and working in more intense therapy groups. And hopefully soon, she will be able to go earlier or stay later each day, so that she is in school closer to 15 hours a week.

Looking back, it would have been so easy to just let the whole thing go. Because Jay was right, the business office was not helpful. They were nice. But not helpful.

But we couldn’t let it go. Because Bette is a special needs child. And at the end of the day, our job is to be advocates for Bette. We have to stand in the gap for her. No one else is going to do that. Other people may try to help and have good intentions, but really, it is up to us to make sure she is getting everything she needs.

God gave her to us. He entrusted her, a beautiful little girl who can’t hear a thing, into our care. And it is our job to love her, help her and even fight for her when necessary.

This is probably not the last time we will find ourselves in a situation like this. I imagine there will plenty of incidents down the road. And it is probably good that God made both Bette and I fairly feisty.

It will definitely serve her well in the future that neither of us are scared of a good throw down.