What Community Means

What does it mean to be part of the community?

I got a list of summer camps today.  There were hundreds listed.  Janey would be welcomed at none of them.

When searching for after school activities in this area, a big urban area, there are almost none that would accept Janey.  One great exception, which is not close enough to home for us to utilize it, is the Boys and Girls Club.  I wish the one with the fantastic sounding programs was not about an hour's drive from us in afternoon or evening traffic.

A younger Janey and her brother William, in front of our house

The city is full of plays, stores, concerts, museums, restaurants, movies----almost none of which I could take Janey to.

There are lots of wide open spaces around here.  Might be great for Janey---if not for the dogs off leash that run up to her, with well meaning owners saying "Oh, he won't hurt her!  He loves kids!".  Yeah, but Janey is terrified of your dogs, and that makes her unable to use yet another public place.

So, sometimes when I think about including Janey in the community, I get discouraged.  Or I laugh a bitter laugh.

This would be much harder to take if it were not for the fact that in our own little neighborhood, we have found community.

Our neighbors on both sides are wonderful people, people that delight in Janey.  When Janey screams outside, or laughs manically, or just is her own unique self, it means the world to me that I know she is accepted and understood by those living closest to us.

Anyone who has read this blog knows about Janey's love for the "ice cream store", a store that is currently a 7-11, although it's changed names a lot.  We go there almost every day.  She is always welcomed by the staff, and increasingly, by the regular customers.  I can't tell you how many little kindnesses she has been shown there.

The closest few grocery stores know Janey well, and go out of their way to make our shopping with her not only possible, but fun.  One of the workers at the local Shaw's Supermarket has a grandson with autism, and has actually given Janey presents and always gives her a hug.

Janey's new bus aide lives in our neighborhood.  She walks over every morning to ride the bus with Janey, and her sweet, kind nature makes our mornings.

We have a little bubble here, a small world where Janey is truly included in the community.  We have often noticed that she is more accepted here even by people who don't know her than she is in many places.  Our neighborhood is working class.  It's never been gentrified, and probably never will be.  It's not a fancy place.  And perhaps that's part of the reason it's accepting.  People here are not necessarily living the American Dream, defined strictly.  There seems to be more room in their worldview for those who might not be following the script of "good schools, good college, good job, nice house, good vacations, comfortable retirement".

So what does community mean?  It means a place where you are included, where you are accepted and valued and allowed to be part of the action.  We might not have a community in the sense of formal things like camps or lessons or culture, but our neighborhood has made Janey a community member, and that means so very much to us.

I wish the whole world was open to Janey.  In an ideal world, it would be.  But for now, it's good to have our own little corner of reality where Janey is part of the community.

Writing Raw

I don't normally write when I am feeling raw, when I am not in a calm writing state.  But today I will. I won't get into all the reasons, not to be mysterious but just because it's not always the forum here for that.  But I am feeling discouraged this week, very discouraged.

It's not really Janey's behavior that is discouraging me, but with my other worries, it's the constant grinding feeling of knowing there just doesn't seem to be a place in the world for kids like Janey.

I put an article from the New York Times on my Facebook page---here's a link to it--Link  It's just one thing in a long list of endless things, but it upset me.  It talked about a new program in schools for kids with autism, a program that in many ways is like the school Janey attended for the first 5 years of schooling, an inclusion program.  I liked what it had to say, until I read the line that said "To get into the program, children must be deemed capable of doing grade-level work"  Yeah.  Okay.  Like so many other programs supposedly for special needs or autism, kids like Janey are specifically excluded.  This is something I find over and over and over---camps and lessons and special events and on and on and on that simply don't want to deal with a child like Janey (or if I am being kinder, would like to deal with her but just don't have the resources)

And I will get really cranky here and say I'm sick of hearing that, basically, intellectual disability doesn't exist in autism.  It's not something I hear directly, but something that is often implied.  I am the first person to say that I know Janey has many, many strengths.  I know she understands more than she lets on.  I value her extremely much, AS SHE IS.  It is not necessary to make her something she ISN'T to value her.  She is a child that has a very significant intellectual disability.  It's fine if people choose to not accept that.  But they can't choose to not accept that but then still think they are helping all kids with autism.

What if I said "Janey IS capable of doing grade-level work!" and tried to put her in a class like the ones in the article?  Because, who knows?  Maybe she somehow is!  I can just imagine how that would go over.  It would not.  The truth is, what someone might be capable of is not, in practical daily life, that important.  She could not function in a class like the ones described.  I am not just guessing this.  She used to be in a school with classes like the ones described, or actually, a school far MORE inclusive than the ones described, classes that did welcome kids with intellectual disabilities, but were not able to deal with the full range of autism's challenges.  I wish she still could be at that school..  But she can't, and the school was right to admit she couldn't.

And there are so, so many other things like the inclusion classes the article talks about.  If you ever want a good laugh, do a search for camps in your areas that say they accept kids with special needs or even more specifically, kids with autism.  And then look at the details.  There is almost always a rule saying something like "child must be able to function in a 5 to 1 child to adult ratio", "Child must be able to safely follow routines"  or even "Child must be fully toilet trained"  I'm overstating a bit here, but if camp fliers were honest, they might say something like "Children with special needs accepted as long as they don't have any needs which are beyond those of other children"  Or in other words, special needs children are fine if they don't have special needs.

To me, whenever I feel that the media isn't presenting a full picture of children with autism, when voices of parents like me are silenced because we are "speaking for our children and not letting speak for themselves", because we are "portraying autism in a negative light"---well, to me that feels like the truth of Janey, the truth of children like her is something that is being hidden, something that is somehow too horrible to talk about.  And it isn't.  Janey is an amazing person.  Almost everyone who has met her is drawn to her.  She is amazing AS SHE IS.  She is amazing not because she might have mysterious hidden abilities, she is amazing WITH intellectual disabilities.  And WITH occasional self-injurious behaviors.  And WITH incomplete toileting skills.  And WITH aggressive behaviors when she is very upset.  And WITH very limited speech.  She is amazing as she actually is.  And I will fight until my last breath for children like her to be included, truly included.

All Are Welcome---except, of course, when they aren't

As I made a depressing round of calls this week to try to find a source of outside of school speech therapy for Janey, as I once again looked at summer camp opportunities and realized that the Extended School Year program at the public schools was really her only option, as I thought about how restless Janey is on the weekends, I did some thought exercises.  How would we feel, in today's society, to think that activities, programs, lessons, camps, enrichment opportunities, all those things that are "open to everyone" are in fact closed to one small group of people?  How would we feel knowing that we exclude with polite speech and "of course you understand" and "we aren't equipped to deal with that sort of needs" and "we staff for children who can be in a 4 child to one adult ratio" and "we generally deal with younger children with more potential to someday return to regular classrooms (an actual quote)" and "we'd be happy to help you if you could hire a one on one aide to accompany your child" and many, many other such ways to say NO---we don't include your child?  If this were done on the basis of sex or religion or race or nationality, we'd be outraged.  But because the child in question, the children in question, are autistic, labeled as "low functioning", not "able to follow directions"---well, that's just life.

And the thing of it is, I usually accept it as just life.  I am not a fighter.  I was not especially chosen to fight this autism fight.  I accept reality.  I say "of course I understand".

And the other thing of it is, I don't want Janey where she isn't wanted.  She is so sensitive to tone of voice, to the mood of a room, that she often bursts into tears at tense moments occurring on such TV shows as "Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood" or "Clifford" or "Yo Gabba Gabba".  These are shows aimed at toddlers and preschoolers.  If Daniel's mother is annoyed at Daniel, or Clifford upsets Emily Elizabeth, or the Gabba folk have a misunderstanding, Janey will scream and cry and pound the TV.  So how would she do at a program or camp or activity that just plain doesn't want her there?  How would THEY deal with her toileting accidents, or arm biting, or such?  Would she be yelled at, or worse?

Although I might not like it, I can understand why Janey might not be able to attend some things.  In an ideal world, she should be able to go to anyplace "open to all".  But she can't.  But I cannot accept that after making all kinds of calls,having two kinds of insurance for her, being willing to pay,  there isn't even a place that will provide her with speech therapy, or a social skills group.  I can't accept that she can't attend the city's rec department summer program FOR KIDS WITH SPECIAL NEEDS.  I still can manage to get upset that she had to leave the inclusion school we loved.  I hate it that the only respite we are referred to, over and over and over, is a program we tried, where we personally witnessed a staff of two, one working on checking in children, supposedly supervising approximately 15 kids with severe special needs---a program held up as "the best"---one that now does officially say they can't deal with kids that need one on one attention.

I'm feeling angry today.  And I will calm down.  I'll go back to understanding that "everyone included" doesn't mean that.  I'll go back to realizing Janey is a special case.  I already do realize, very much, that we are incredibly lucky she is welcomed and loved and embraced by the public school she attends---that I can put her on the bus each morning knowing she is cared for all day, and there is a summer program for her that does the same.  But in this city, this country, this place with the money to wage wars and send people into space and provide young sports players with equipment and travel, the city that gave my sons so many incredible opportunities, there is so little for those among us with the most needs.

Summer memories

Today was the day I think of as the first day of summer---the first day of the first full week without school.  I will be totally honest and say it's a day I dread.  I've never, ever liked summer much.  I don't like the heat or the lack of routine.  With Janey, a summer day can feel endless.  I am very grateful for summer school, which starts in two weeks.  But today---it was a long day.  Janey screamed a lot, cried a lot, just was very out of sorts.  I felt out of ideas for the whole summer by nine in the morning.

Tonight, looking back on today, I realized something interesting.  Janey knew what the day was.  She knew it was the start of summer.  I realized that because of what she asked for.  First thing in the morning, she wanted to walk to the "ice cream store".  That was our routine last summer, almost every day, to walk to the convenience store about 5 houses down and get something to eat.  We did that.  A bit later, she went into her bathing suit drawer and pulled out her suit, and said "want to go swimming?"  She didn't really want to go, and resisted once I tried to put the suit on (I was going to do the backyard wading pool), but that's another summer routine.  Later, near time for Tony to come home, she put on her shoes and said "Go see Daddy?"  Again, something we did very often last summer---walked to the train station to meet Tony as he came home.  We haven't done it since last summer.  Lastly, she then asked "Get Chinese rice?'  Yet another thing from last summer---having Tony bring home Chinese food often.

I don't know how it made me feel that Janey remembered all that.  It made me feel sort of guilty, that her summer memories are of such mundane things.  It made me realize how much she gets routines, and how often when she's upset, it might be that a routine that I didn't even know was in place was broken.  It made me think about how much goes on in her head that I have no way to access, and how boring life might often seem for her.

I wish I could do more with Janey in the summer.  But there are so few things she can actually tolerate and enjoy, more so now that she is older and bigger.  There are splash parks around, but they are filled with toddlers and preschoolers.  Janey is the size of an adult, and unpredictable around younger kids.  There's all kinds of camps and programs---none of which are able or willing to take Janey, except for the ESY summer program at her school.  Any store or museum or library or pretty much any public venue, I can't do alone with Janey, even if she did enjoy them for more than a minute or so, which she usually doesn't.  The Thomas Land park was great, but I would not even do that alone, even if it wasn't an hour away and very costly.  So, much of the time, we stay home.

With that being said, I am hugely looking forward to later this week.  We are taking a trip!  Tony and Janey and I are going on a road trip to see a friend I met through this blog and her family! (the boys are staying home to care for the house and cats and so on)  I've arranged it so we don't drive more than 4 hours in a day, and we are staying at hotels with pools.  We are going to keep everything as low key as possible.  I still am not sure how it will go with Janey, but I hope well.  She does like the car, and hotels. If it goes well, it's the kind of trip Tony and I both want to do a lot more of. Maybe someday we will visit more of you that read this blog, if you want us to! (We'd stay at a hotel, of course!)  So wish us luck in making some new summer memories for Janey.  I plan to blog the road trip, or at least post on the Facebook group each day, hopefully with good news of good times!

A full life vs. the trifecta

It's the doldrums of winter.  It's hard for everyone, but I'm realizing that it's harder for Janey than most.  I think the next big challenge we are facing is how to give her an interesting life, a meaningful life, a full life.

I think about myself at age 11, or my sons at that age.  Life gets pretty interesting around that time.  You are old enough to have your own interests and passions.  You have made friends---friends that might become lifelong friends.  You go to their houses and they come to yours.  You are starting to be able to be out in the world by yourself.  You are turning into the person you will be for life.

Then I think about Janey's life at 11.  She goes to school.  She comes home.  That's about it.

There are many, many barriers to giving Janey a more meaningful life.  The big one is that she has the trifecta of autism, severe intellectual disability and behavioral issues.  Any one of those alone is tough enough, but the three together cause barriers to almost any organized type activity we might want to pursue for her.  I can't tell you how many times I've heard about a new possible class or program or camp or so on that might work for Janey, only to look into the details and find that it would be impossible, due to one or more of her challenges.  Saturday special needs city programming?  You have to be able to be in groups of 4 kids to 1 adult.  Music lessons for kids with autism?  You have to already know how to play an instrument and have to be able to read music.  So, so many camps?  You have to be toilet trained.  You have to have no self-injurious behaviors.  Hundreds more promising sounding enrichment activities that are "inclusive"?  Inclusive if your child can follow directions, not run away, read, write, not need constant supervision.  Respite houses for the disabled?  Not for kids that need one on one care.

So I say---okay.  We'll do it ourselves.  We will enrich Janey's life.  During recent snow days, I woke with a determination to give Janey an interesting day, a full day.  And every attempt to interest her in anything other than videos was met by screaming, by her biting her arm, by fury, or if not fury, complete disinterest.  I tried---reading books, playing with toys, involving her in cooking, putting on a children's yoga video, taking her out in the snow---I tried everything I could think of.  Janey was not interested.  Part of this, I think, is that in some deep ways, she's a regular pre-teen.  I'm her mother.  I'm not who she wants to hang out with.  And part of it is the combination of the trifecta.  The autism makes her not that interested in new activities.  The intellectual disability makes it hard for her to understand so much---how to use toys, how to hold a writing utensil, how to understand what is read to her.  And her behavioral issues make her prone to lashing out when the first two kick in.  I try to put myself in her shoes.  What is someone tried to get me to do something that I am not interested in and didn't understand?  What if someone proposed a fun day of doing calculus equations?  I'd be lashing out pretty quickly, and I don't have behavioral issues.

So what do we do?  I don't know.  We do what we can.  Janey's favorite activity is going for car rides while listening to music.  She adores doing that, and we do it as much as we can.  Tony takes Janey on many, many car rides to nowhere, with mix CD playing.  It's wonderful to see Janey during these rides.  She has strong opinions about music.  She doesn't like everything, but what she does like, she loves.  We put a lot of time into finding her new music she might like, and it's time we all enjoy.  But we can't always ride in the car.  I put a video of Janey on my Facebook companion page (I can't figure out how to put it here, but you can see it there if you want) asking for a car ride last night.  It was one of the rare times Tony had to say no---he was exhausted and the car was covered with snow. After the part shown in the video, Janey frantically paced back and forth asking to put her coat on and go in the car---for an hour, until she went to sleep.  It broke our hearts.

I don't have answers here.  I don't know exactly how this problem can be fixed.  But I must keep trying.  Janey needs a full life.  I owe it to her to find a way to give her one.

"But there are no services for my typical kid!"

When I write about the lack of help, especially respite, for Janey, an argument pops up a lot.  It's not so much one that anyone has the guts to SAY to me, but one I know people, people outside our autism tribe, might be thinking.  It goes like this "Why should you get help with your daughter?  I have a kid without any special needs, and nobody is helping ME!"

When I hear this, I laugh.  A deep, ironic, non-funny laugh.  Because of course the typical child gets help, and of course the typical parent gets respite.

Let's start right in my own neighborhood, in fact, within walking distance of my house.  I live in a working-class part of Boston.  Not a fancy suburb, just a regular type place.  And if Janey had no special needs, here's the respite I could get at low or no costs...

A community center that holds camps during all vacations, for very low prices

A YMCA with camps, Saturday programs and all kinds of activities

A small theater with vacation and summer programs

A summer program to learn tennis

Summer programs at several nearby school, with academics and field trips

Dance classes, with camps

These are just the ones I can think out without a bit of research.  During a typical vacation, I could choose from lots and lots of places I could walk, and could afford.  I could drop Janey off there and have a whole day to myself, while she had fun with other kids.  And if you think these programs aren't subsidized, think again.  They are heavily subsidized by the city, or by the Boston schools, or by donors.  They are available to anyone.  Anyone but someone like Janey.

Now, if we open it up to the city at large, there's hundreds, probably thousands, more possibilities.  There's the Saturday program I've so often mentioned, for "special needs" kids.  Not Janey, because they have to be able to handle a 4 to 1 ratio.  There are music programs run by the school district, absolutely free summer programs, all day camps.  There are a huge number of programs at community centers.  There are nature camps run by the Audubon Society.  There are so many choices, choices I could actually afford, that I would have a hard time picking.

And what is there for Janey?  There is nothing.  She gets summer school, the incredibly shrinking summer school, which becomes less weeks and less days a week each year.  She goes to regular school.  That is it.

It is an ironic, sad thing that the families most desperately in need of some respite are the same families for which there is none.  So don't say for a millisecond that your typical kid doesn't get services, doesn't get help.  They do.  We live in a society, despite anything anyone might want to think, where Janey is excluded from so very much by her disability.

When inclusive isn't inclusive---the cheery camp booklet

Last week, I went to a presentation at Janey's school, about summer programs, given by people from an autism program at a local hospital.  I hesitated to write this post, because I don't want to put down the people who gave the presentation.  They were earnest, well-meaning and caring.  However, I left feeling like, frankly, their whole presentation had been a waste of my time.

The people from the hospital had made up a very colorful and cheery summer guide.  They made sure we noticed the cute clip art, the little asides and pictures and all.  The core of the guide was a list of 12 camps.  Almost all of these camps were called "inclusive".  A few, instead, were listed as being (and I quote directly from one of them) "for individuals with high functioning disabilities".  One of them said it was for "children with special needs", but then right under that, said "1:3 counselor to child ratio"

As the presenters went through the camps, I felt increasingly depressed.  None of the camps would be a possibility for Janey.  She isn't able to be "included" in the way meant by the camps.  The peppy social stories and advice on talking to counselors would not make her able to attend the camps.  A one to three ratio would never, ever, ever work.

I debated mentally whether to say anything to the presenters about my thoughts.  I know that children in the autism program at Janey's school have a spectrum of abilities.  I am sure many of them COULD go to these camps, and so I decided to keep my mouth shut, to let them get the benefit of the presentation.  Thankfully, one of the autism program directors from the school spoke up and asked the question I had been so much wanting to.  She explained that some of the children in their program had very high needs, and asked if any of the camps on the list would be able to handle that.

The presenters were a little flustered, I think.  They said no, the camps probably wouldn't to able to handle that.  The woman from the school asked if they knew of a camp that could.  They mentioned a camp that "might be able to".  I then spoke up and asked about why that camp wasn't on the list.  They looked at each other uncertainly and said they weren't sure why---that maybe the camp wasn't really for autistic kids.

I am not trying to be mean to these hospital employees.  I don't blame them.  I don't blame anyone, really.  But the guide they gave, and their initial "There's so much out there!" vibe are part of a huge problem.  There is a giant divide between what one of the camps called "high functioning disabilities" and Janey's type of disability.  The general public doesn't, for the most part, understand this.  They might look at a booklet like the camp one and think "Wow!  I almost wish MY child had special needs!  Why do these people whine so much?"

Fortunately, Janey DOES have a summer program.  She goes to summer school right at the same place she goes to winter school---at the public school she attends.  Kids with a very high risk of slipping backwards during the summer get summer school, by law.  The law doesn't say how MUCH summer school they get, though.  This summer, the school will be only 4 days a week, for 5 weeks.  20 days.  The summer has a lot more days than that.  Just a few years ago, the program was 30 days, but I guess our kids, our very high need kids, are not a budget priority.  I wonder if someone up there in the decision-making office thinks "Well, there's plenty else out there for them to do in the summer!" while looking at the same cheery little booklet I am.

I want to end this with a huge, giant, heart-felt thank you to the teachers, aides, program directors, ABA therapists and more that work at Janey's school (and those who worked at her old school and worked for so many years to practice true inclusion).  They don't get the glory, but they are the ones that truly do accept everyone.  Inclusion, in my new thinking of the word, means being able to say "Yes!  We welcome your child!  We will meet their needs!" And it matters to me really not at all if this is in a classroom or camp with no "typical" kids at all.  I'd rather have her accepted than not included in "inclusion"

How Little Closed Doors Add Up

A while ago, I read this article about an IKEA playground---how a mother wasn't allowed to go in to the playground with her autistic 9 year old, so he wasn't able to play there.  My reaction at first was "Well, that's not much of a big deal.  That's their rules"  Then I got thinking about it, more and more, over the last few weeks.  Although that particular incident might not be a big deal, little closed doors like that one add up.  They add up into a world where so many, many places are closed to Janey and others like her.

Most of these closed doors are not formally forbidden to Janey, of course.  They are public places that legally, she's free to go.  However, because of her behavior and because I don't want to intrude on other people and their rights to use public places, I just can't take Janey to them.  For example, after our trip to the library, I realized that it was not a place for Janey, especially not with small children around.  Trips to playgrounds or to splash parks are not really possible, because Janey is bigger than most of the kids there and prone to lashing out at the little ones.  Restaurants are out of the question, for the most part.  I would not ever attempt a plane, or a longer train or bus ride, because Janey would scream at many points during the ride.  Church doesn't work---others can't quietly worship with a screamer in their midst, and Sunday schools or childcare aren't staffed by those able to handle Janey.  We can't go to movies or plays or concerts, because others pay to be there and it's not fair if they can't hear what they paid to hear.  If you start to think about this list, there are very few places we can take Janey.

I don't like the above list, but I can understand it.  I think sometimes of the Spock line from one of the movies "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few" (rest in peace, Leonard Nimoy!)  Although I COULD make a point of taking Janey to many of those places, and I know many children with autism could handle those places without making them hard for others to use, I know Janey, and I am not going to ruin a movie or a restaurant dinner or church for others to make a point.

What I don't understand, what I have a much harder time accepting, are the closed doors in places that are supposed to be for children with special needs.  I think often, more than is probably reasonable to think about, about the Saturday program run by the city that I got a flyer about from Janey's school, for special needs children.  The program had a 1 to 4 ratio of caregivers to children.  That made it, in essence, closed to Janey.  She needs a 1 on 1 ratio.  The program sounded so ideal, but, much like the other respite program we tried, it seems aimed at children with mild special needs, or perhaps children with special needs that are physical and not behavioral/emotional/intellectual.

A literal closed door that comes to mind for me so often is that of the Child Life room at Children's Hospital.  When Janey spent six days at Children's awaiting placement in a psychiatric hospital, we were not allowed to take her out of her room.  Right down the hall, there was a room chock filled with toys, books, games and the like.  We were not allowed in that room.  It was for the SICK children, the PHYSICALLY sick children, not the children like Janey.  I even offered to take her there in the middle of the night, when other children would not be there.  I would never, ever have gone there and put a little sick toddler in jeopardy.  I only wanted Janey to be able to play there if no-one else was there.  But that was not permitted.

Janey's old school, the inclusion school, was in so many ways a dream school.  It had a wonderful courtyard, an outdoor classroom, a beautiful sensory room.  It was filled with people that had known Janey since she was born.  I loved her school.  And then---it too was closed to her.  I understand the reasons---I understand the reasons for everything I've written about here.  But still---sometimes it makes me cry to think of all the places Janey is not able to go, all the doors that are closed to her.

What can be done?  I'm dreaming here.  In many ways, maybe nothing can be done.  Maybe my initial reaction to the IKEA story was the true one---well, that's just the way it is.  However, I will dream.  I dream of restaurants, parks, museums, churches, playgrounds, all of those, having special days for autistic kids and families.  If we had the urge to eat out, or go to church, or a park, we could look at a web page and find a place that had a special day going on.  Even if each venue only held such a day once a year, there's enough of those places that we'd almost always have a place to go.  My other dream is that programs for special needs could truly mean ALL special needs---that I could describe what Janey needs and it would be provided.  And a big dream---that someplace like Children's Hospital would treat mental illness like physical illness---that they would actually find a way to make children like Janey feel welcome, and not like a scary outsider.

Life isn't fair.  That old chestnut mothers tell their children is very true.  Everyone has closed doors, and I accept that.  But the amount of doors closed to Janey, and to children like her, create an isolation that builds on itself, that creates a loop, a vicious circle.  There are no easy answers to this problem.

Direct Services---that's what autism needs!

This article is something I happened upon, and it made me wish I lived in Jacksonville! I just recently figured out the term for what I think is desperately needed---direct services. If I am correct, it means services that directly aid children with autism---not money for research, not money for awareness or walks for some small portion of the "cause", but real services---respite, recreation, camps, after school programs, buddy services, sports opportunities, things like that. I am so lucky that Janey is in a great school with a great after-school program, but I still wish for more. Janey loved the Irish Step lessons she gets at afterschool. I wish she could go to more lessons---real swimming lessons, not just an open pool, a day camp, gymnastics lessons, all kinds of things. Things that "regular" kids can do.

The other part of this is that I think there's a lot available I have no idea how to find, or that is available only to certain richer communities, or certain religions. A wonderful resource would be a person (or guidebook or website) that brought together all the actual direct services out there. I think sometimes places that have a program avoid advertising it too much, for fear of being overwhelmed. I can get that, in a way, but on the other hand, it bothers me, if only in that is shows how desperately such programs are needed.

And there's the question of quality. I never want to put anyone or anything down here, so I won't get specific, but one sports opportunity we tried just wasn't safe. Janey was repeatedly being assaulted---pushed over and hit--- by a boy bigger than her, also autistic. I don't blame the boy. He wasn't being supervised, by his father or by the staff. And they were frankly overwhelmed. It was a mess, and we decided to just stop going. I don't think most families would tolerate that kind of situation for their "regular" kids, and I see no reason they should for their autistic kids either.

I am so lucky in what Janey does get to have at school and afterschool that sometimes I feel like I'm being greedy in wishing she was able to get more, and maybe for right now, she is getting enough. But she won't always be at her school, although barring miracles, she'll always be autistic, and there are many, many kids like her. I hope that some of the wonderful giving that people do to help autism will get directed to programs that will directly serve our great kids!

Vacation week thoughts

This is the first day of the spring vacation. Optimist that I think I am deep inside, I start most vacations feeling fairly hopeful about them. It's good to have a break in the routine, and especially, for the boys to have a break from the intense world of high school. But mixed with that feeling is the dread I have of facing more than a week of keeping Janey happy and entertained.

The hard part is dual, really. Just keeping Janey happy in general is often a challenge. When she gets into a down period, she can cry for days on end, and it can be incredibly tough, both for her and for us. We've had a few vacations where that happened, but overall, I would say it happens less often than it used to. Keeping her entertained is the harder part. And that's where the dual problem comes in. With "regular" kids, there are endless things you can do to keep them happy during vacation week. You can pick up any parent's paper and see them---camps, children's museums, special vacation week programs at other museums, family restaurants, lessons, outdoor hikes---and then there's just the playdates and playing with friends that "regular" kids have. With Janey, none of that works. We get a nice little booklet here in the city called "Summer Stuff Jr." that lists summer and vacation programs for kids. There is not a one in there that could handle Janey. I went to a camp fair one time, and not one camp there was equipped to handle lower-functioning autistic kids. And I can't blame them for that. It's a hugely tough job. But it's the flip side of inclusion. School is inclusive, the world is not. If those camps excluded people based on color or religion or nationality, it would be an outrage we'd all condemn. But excluding kids based on disability----well, even I can't get totally outraged about that. We live in the real work.

And even with camps excluded, there is so little else we can do. Janey can't handle the overload of a museum or the mall. Eating out---that's something we attempt about once a year, when Janey is in an exceptionally good mood and we are all together. Even then, we often have to bail out. Playdates---well, that doesn't happen. All the kids like Janey, but no-one is going to invite her over for a day. It would be not a playdate, but a huge respite job for the parent. Even if I went with her, there would be no relaxing with coffee while the kids played.

And so we stay home, mostly. The boys like that. They can entertain themselves for years at home in today's connected world. But with Janey, the days get long. We play some iPad, watch some videos, play in the back yard, read books. None of those hold her interest for long. And she's left bored, and I am left tired.

What am I saying here, besides a rambling complaint? Well, my dream would be that some of the money given for autism would go for vacation and holiday week activities. Maybe a bowling alley could be taken over so autistic kids could have fun in an accepting environment. Maybe a museum could have an autism day, where no-one would mind the flapping and screaming and crying and odd behaviors. Maybe the empty schools could be used for a camp. There are a lot of families like ours. I dream of something like a "Summer Stuff Junior for EVERYONE".