DC Metro Moms

Autistic Children Are Not Brats

In the slightly more than five years of my son Jack's life I've called him a lot of things. I've called him a trouble-maker. I've called him adorable. I've called him loveable, joyful, and charismatic. I've also called him solitary, difficult, and autistic.

I have not, to my recollection, called him a brat.

Brat is a negative term that goes past discussing mere behavior all the way down to a child's core. And it is a hurtful term. Not as hurtful as some, but call any mother's child a brat, and that mother will be upset.

Enter radio talk show host Michael Savage. Last week he called autistic children brats on-air, saying, "In 99 percent of the cases, it's a brat who hasn't been told to cut the act out."

Sometimes Failure Begets Success

Sometimes something that seems like a failure turns out to be a success, just depending on the way you look at it. And when you have a child with autism, as I do, even little successes see big.

To explain: My oldest son, Sam, has been going to karate class twice a week since last October. On his very first day in class I came to the conclusion that karate just might be the thing for my then four-year-old autistic son, Jack. To Jack's delight, my husband and I decided that when Jack turned five, we would enroll him in karate.

Jack's 5th birthday was in May, and his first class was July 1. Unfortunately, no matter how many people agreed that it might be just the thing for him, Jack didn't take to the class. By halfway through his fourth class, he was done. He couldn't pay attention, he was crying, and he was claiming his stomach hurt.

Not Your Typical Birth Class

I don't think the childbirth class I took was typical. I know what Hollywood tells me childbirth classes are like. They involve dolls that fathers-to-be diaper badly, the room is filled with tolerance and relaxation, and the women all practice breathing like this: "hee, hee, hee..."

This was nothing like mine.

I have given birth to three kids and took a childbirth class for only the first one. (Because, frankly, if I didn't figure it out the first time, I didn't think a class was going to help me.)

My husband, Alex, and I lived in Oakland, California, when my oldest son was born more than six years ago.  Alex and I sort of randomly picked a six-week childbirth class out of the phonebook. This is probably not the best way to choose such a class.

Camp Here and Now

When I looked at my summer and saw weeks and weeks of empty squares on the calendar, I panicked. Then I calmed down and told myself it wouldn't be that bad. Then I had all three kids home for a day and it was an unmitigated disaster. So I panicked again. Then I came up with a plan.

The plan is to create "camp" at home for my three kids all by myself. The idea first took root one afternoon when a friend and neighbor sent me a semi-joking email about "Camp Here and Now" that would be made up of her kids and mine and would take place in our driveways. I thought it was an excellent idea and have followed it to its extreme, Jean-style conclusion.

I've chosen a theme for each week, starting with "Cooking Camp" this week and ending with "The Olympics" at the end of August.

Maybe Next Year

Either I didn't grow up in a geographic area where people joined and went to private pools in the summer, or I didn't belong to an economic class that did that. Regardless, I never belonged to a pool when I was a child, and I don't remember a single friend that did either.

When I was a child, we would scrape together fifty cents and walk up to the high school during public swim hours where we would pay to swim for the day.

Here in suburban Maryland, however, it seems like everyone belongs to a pool. I remember my first summer with three children after I moved here. It seemed like everyone had an opinion on joining a pool. Not whether we should join a pool, but which pool we should join.

In fact, everyone was so certain that we should join a pool that it didn't really occur to me to question my imminent pool membership.

I started to research different pools, fees, locations, and who goes there before I realized a couple of things:

1. Joining a pool is expensive.

2. If I take three young children to a swimming pool by myself, there is a good chance that one of them

Who Hates Cancer?

The DC Metro Mom Bloggers hate cancer, that's who.

Also the tens of thousands of men, women, and children who participated in this weekend's Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in DC. Although the hour was early (Who knew there was still a 6:30 a.m.?) and the heat was stifling (I'm not a fan of the term "heat advisory."), the exercise was good, the company was better, and the cause was the best.

The DC Metro Moms Blog team raised more than $2700 and braved the muggy weather to Race Walk Meander Sweat for the Cure.

See all of us in our early morning, pre-DC heat splendor?

The Sweat-ers for the Cure included: Andrea, Julie, Sandie (and her adorably tiny two and a half month old anti-cancer crusading son), Devra, Jessica, Robin, Leticia, Jodi, Jean (in the back, standing on my very tippy toes), Nancy, Linda, Jess (who got the whole team started), and MamaBird.

Sarah walked with her family and Mary, Suzie, and Susan slept in for the cure.

Despite the heat, we had a great time this morning, especially at brunch, where I watched these 12

Survivor: Kindergarten-Style

Send him to kindergarten or don't send him to kindergarten, that is the question. Recently I have been obsessing over whether to send my young son, who just turned five this month, to kindergarten next fall with the rest of his peers. Part of me really wants to keep him in preschool for an extra year.

See, my son is on the autism spectrum. And while he is very smart, reading and doing some math at age four, his social development (among other things) is behind that of other children his age. Lately I've had a lot of encouragement from his teachers and doctors to send him to kindergarten next year. And I've started leaning in that direction.

And then I read this. A kindergarten teacher in Port St. Lucie, Florida, led her students in a discussion of a child's negative qualities and then conducted a poll that resulted in his class voting 14-2 to kick him out of the class. The child, Alex Barton, is in the process of being diagnosed on the autism spectrum.

I cannot even describe my feelings when I read the first couple of blog posts I found on the subject. My concerns with sending my child to kindergarten stem largely from a fear that the other kids will ostracize him. The thought that a teacher would allow that to happen had occurred to me. The thought that a teacher would actively encourage, and even instigate it had not.

This Year's Party Theme is "Slapdash"

I've found that one of the things I'm good at as a parent is being prepared. I'm rarely caught without an extra diaper or a desperately needed snack, and if we're going out somewhere, I usually have everything we need. And then some.

The same thing goes for my kids' birthday parties. I'm always prepared with plans, invites, guest lists, and activities ahead of time. Not so this year. This year I am totally screwed.

I throw a good party, if I do say so myself. Especially children's birthday parties. I tend to go simple (a sundae-decorating party here, a trip on a trolley there, some water balloons waaaay over there), but I always have a theme (e.g. cooking, trains, beach).

This year I planned a joint party for my 5-year-old and soon to be 3-year-old without properly thinking it out. And by "planned," I mean "set a date."

Always a Bridal Gown, Never Clutter?

Recently, whilst in the throes of a decluttering project, I came across my wedding dress packed away in a box. It rested atop a box full of Transformers from my husband's youth, and underneath a box of old coats.

I've gotten pretty good at making decisive decisions about my clutter. I'm even learning how to get rid of sentimental items. But the wedding dress threw me for a loop.

Unlike with the Transformers (nod along when the husband swears he's going to eBay them, and then throw them away when he forgets about them in six or seven years) and the box of coats (donate, donate, donate!), it seemed that I would be crossing a boundary by getting rid of the dress.

Making a Spectacle of Myself...Again

It started out looking promising. When I walked into karate class this afternoon for my oldest son's graduation to gold belt, my two-year-old was sleeping on my shoulder and my four-year-old had promised to be good. Plus I had a bag full of books and toys to keep them busy.

I should have known it was too good to be true.

Almost immediately after I found a good seat in the front row, a fast-moving fan woke the toddler up, my four-year-old completely forgot about my bribe of pizza for dinner if he was good, and no one wanted to read quietly. It went downhill from there.

It would have been hard for any parent to keep two kids contained in a a 4'x4' space for 45 minutes, but I felt a little like the deck was stacked against me. First of all, my two-year-old is...well, he's two. And Jack, my four-year-old, is autistic.

I don't consider Jack's autism to be an excuse for bad behavior