Class Helps Parents Share Handicapped Children’s Victories

As a mother of four, Marlene Ackermann was quite familiar with the usual “mommy-and-me” classes offered by churches, synagogues and community centers, where mothers (or dads) and their babies gathered for socializing and discussion.

But with her third child, Brandon, it was different. Brandon has cerebral palsy. While other 2-year-olds are walking, running and talking, Brandon can barely sit by himself. Ackermann tried taking Brandon to a regular mommy-and-me group, but “it was the worst thing I ever did.”

“I had to constantly explain what was wrong with my baby,” she said, cuddling Brandon on her lap. “Then a lot of the mothers wouldn’t talk to me because they didn’t know what to say or they were afraid to be near us.”

So when Ackermann heard about the class for children with special needs at Temple Judea in Tarzana, she was so excited she nearly wept.

For years, Natalie Smolens, director of Temple Judea’s Parenting Center, said she dreamed about offering such a class, a place where mothers could share a normal activity with their handicapped child.

Class for Moms

According to Smolens, who organized the Parenting Center 13 years ago, “Moms with special- needs kids didn’t feel comfortable in other classes because they couldn’t share the same things other moms could.” Like rejoicing when Brandon got up “on all fours” to crawl, or accepting that maybe you’d never see your daughter wear a prom dress.

While there are many special services for handicapped children, as well as support groups for parents, Smolens said, most are therapeutic. The Temple Judea class, she said, is unique because it is as much for the moms as for their offspring.

“Wherever these children go, they’re treated differently,” Smolens said. “Here, they’re treated like any other toddler.

“These moms needed a place that was not geared only to the medical and physical needs of the child, but to the social development of the child and the emotional needs of the mother.”

The format of the 1 1/2-hour weekly class, which first met last February with six youngsters with various disabilities, is similar to mommy-and-me classes for children up to age 3. The classes are designed for parent and child to socialize through games, music and snack periods, with independent play time for the children while the parents talk.

“This class is as normal an experience as the child can tolerate,” Smolens said, walking into the sunny, rectangular room. A flowered, lavender sheet covers a thick floor mat in the center of the room. Brightly colored toys beckon.

Philip, a gregarious 23-month-old with Down’s syndrome, was the first to arrive and promptly began chewing on a large snap-lock bead. A shape sorter, stacking toys, a rocking horse and a yellow rocking duck, two small slides, a mirror, a wagon and some dolls are scattered about. Sitting in a “sensory box,” a child can stroke, poke and pour different things each week--this week beans, perhaps next week cotton balls.

There is no “special” equipment, and the only odd item is Deanne’s walker, which sits unused in a corner. Deanne, a near-drowning victim, is too impatient to use the walker, her mom said, smiling as the girl happily did a fast crawl from one activity to another.

The first 15 to 20 minutes of class is unstructured playtime while everyone straggles in. “We encourage them to come on time,” Smolens said, “but it’s hard enough to get out of the house with the usual baby paraphernalia of diapers and bottles, let alone some of the extra time these kids need.”

Gathering everyone in a circle on the mat, teachers Tammy Theodore and Holly Dinur, ably aided by a green hand puppet, sing a “hello” song, greeting each child by name. After a few more songs (“Old McDonald” is a definite favorite) and some fun with musical instruments, mothers and babies participate in a group activity--anything from playing with a big parachute to blowing bubbles.

Today, they are singing “Jack and Jill” while rolling down a soft, vinyl-covered yellow wedge, with Theodore and Dinur assisting. This is a crowd pleaser, especially for Deanne, who returns for a second and third turn.

Discussion Period

The best part of the morning, the mothers agree, is the discussion period. While the children play, occasionally crawling back to the comfort of a warm lap, the women explore such questions as: How do you handle people who always ask what is wrong with your baby? How do you deal with your anger, your fears, your self-hatred and guilt? How do you cope with the stress this child brings to a marriage?

“The need is so overwhelming for parents to have someone to talk to,” Smolens said. “They need someplace to express their negative feelings.”

“Being able to talk with other mothers in the same situation was a life saver,” said Ackermann, a genial woman who says her sense of humor has helped her cope. “This class is no different than any other mommy-and-me class. What’s different is the mothers. It’s not that the other mothers were mean, they just didn’t know how to deal with Brandon.”

“There is a real serious isolation problem when you have a handicapped child,” said Linda Vance, whose daughter Deanne, now nearly 3, fell into a swimming pool when she was 9 months old. Hospitalized for 75 days, in a coma for five, doctors feared Deanne would never walk or talk.

“I had a hard time being around mothers with normal kids,” Vance said. “I couldn’t relate to them. I had no one to talk to and I felt even the most well-meaning people were condemning me. I couldn’t even talk to Deanne’s physical therapists because they were there just to work with Deanne.”

‘Major Achievement’

In other mommy-and-me groups, Vance said, “when your child starts walking that’s a big deal. Here,” she continued, her eyes welling with tears and her voice cracking, “when Deanne wiggled her fingers, everyone was real excited. To see Brandon get up on all fours to crawl was exhilarating--it kept me going for two weeks. We all appreciated that it was a major achievement.”

After the birth of twins Emily and Max, mother Nancy “needed to vent a lot of frustration” because while Max was born healthy, Emily suffered the effects of chicken pox her mother had contracted when she was 13 weeks pregnant. The development of Emily’s left arm and right leg was stunted. She has no fingers on that arm and her leg may have to be amputated.

“I was very angry when I first came here,” Nancy said.

“In the hospital they tell you what’s wrong with your baby and where to get physical help and then it’s goodby,” said Nancy, who asked that her last name not be used.

Theodore, a pediatric occupational therapist and licensed marriage and family counselor, said her work as a home therapist made her realize that despite all the services available for handicapped children, there was still a gap for the parents.

“Parents were saying to me, ‘I feel like a freak in society.’ It’s hard . . . to be with friends who have healthy kids. They need other moms in a social situation. The problem is these kids can’t be in a normal situation either because the class does things above the child’s skill level, or because the activities are not safe for some of these children.”

This class, she said, is “playtime for mother and baby in a social setting, not therapy time just for baby.”

For Philip, the class was “someplace he could play and not feel intimidated,” said his mother, Karen Slomiak, who takes her son twice a week for physical, occupational and speech therapy. “He’s not here for more therapy, but just for fun. And I’m not paranoid about the way Philip acts.”

“It’s a world of perfection out there and people tend to shy away from you if there’s something wrong with your child,” Smolens said. “People are either afraid whatever is wrong with your child is somehow contagious, or else they just don’t know what to say.”

Parent support groups are not enough, Smolens added, because just the parents attend and the child remains hidden at home. Bringing the child to a group “develops pride in your child, in his or her accomplishments.”

But, she added, coming to a group like this “is sometimes hard for a parent because it’s admitting that you are a part of that group. It’s like being afraid to go to Alcoholics Anonymous because then you are admitting you are an alcoholic.”

But here, said special education specialist Dinur with a smile, “We’ve built a family of friends.

The non-sectarian “Special Needs Mommy and Me” class is taking registration for the five-month fall semester, scheduled to begin in October. The cost is $180. For information, contact the Temple Judea Parenting Center at (818) 342-3840.