How do I know if the glass is half full or half empty if it's broken and all the water is all over the floor? NOW UPDATED

A friend of mine recently suggested that my blog is a little heavy on the negative, with not enough mention of the positive. In the spirit of that comment, let me quickly share with you that:

1. I have four amazing kids.
2. I love my awesome husband.
3. I have a beautiful house that is actually clean right now.
4. I ate in a restaurant last night and it was yummy.

OK, now that that's out of the way, let's get back to the real purpose of blogging, which is whining.

Yesterday was the first day of camp, a day of much rejoicing. All four of the WG children are enrolled in a FULL DAY of camp. From 9 am to 4 pm. D. has a shadow, of course, and Mr. WG dropped them all off yesterday. I picked them up but didn't have a chance to speak with YoungShadow. Later, she called to tell us that D. was not put in the class with his friends, the class he was in all year long. Instead, he was put in the class behind his, where he spent the day looking out the window at his friends.

The other boy with issues from his class was also placed in the baby class.

The assistant in that class commented aloud, IN FRONT OF MY SON, that she doesn't understand how it is possible to deal with that child (D.) and his problems.

This, from a school that claims a significant portion of my income. This, from a school that claims to want to include children with special needs. This, from a school that asked me to post on a local message board that their camp is a viable option for children with special needs.

I cannot tell you how it felt. Well, I can try. It felt like someone kicked me in the stomach and then stood over me, laughing.

Last night, Mr. WG and I talked through our options. This morning, he went to camp ready to do battle. As soon as he arrived, D. announced that he wanted to play with E., his best friend from his real class. Then the director greeted Mr. WG with, "He's going to the proper class." Good. So they went down the hall, and D. walked into the class, which is taught by his teacher from this year, and burst into tears. Hmmm.

Do you think MAYBE it's something about this woman?

D. calmed down quickly enough, and it seems that he will be fine. And eventually perhaps the school will learn not to mess with my kid, lest they receive letters like the ones I write to Aetna.

And maybe I will find the positive in all of this, but I have to tell you that it isn't always easy.

UPDATE: My amazing friend who happens to be overseeing the camp program called me, and made me feel better about things. She agreed that the decision to put D. in the baby class was a bad one, made by the preschool director because she felt pressured by D's teacher. My friend and the director were prepared to battle on our behalf if necessary, but it didn't come to that. So. Good. Positive. Calm. Happy. :-)