Do NOT mess with my kid.

As most mothers have, I've felt the Mama Bear instinct rise up in me when I sense that my child has been wronged or slighted in some way. I've talked about it here and here. But in both those instances, I was contemplating the ways other adults were treating my children.

Today, I found out that some kids have been picking on Charlie. Actually, the one kid I knew about. I spoke about her to the teacher last semester. The teacher talked to the student and things seemed to get better for a while. But just recently, Charlie's been worrying at home about being made fun of by these kids.

Then this afternoon I got an e-mail from the school counselor telling me that Charlie had come to talk to her regarding these kids and some other worries he's been having. Because I had a meeting at school anyway (different kid, different issue), I stopped by the counselor's office to get more information. That's when she told me that these three have had issues for much of the school year. They seem to pick a kid, gang up on him or her, and make fun of him.

After I left the counselor's office, I saw one of the hoodlums, er, I mean kids, in the hallway. Rage boiled up inside me and it was about at this point that I wished we were still in 1974, when Mike was in preschool.

Some kid kept biting Mike and his mom had just had it. So one morning when she dropped Mike off, she walked over to the kid and -- as legend has it -- grabbed him by the collar, got eye to eye with him and said to this preschooler, "If you ever bite my son Mike again, I will beat the living shit out of you." Problem solved. Kid never touched Mike again.

Oh, I so wish that I could do the same thing. Unfortunately, I'd probably be charged with intimidation or some other crime that would land me on the front page of the newspaper.

So I'm left with the mature and Christian options of talking to the kids' parents, letting the school try to intervene and provide corrective action, and, if all else fails, teach Charlie how to throw a fast and mighty left hook.

Looking out for my cub

It's not even 7:30am on Sunday morning and my Mama Bear is already on high alert. I just completed an assessment sent to me by the township school district psychologist for Robbie. We're working on getting some services for him at school, including occupational therapy and some reading support services.

Our conference with the team of assessors from the school district, our school's resource director and Robbie's teacher (both of whom have been very helpful this year) is Thursday. So I sat down to complete the assessment and immediately felt my defenses go up when I saw the title of the form: "Asperger Syndrome Diagnostic Scale."

We have already had him tested thoroughly at the very highly regarded children's hospital here. They determined that he does not have autism or Asperger's and gave him a vague diagnosis of pervasive development disorder-not otherwise specified. Which, I think, in the era before every behavior set had a label would have just been considered "quirky."

But because completing the form is part of getting him the services, I forged ahead. And let me just tell you if you have never had the privilege of completing one of these assessments regarding your child, there's nothing like one of these forms to make you feel like your kid might be a freak:

• Talks excessively about favorite topics that hold limited interest for others (Hell, I do that!)
• Exhibits few or inappropriate facial expressions (Robbie doesn't do this, but isn't that what's made Jim Carrey millons of dollars?)
• Frequently becomes anxious or panics when unscheduled events occur (He gets that one from his dad.)
• Lacks organizational skills (Hey, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.)
• Displays an unusual reaction to loud, unpredictable noises (Is that so unsual for a small child?)
• Has a restricted diet consisting of the same foods cooked and presented the same way (So he likes chicken nuggets and baloney.)

The survey then goes on to say "At what age did the unusual behavior begin? Does the unusual behavior occur in all settings?"

And I'm sitting here thinking, this is who he is. He's not unusual. He's Robbie. He is quirky and generally happy and somewhat manipulative -- being the baby of the family and all. And I'm offended by the repeated term of "unusual" because in my head it's a euphemism for "freakish."

Which of course triggers the guilt buttons in my brain (and heart). We shouldn't have let him watch TV when he was a baby. We should have delayed vaccinating. He's my only kid to have spent time in day care and maybe that in some way damaged him.

From there I go to the "what ifs?" What if he never graduates from high school? What if he can never live independently? What if he never gets married? Mostly far-fetched, I know. But when my brain gets going, sometimes its hard to stop.

I just want to scoop up my bear cub and his adorable smile and his infectious giggle and his fear of the electric hand dryers in public restrooms and move to some hillside in Kentucky where we can run barefoot and learn about life on life's terms in our own insulated bubble.

But we don't live on a grassy hillside and our life's terms include school and assessments and using the resources at our disposal to help our kids achieve their highest potential. And so I slip the now completeld assessment back into the envelope and, thinking ahead to our conference on Thursday, pray for the best.