In the past few months, I've been placing Ian in more after-school activities. Because Ian has special needs, it's a lot trickier to find the right programs for him.
The usual town-based programs, like boy scouts and recreation sports, aren't right. So, it's necessary to travel around the county to find the best swimming program or the best speech program. In some ways, this is a good thing. Suburbanites are so damn parochial that they rarely leave the boarders of their town. I feel like I need a passport to travel to the next town. Being a special ed mom frees me from the stuck-in-one-town trap.
We've been attending a swimming class at the local Y several towns away and have been very happy. This weekend, I added two more activities to the calendar. On Saturday, I took Ian to a fancy speech therapist's office for an evaluation. Ian had a great time there. He waved to his therapist as we were leaving and said, "I hope you see me again soon." (Translation: I hope to see you again soon.)
On Sunday, we went in another direction for a new therapeutic art class. Because the special ed community is so small, we knew nearly all of the other children and parents in the class. When we walked into the waiting room, a boy grumbled that Ian was there. The mother made a sour face and didn't correct her kid.
Now, 99 percent of special ed parents are fantastic human beings. They've been through a lot and came out the other end as better people. But there are always the stinkers. This mom goes to some crackpot neurologist who says that her son is cured from autism and she brags about that. Her son still cannot function within a regular school, but that doesn't stop this woman from going around proclaiming that her kid is normal now and making pity eyes at other kids.
On Sunday, to make some chitchat before the art class began, I told this woman about the great speech program that we had just found. "Oh, well, my John doesn't need speech therapy." Then she gave me a smirk. Well, honey, I think you could use a little Fuck You therapy.
She continued to brag. How did I handle this? Not very maturely, I'm afraid. After she complained that the math tests were too hard, I told her that Ian has yet to get a single answer wrong all year. And then I threw in the fact that he gets 110% on every spelling test and even aces the pre-tests. Fuck. You. Honey.
When I got home, I exchanged e-mails with the cool special ed parents about Mrs. Smug. They promised me drinks and a bitch session.
Apt. 11d 
“Suburbanites are so damn parochial that they rarely leave the boarders of their town.”
??? Really? Maybe this is just an NJ thing. I thought that a key part of middle/upper-middle class life was driving all over the state to your kid’s events.
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I think you could’ve handled it a lot worse than talking about your son’s test taking capabilities. For instance, you could’ve said what was in your head- or sang it like Cee Lo Green.
My child is like a genius at reading, no matter what other troubles he has. That was always my go-to when someone was being an asshat. A first grader that was reading on a 7th grade level (including comprehension) always felt impressive in the face of all the other struggles.
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“Oh, well, my John doesn’t need speech therapy.”
“You saved all that money and you’re still wearing THAT?”
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Wow, MH is quick. I’d never think of that in a million years. Some people cry out for a punch in the face.
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Don’t hit me Harry. Everyone is Wisconsin is getting too confrontational.
Also, after a second consideration, it would be better to say, in a cheerful voice, “Great. Now you can buy nice clothes.”
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I really need to take you around with me, MH. I don’t have the reflexes for this kind of BS. I usually come up with a good retort three hours later and then I can’t get to sleep, because I am mad at myself for being so slow.
In some ways, the special ed community can be just as competitive as the regular ed community. Everybody wants their kids to socialize with kids who are high functioning, because they want their kids to get challenged and because then they feel better about their kid. I get that. But A. you have to keep that shit to yourself and B. you may not really have a clue about another kids’ abilities.
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I’m much too slow for doing that kind of stuff in real life. Which is probably for the best.
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Well, I think I would have tried (and might have managed) to convey the same info about the math test, but done it in an underhanded way: “Oh that’s great to hear. I’d been worried that they weren’t giving the kids good math, ’cause I. never misses a question. But, perhaps it’s really developmentally appropriate? Thanks for the info.”
In my heart, I really don’t want to compete using my child. But I’m guessing I’m sometimes guilty of competing by doing what I think is informing.
We just traveled 3 hours and stayed in a comfort in for two nights so that my 4th grader could compete in a state tournament. The same town also had a lacrosse & hockey tournament going on during the same weekend. If someone told me 4 years ago that I would even spend one weekend that way, I’d have said they were nuts. Now, I’m looking down the barrel of having my weekends consumed by traveling to rural communities in the middle of the state that I have somehow never seen before. It’s strange, but also kind of interesting and educational.
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Now, I’m looking down the barrel of having my weekends consumed by traveling to rural communities in the middle of the state that I have somehow never seen before.
Like Brigadoon, they are only visible one day every hundred years.
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Outside of sports, the biggest activity in my high school was staging musicals. Sometimes, I realize it made a bigger impression on my than I’d like to admit.
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No, I wasn’t going to hit you, I was contrasting your wit with my lack thereof.
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“Sometimes, I realize it made a bigger impression on my than I’d like to admit.”
Dang, I never noticed that all of MH’s replies were sung.
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Sometimes I think the sheer unbridled joy of bitching about Those Parents behind their backs makes it almost worth enduring their bullshittery. Almost.
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“I hope you see me again soon.”
Heck, I could say that, especially if I’m distracted. Saying goodbye is a social skill I’m still working on.
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There is a wonderful old joke about a Southrun girl who responds to every provocation from a nickel-plated bitch with ‘thassnice’ and the punch line involves her saying that her momma told her to say that when she wanted to say ‘fuck you’.
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