I tend to struggle around this month now.  When I was a noob–that is a parent of a newly diagnosed kid–I was all “Yeah, Autism AWARENESS!  Blue stuff!  Fuck yeah!”  But now, not so much.

This stems from a lot of things.  Primarily, it’s because I’m not a fan of Autism Speaks or it’s model of celebrity talky talky/money raising.  There are those who say they do a lot of good work–and for those people, I am glad they have something that gives them some inspiration and hope. I see a “charity” that seems to pay celebrities a great deal to raise awareness and funds,  and hold “walks” only to raise more awareness and funds. 

But that isn’t what my child needs.

This last weekend we went to the park.  Where my child was having fun, but also feeding some sensory issues.  (read: throwing sand)  My Old Man was trying to get him to do something else that wouldn’t alienate every kid there when he had a conversation with a little girl who happened to be in Benji’s class.  He asked her how Benji was in class or if he had any friends (since our son can’t answer this question himself) and she told him conspiratorially that “he’s kind of a bad kid”

And I wanted to puke.

Not that he’s acting up in class.  I KNOW he’s acting up.  I get the behavior reports.  DAILY.  It’s that this little girl has seen him act up, but no one has talked to her, or her peers about Ben.  About his differences.  About his challenges.  That there hasn’t been a lesson about how to be Benji’s friend, because he has trouble initiating play.

Awareness needs to be more than numbers from the CDC and scare tactics and conversations about vaccines.  It needs to be more than spreading generalizations about SOME traits that occur in SOME people with autism.  There needs to be a component of compassion.  While people are being made aware, maybe they could be reminded to be kind and giving and compassionate?  Perhaps the awareness we need to focus on is our own awareness of OUR actions toward those around us who are different than we are.

I for one plan to spend April working on my compassion.  Not only to help my child, but to help the world. Pay it forward, help the lesser of these, maybe educate someone who doesn’t know why my kid loves throwing sand.  And yeah–maybe a chat with the resource teacher about helping my son’s class understand who Benji is.  Because that is 100x more worthwhile  to me than walking around a track all day.

Rape is the only crime in which the victim becomes the accused.  –Freda Adler

There is a lot of chit chat today about victimization.  Unfortunately the victim the media SHOULD be discussing it being painted as the villain.

And of course she is.  Because OBVIOUSLY it’s her fault that two boys made a fucked up choice to flaunt their power and abuse someone without power.

(seriously–if you didn’t read the sarcasm in that?  You need to find a different blog to read)

But I’m not going to waste time painting the picture of the obvious that we live in a rape culture–where rape is a joke for many, and a reality for more.  You all know at least one person who has been raped, even if he or she hasn’t told you.  Even if she never went forward with the information knowing what the culture would say about her.  Even if she thought that going forward with her story would only tarnish her as “whore” and him as “victim.”  Because that is invariably what happens in our society.

No–I want to talk about the idea that men cannot help it, that boys are inherently violent and that we need to take that into consideration when they do atrocious things.

Lemme share a story that is not about rape, but rather about power.  Because rape in its purest form isn’t at all about sex, and everything about power.

When I was in high school, our school had a kick ass football team.  Maybe not the powerhouse of surrounding towns, but good enough.  We weren’t a small town, nor insular, but like any other town we had one high school, and our athletes carried a certain power.

And like any other town with a high school, there were parties involving alcohol and teenage stupidity.  And at one of those parties, a few of the football heroes took advantage of someone without power and beat him nearly to death.

There is no question here posed that he “deserved it” or was “asking for it” as I think we can all agree that being beaten that badly is NOT something someone deserves, even if they are being an asshole or said something nasty about your mama.  No one deserves to go to the hospital because they don’t have any power.

(and for any of you harboring any blame toward a rape victim, I want you to think about that example and apply it to her.  I don’t care if she was walking down the street nekkid with a sign that says “rape me”–it is STILL NOT AN EXCUSE)

Anyway, our town felt the brunt of this case because it actually made national news, and our school football team was painted with a broad brush as thugs and bullies.  And it felt unfair–because most of them weren’t.  But let me be clear here–a couple of them were, and deserved to pay the consequences of their actions.

As a result of this horrible beating, our school came out with a “Code of Conduct” that all athletes and anyone in extracurriculars had to follow.  And if you broke it–even at non school events, you could be kicked off your team/whatever.  Even we band geeks had to follow it.  I don’t remember it–prolly because we didn’t go about beating people–but people were up in arms about it.  As an adult looking back on it, I can now say of course!  That makes sense.  If you beat someone to death, you don’t get to play football–even it it was a private party.   ‘Cause here’s the thing.  The code needed to happen, because at least a few guys needed a reminder about how to act.  I’m sure there was a rule, or at least should have been a rule like 1) don’t beat the shit out of people because you can.

Because this is my point–ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES.  and if you choose to use power over another person, there will be a consequence.  It may be a punishment. Or maybe you think you’ll get away with it.  but even that will have a consequence.  Because if you abuse power, and get away with it, the world is doing you and the rest of us a disservice.  Because then we will see the abuse as something normal, as a part of human nature, and we will become numb to it.  If someone gets away with abuse of power, it only sets a precedent for others to do it, and then when someone stands up and shouts “ABUSE!” they will be viewed as the abuser instead.

They may have been rising stars, and they may have had a future ahead of them, but their choices–AND THEIR CHOICES ALONE–ruined their lives.  Not the person they abused.  Because their actions already ruined someone else’s life

If we refuse to hold boys up to the same code that we hold women to (don’t dress this way, don’t act this way, don’t get raped) then we are doing them a disservice.  We are saying we do not think they can do better, that they are no better than animals, that they cannot evolve.  and that, gentle readers, is a steaming load of horseshit.  MY son will be taught to NEVER abuse his power–because he is going to be big and strong if genetics are ANY indication.  And he will know–because I will never shut up about it–that abuse of power is a cardinal sin in this house.  End of story.

You know why rape victims seem to deal with the trauma of their rape so well?  BECAUSE as a society WE HAVE NO CHOICE. So many people have been a victim of rape that it has become the norm to “deal” with it.  Because the more noise a victim makes about it, the more abuse she is wont to suffer. We deal with it and survive because no other choice it open to us.

I don’t want to hear another thing about those “poor boys”.  They made choices.  Bad ones.  And now they are paying a slap on the wrist penalty for those choices. And that girl has to continue being victimized through the media and in her hometown as the perpetrator instead of the victim.

THAT is rape culture, people.  And it is why we feminists and others are so “uptight” about this whole “rape thing”.  When words like “legitimate rape” enter our culture, it is no different from the 1950′s idea that she was “asking for it”. Someday we are gonna wake up and see that horror of all this.

Someday.

I hope.

I REALLY REALLY hope.

*not holding my breath*

You are better than using that word. When you use it, you are giving a signal to every bully in the area that you think a group that once carried that label medically is deemed as “other” and “less than” and therefore a target.  Even if you are not referencing them directly, EVERYONE knows what you mean.  And when you use it, or let others around you use it, you are saying it’s ok to treat an entire group of people badly.  You are saying it’s OK to bully, and harass, and even take away their rights.

Yeah–we’re annoying in this.  Yeah, you might consider us the “word police”. And hey if you wanna keep using it, indeed shouting it from the rooftops to exhibit your freedom of speech, then do so.  Just know MY freedom of speech may compel me to call you a douchebag for doing it.

Just STOP IT.

But Mutha, lemme tell YOU what you don’t see right now…

That mom over there spent all morning trying to get her kid services he so desperately needs, and all her friends have abandoned her because her child is not like theirs, and it makes them uncomfortable.  And she feels horribly alone and she worries about her child and how he will be treated every minute.

But you can’t see them because all you see are dirty sweat pants and unwashed hair.

That mom over there could really use a friend, because she recently gave birth to her third child and her post-partum depression is off that charts.  Right now she might be thinking about making sure the kids are with their grandma before she takes the pills tonight.  She might be thinking about leaving her husband.  She might be thinking of running away.

You’ve seen her before, but have never offered her more than a cool nod, even when you noticed she looked frazzled and spent.

She sees it, and thinks she must be a horrible person because she can’t seem to make friends.

Now you are talking to one of the moms you do know, but you can’t hear the story beneath her story because all you can focus on is your own parenting, and you can’t hear that her marriage is faltering and she could use a shoulder.  You only think that if there is a problem, your friend must be doing something wrong.  Because marriages, like your own, work well when you do everything right.

Take a minute to LISTEN and HEAR and SEE the men and women around you.  Not the face they show to the world, but the underlying story of hardship with which they might be struggling. Enjoy the camaraderie that comes with making adult connections.

Put your eyes back on the prize:  COMPASSION.

Recognize that not everyone has the same views as you do, and not every parent is going to parent the way you do.  EMBRACE it, and them.  I’m not saying accept truly poor and abusive parenting that puts children at risk, but for godsakes, don’t  put someone who wants a few seconds to decompress in the same category as a negligent parent.

Eventually all you will have is your blog and your righteousness and nothing else, because no one wants to know they are being judged all the time by the people around them.

When your children are grown and out of the house, no one will be there to go on grand adventures, or to play card games.  No one will invite you to join their book club because they all know that you hold your opinion to be the most important, and no one feels that you are at all kind.

In fact most of them think you are mean.  And will not be sorry to see the back of you.

You’ve shown them how judgemental you can be, how, when they need a few measly seconds, or minutes or even a freaking hour to hear their own thoughts and grab a little peace in whatever form it can take, you will look down your nose at them and call them bad parents and think yourself better than them because you have tried them in your court of personal opinion and found them guilty of being themselves.

I know you think you are trying to help them.

I know you only want to show them the joys you experience being a parent the way you want to be a parent.

But those other parents can’t hear your joy.  They can’t hear your urge to help.  Because your judgement is screaming way too loudly.

May you never know the loneliness that can sometimes accompany parenthood.  And if you do, may someone far more compassionate and caring than you come to your aid, for heaven help you if you come face to face with a mirror during those times.  Because your kind of noisy, high-horsed judgement and disapproval?  I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

April 21, 2011

It was sweet and comforting. The one thing that would give me the sad was watching him interact on the playground in the morning at drop off.  He has found his routine of putting his backpack and lunchbox in their respective gulag, but then he would falter a little.  I watch him watch the other little boys and girls running about in no doubt a rousing game of zombie tag, and I can see it in his little face:  the excitement.  He wants to join in. He wants to feel the wind in his hair and the triumph of zombie defeat.

He just doesn’t know how.  And if breaks my heart every. damn. time.

They work on it in speech.  They work on it in ABA.  How to be a friend.  How to have a discussion.  How to share what may be the awesomest toy in the history of toymaking awesomeness.  And he kicks ASS in these skills.  With adults.  He can be friends with an adult in a city minute.

But kids are so damn exciting!

His eyes light up and he smiles and his little fingers come out with their “love guns” where he will poke you with “love”–he even says “love, love, love!” when he does it–and he starts to dance about in joy.  Gods DAMN he loves kids!

And everything he learned in the five million gajillion sessions of [insert therapy here] goes flying out the window, and he will poke and push and jump on someone–usually the ONE kid who does NOT want to rough house and has a habit of telling any and ALL adults in the vicinity about his victimization, and Benji is scolded and told he was wrong.

And it just breaks my fucking heart.

He cannot explain his excitement.  He cannot explain his fervor.  And he is new to every adult there.  He is the only kid with autism mainstreamed into kindergarten at the moment, and sometimes I feel like it’s a giant neon sign saying “watch out for this guy!  he’s got issues!”

What sets him apart isn’t the rough-housing or the excitement.  Every single kid in all 4 of the classes experiences this.  He just can’t explain himself, and doesn’t always understand the reprimand.  It’s communication that sets him apart.  Otherwise, he is like any other kid waiting to go down the slide, eating his snack at the picnic table,  and running around with the joy that modified freedom can bring.

And the other kids see that.  well, except for tattle-tale Irving, but he’s prolly got his issues too.  They see someone who doesn’t always answer their questions, or know how to “dialogue” during pretend play (but he’s getting better!) but for the most part knows the basics of tag and rasslin, and is usually playing with something pretty cool.  He’s a little screamy when he doesn’t get his way–but at 5 & 6, who isn’t?  Other than Irving.

But it isn’t the kids who send the notes home, and it isn’t the kids who have “concerns” and it isn’t the kids who see every.single.difference and comment upon it.  It isn’t the kids who switch on the neon sign every morning.

That little hug after school reminded me of that yesterday.  In the end, that hug meant more than a million hours of compliance.  And I’m grateful for it.

Well, I’ll tell you brother–you have to MAKE them listen.  That is the only way the world will ever stand up and pay attention!

I know, I know–BUT HOW?  you ask.  Simple–try bullying!

Oh, sure.  You could try the high ground and be respectful of other people’s values and beliefs, but honestly, where is the fun in that?  And it certainly won’t impress the ladies, amiright?

No sir, with my simple straightforward plan, why, even a hormone enraged teen could make this seem like child’s play.

But let me tell you a little bit about the background of this amazing plan.  I sent out my scientists, all graduates of ITT Tech and the infamous International Correspondence Schools to carefully observe and gather data on multiple social media sites.  In a triple blind study of the most popular candidates on Facebook and their amazingly inferior opponents, our crack team of scientist gathered the key ingredients for success in a social media outlet by carefully engaging the popular, placing false “vaguebook” statii, making wild political statements, poking fun and outright disagreeing with them.  All against a control of kitten and unicorn pictures.  After a careful study of the data, I was able to use my college education and superior logic skills to deduce a plan of action that would allow even the homeliest of maternal basement dwellers into the king of the Internet*

Read through and practice these steps, DIRECTLY AS WRITTEN, and when you come face to face with someone who refuses to listen or accept your opinion as word on high, you will know EXACTLY how to handle them.

1) Use your OWN insecurities as insults for your opponents.

You might be thinking–but HOW can I attack them?  I…I don’t even KNOW them.  Easy!  Turn that hateful stare back on yourself for a moment.  What do you hate the MOST about yourself?  Too fat?  no backbone?  inability to engage in sexual congress?  covert racism?  Well, then, THERE is your arsenal!  Simply look to the actions and words of your opponent and see how they fulfill that arsenal.  He made a joke about you that you didn’t like?  Call him a bigot!  Don’t hold back on the insults either–drop the big guns like bigot and pussy, and leave them no room to defend themselves.  If they should respond, make sure to point out how their argument is just as bigoted as the joke they previously uttered.  do not HESITATE for a minute.  Stand fast to your argument and refuse to back down.

2) Prove your superiority

If you find the little weasel you are trying to destroy has a few friends trying to defend him, it is time to prove your superiority.  This is a fantastic time to point out your credentials, your publications, your invitations to speak at conferences, the famous people you know, or even your 22,970 followers.  Let that little worm KNOW that YOU are the voice of authority.  Remind them of your mental acuity, with patronizing statements like “you should try this” and “reading is good.”  Don’t allow their arguments involving logic or pragmatic defense to cloud the truth that YOU are the one whose opinion should be paid attention to, and NO OTHER.

3) Use careful scientific methods to prove the stupidity of your opponent

One of the ways to really prove your superiority and drive your point home is to use scientific methods and graphs and pie charts.  No one can deny the power of science to prove your point!  And if they continue to discredit your point, you can then also mock them for not being able to read a graph!  It’s a multitasking tool!

4) Surround yourself with followers who only agree with you–to the point of blind devotion.

One of the great things about building a major following, is that you can make sure that those you follow are in complete 100% agreement with you–even if you don’t make sense.  Why look at the power of Jim Jones, L Ron Hubbard and David Koresh!  Their followers never doubted their wisdom!  Look to their example.  Should any of your followers begin to question you, you can then use these methods on them as well, before discrediting and blocking them from your group.

5) Accuse the person you are bullying of being a bully themselves

This is the method that is key–KEY to your success.  Because what is the one thing that will garner sympathy from no only your followers, but gain you NEW followers?  The accusation that YOU YOURSELF are being bullied.  Your social media success  CANNOT move forward without this step.  Anything else is just commonplace bullying, and frankly a CHILD could do that, right?  the mark of the evolved bully is to really use ALL the bullying tools in your arsenal.

Trust me, this is the one and ONLY plan that will work quickly and efficiently.  Why, one of my own friends was bullied JUST TODAY, and his name has been dragged through the mud for simply making a joke in which no malice was intended.  I  simply have to bow to the genius of the bully in question, because he certainly knew EXACTLY what he was doing.  On top of that, his own argument was so convoluted and disjointed, that I almost believed him, being a simple-minded parent who could never EVER understand the complexities of someone else’s life.

But don’t just trust my professional word.  Read these amazing testimonials:

“I followed these 5 easy steps and now my cats, Mr. Mittens, Mrs. Paws, Fluffy and Fuzzypants McGillicutty agree with me that the other person was totally stupid”–Jillian Snoland

“These steps must really work.  As soon as he called me a bigot I knew I had no chance at winning the argument. After all… I’M A BIGOT! How could I be right?”–Jeremiah Snodgrass

“I am a firm believer in these steps. When followed to the letter, you simply cannot lose another Internet argument again.” ~Juan Andon

“I used to feel helpless and unloved, surrounded by my own misery and left-loathing. But now I’ve learned the steps toward turning that anger outward in ways that devastate others while making me feel self-assured. You can’t put a price on self-assurance.” – Hubert Myspays

These steps really raised my internet bullying to a whole new level. I NEVER lose an argument now. It doesn’t matter whose character I defame. ~ Ben Dover

Dream big my friends! Owning the Internet is not just a dream! Don’t let your own insecurities hold you back, use it to your advantage, and make your enemies quake in fear! The world is yours! MAKE IT YOUR BITCH!

*no actual title or subsequent land grant is of yet available

Yeah, I don’t know what I fucking think.

I’ve stayed away from the blogging scene recently because of that.  I’ve got nothing, except a full schedule, and I always don’t make time for writing.

And some would look at that and say I am not a true writer.  That were I truly dedicated to my craft, I would wake up wanting–no, NEEDING to write, and nothing would get in my way of doing it–not the dishes, not the mortgage, not the laundry…

And I haven’t been sewing much lately.  My schedule, again is full, and I’ve found those moments to myself have been just that–and I’ve curled up with a book and a cuppa and haven’t ventured much into my studio.

And some would say I’m not really committed to my art. That if crafting were that important to me, I would be COMPELLED to do it. It would take up every moment I have,  because that’s how they define inspiration.

I haven’t been eating well lately.  I have a tendency to reach for what is easy, and what tastes good, and what fills that internal comfort meter of the fat/sugar ratio of delight.  Because pastries were meant to be consumed.  And “beer is proof that God loves us.”  (Ben Franklin)

And some would say I am not serious about getting healthy and losing these extra pounds.  That if I were serious, I would only eat this or that, and I would have will power, and I would exercise and nothing would get in my way.

My face to face time with friends has been limited lately.  Because sometimes I find it exhausting.  And I prefer a moment to myself with the new season of Downton Abbey and a warm beverage.

And some would say I am not a good friend.  Because I don’t go out of my way to make the time to go on this lunch date and join that book club and share that recipe and drink that cocktail.  If I really wanted girlfriends, I would make the effort.

My parenting has been sorta off track lately.  SO much so that I have to make lists of the things I’m supposed to be doing because I forget that he has to brush his teeth, or that we should go to the park, or that there is homework in his backpack.

And some would say I’m not being a good parent.  Because they define parenting by some sort of construct they developed themselves based on a ratio of their own parents’ actions in relation to the way THEY wanted to be raised, with a healthy dose of whatever it is they read on the interwebs.  And that if I were really serious about being a good parent, I would read this and do that and feed him that and read him that.

I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions.  I always figure if I need to make a change, I do.  I don’t need a prescribed date to do it. 

And, I suppose, some would say I’m lazy and missing an opportunity to better myself.

But, funny thing is, there’s a resolution I just realized I was so far keeping this year:  oddly enough, I’m not listening to what THEY say anymore.  As far as I’m concerned, THEY can go fuck themselves, because they obviously don’t know me.  THEY seem to make a habit of bullying others because that person doesn’t fit within their social construct.  THEY shout loud for all to hear that THEY are the ones with the answers, and woe to those who disagree.  And they quote holy books, or scientific studies, or Facebook posts, and claim to have the answers. FOR ME. Having never sat on my saggy couch or eaten my banana bread.  THEY are no better than the invisible army they rail against.  Just loud and obnoxious and insulting bullies.  And I’m tired of them having a voice.  I really am.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some laundry to do, and I need to brainstorm a way to get my kid to WANT to line up at the morning bell, and I’ve got some knitting to finish, and I’m a little hungry since I haven’t eaten brekkies yet.  You know–LIFE.  The thing we end up doing when we stop listening to THEM.

Blessed yule, everyone!

December 21, 2010 (the year Ben was diagnosed)
Today marks Yule–an ancient holiday originating in Northern Europe when the people needed a reminder that is can’t stay this dark forever and that eventually, the light will creep into the castle a little too early, and the work day would last a little too long, and they’d be yearning for days of warm fires, mead and a little greenery in the hall. It WAS going to get better. Yeah, it’s been dark for a while, and Sven really needs to slow down on the wenching if he refuses to shower, and those stores set aside for winter need to last. The solstice marks the shortest day of the year, but the following days will get longer. So just take it easy on the mead there, and realize the light will return.I have to admit, even if I didn’t celebrate Yule, this would still be an important time of the year for me. This is also the time of year my son was born. A day after solstice, as a matter of fact. On that first day that had just a little bit more light.

I won’t bore you with cliché analogies about how he is the light of my life (urp). He is, but I try to keep those sentiments to myself, else a large target for the pelting of rotten vegetables becomes visible. So instead, imma take this image in a different direction.

I was commenting to a friend about last night’s lunar eclipse that coincides with this year’s solstice (not visible here in LA though due to this Ark-worthy storm rolling through) and that it’s a great symbol. We must endure the dark in order to revel in the light. And that is what Yule is about. You burn the largest log, you bring green into the hall and you celebrate with those winter stores with those you love and live with. You remind yourselves that it will be warm again. Not tomorrow, mind, but it will warm up.

And really, that has been our journey this year with Autism. It was dark earlier in the year. All I could imagine were the negatives and the uglies. But like a good cask of mead–early intervention, a fantastic pre-school teacher, more “direction” for me and our home activities, and this blog have made the light more possible. And that light that is coming includes even more therapy, the growing of my Autie community of blogger friends and fans, and Benji himself. Everyday he shows more improvement and growth. Everyday, there is a little more light.

Forgive my Wiccan aside here, but I have to share this. When I was pregnant with him, I read my Tarot cards regularly–especially before we knew whether he was male or female. And almost every time one card would come up–the knight of swords: the bearer of the sword of light and truth. That’s how I knew he was a boy–little did I know that card would come to mean so much more. It was a truth that stung, but really, he is that light. As simple as that.

So lift your glasses friends, and gather around the warmth of a good fire. Regale your loved ones with tales of daring and truth, and cherish these times of rest. Do not fear the dark–without it we would never appreciate the light.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got another glass of wassail to spike…

Blessed Yule, y’all.

It was that moment when you realize as a parent that your kid can really do more than you expected. And while it frightens you, while you kinda want to take that moment back with all haste, you realize, “wow–he can DO this.”

(remember that story.  There’s a point coming.)

I’m preparing for an IEP. An IEP that is gonna be a big change.  An IEP I apparently always wanted, that yet completely terrifies me.

Next Friday we discuss placing Benji in a full inclusion mainstream kindergarten.  And it’s got me in such as state that I may run out of Xanax before the week is over.

First off, of course, is the pure shock that we have gotten to this point so quickly. I really wasn’t expecting it yet.  When Benji was first diagnosed as having a speech problem (pre-autism) we were told that the prognosis may be that  with lots of work, he might enter kindergarten with his typical peers in a general ed classroom.  And I clung to that idea like a fucking life-preserver in the middle of the pacific.

And let me be clear–it wasn’t that I wanted him to be typical, or “normal”, because that shit really didn’t–and still doesn’t–matter to me.  But I was so fearful of the stigma that would be placed upon him, the judgement of others, the battle he would have to face on a daily basis for the rest of his life if he wasn’t able to “catch up”  I can still remember with stunning clarity the moment I allowed myself to face the fear of what Autism meant–and the first thing I thought was “My baby!  They are going to be SO MEAN.”

But when the A-word was mentioned, and the subsequent evals and forms and evaluation forms, and forms evaluating the evaluations, and so on and so forth,  by the end of the diagnosis, I was numb and broken.  I put aside that life preserver and put my head underwater for a while.  I figured it was just something positive those early therapists were trying to say, because they could FEEL the ugly cry just below the surface.  And yeah, I wallowed in that for a bit.  Or a month.  Or something.

But like many parents in my situation, eventually, I snapped out of it.  And I embraced the programs in which my son was involved, and saw improvement–MARKED improvement–and I made sure he got every gods-damned service he could get by right, so that I could help him grow and become the amazing kid I already knew he was.

And I forgot about mainstreaming and inclusion.  Because it didn’t matter anymore.  I knew what my job was as advocate: not to change him, but to help OTHERS understand how “Au-some” he was.

Well, ok, and help him learn a different response to his frustrations rather than screaming.  But that goes without saying, no?

We entered Kindergarten this year, and it’s been…an experience.  He has some super sweet and wonderful classmates, and I’ve met a great group of Autism moms.  But the class just isn’t a fit.  Because it turns out it isn’t the High Functioning class I was told it was.  Nor is it on the general education track, which is where he should be according to the IEP.  So, as the school struggles to cover its out-of-compliant ASS, the powers that be observed my boy and declared him ready for all day mainstreaming.  Inclusion.  Right now.  In Kindergarten.

As previously predicted.

And, Ladies and Gentlemen, I am scared shitless.

Because those fears I had–about the stigma and battles and judgement?  Just came to the forefront.

We were insulated in special day.  Sure, the class itself might be shorted or judged, but there was a nobility in the class standing together in the face of that judgement, you know?  It was always an issue of “you just don’t KNOW these kids” when one came face to face with ignorant statements and judginess.  There is a camaraderie among parents of that class–who do not look upon your kid with a frowny chin-waggle if he chooses to simply stand there and flap with joy.  They understand your struggles, without explanation, and offer comfort or congratulations for every milestone met.  There is a solidarity, if you will, and you can always imagine yourselves “us vs them” if you have to.

But now, we lose the “us.”

And there is still the “them.”

Sure.  I’m not being fair.  All the parents of typical kids aren’t the judgey assholes one runs across online, or even at the park.  Hell, the kids in the class Ben has been part-time mainstreamed to have been super loving and supportive of Ben–so much so that that general ed. teacher has never even seen Ben even close to his worst.  And that says a lot for the parents, right?

But he isn’t going to be mainstreamed at the school he’s currently attending.  Nope.  Back to the home school.  And when I say back, I really mean, in attendance for the first time.

And who’s to say I won’t cock punch the first parent who gives me the stink eye?

what’s that? Can’t? Never heard of it!

(or worse yet, bust into a full ugly cry?)

Because what makes this so stressful is that it kinda puts us back at square one.  And all the trepidation and uncertainty, and down right intestine-twisting FEAR that I felt right after the diagnosis–it’s back, blowing cigarette smoke right in my face.  She sits there, blowing her smoke and reminding me of the stories I’ve heard first hand of teachers refusing flat out to work with IEPs, supports getting cut due to budget constraints or administrative idiocy, and students–like my own son–falling by the wayside in favor of typical kids with vocal parents and a teacher with only so much energy to give.

Mainstreaming is the right decision.  My kid is practically reading at the 1st grade level already.  He knows how to get in line and sit for circle time and hell, today he demonstrated a math problem he made himself using graham crackers.  He’s eating up knowledge like an unattended plate full of chocolate covered peeps.  And while I have very little confidence in the team I’ve worked with so far, I KNOW they are not the enemy here.  Because there is no enemy.  Only that nicotine soaked bitch known as my fear.

So, once again, I have to kick her to the curb, and advocate and make sure he is placed in the best situation possible, where he can continue to blossom and grow.  I have to put aside my need for solidarity.  I have to put aside the things that made ME comfortable, and stare fear straight in the kisser and tell it to fuck off.

And all by next Friday.

Because the thing is?  He CAN climb that wall.  Without fear or hesitation.  And slide down the slide and do it again.  And I love him to pieces for that, and for reminding me that he can always do more than my fear would lead me to believe.