Reviewed by Erin Kirkland

All parents of children with disabilities remember the moment of sobering prognosis for their son or daughter. Word that their child will never be “normal”, that every day of his or her life will be an exercise in patience and unconditional love. In the case of children living with Asperger Syndrome, 1 out of 150 mothers will know this feeling. Amalia Starr is one of them, and Brandon is her son.

Starr’s first book, “Raising Brandon” was born out of a desire for resources and information about her son’s Asperger Syndrome (AS) and a seizure disorder. Married, with one son already, Starr’s life changed drastically when Brandon made his appearance and led his family on a roller-coaster existence full of uncertainty and fear coupled with moments of absolute joy and contentment.

“Raising Brandon” is not a true biography of Starr’s family, rather, it is (and is marketed so) a trade publication designed for parents, educators and others who live and work with children with Autism Spectrum Disorders. Starr drives home issues like diagnoses, support systems, and educational options through honest and straightforward witnessing of her own experiences. At the end of each chapter, Starr recaps with a short listing of bullet points, useful information pertinent to the message.

Brandon and Amalia are clearly the main focus of this story; mothers, after all, are often the primary caregivers to children with AS. They are the advocates, the personal care attendants, the cheerleaders, and the rabblerousers who have their work cut out for them. Starr makes neither apologies nor excuses for her quest to find Brandon the most optimal situations for schooling, medical support, and eventually, independent living.

Starr also reminds us that other family members are affected by a disabled child. A subsequent failed marriage led Amalia through her own private hell during which time self-doubt and utter despair nearly prevailed. Moreover, Starr’s other son must, at times unwillingly, assist his mother and deals with his own emotional backlash as the brother of the “weird kid”.

By the end of the book, we join Starr in celebrating Brandon’s ultimate ability to manage his Asperger Syndrome and seizures. Living alone in an apartment with the support of case workers and vocational resources, Brandon deserves cheers all around for his accomplishments. Starr has progressed as well, coming to the realization that she, like all parents, must nurture her son’s desire to spread his wings and fly, however clumsily.

As a resource for parents currently supporting a child with AS, Starr’s book provides not just valuable information, but also comfort, seeing the adolescent and young adult years with realistic, honest insight. Parents will also relate to vignettes that perhaps mirror their own experiences, of great relief.

While there are flashier, trendier books available today profiling the lives, successes, and challenges of people with AS, “Raising Brandon” is a solid option for parents and teachers who may be interested in another perspective and another way of helping a child adapt to a world that appears foreign to him or her. It is a book of quiet hope.

I ought to know. I’m one of those 1 in 150 moms.

Erin Kirkland is a freelance writer from Anchorage, Alaska. You can read about her family’s journey through Asperger Syndrome at www.elituqakbrady.blogspot.com .

review by Marlynn Jayme Schotland

When it comes to love, I find it hard to believe that there is a single person out there who never questions the decisions he/she has made. Like most matters, if we never questioned our decisions, how are we to know for sure we have made the right ones?

Questioning love and logic is at the heart of Fiona Neill’s novel, Slummy Mummy. Perpetually late 30-something Lucy Sweeney is lovable, quick on her feet, and an adoring mother to her three young boys. She hasn’t had sex with her “life’s all about creating systems to stay organized” anal-retentive architect hubby Tom in who knows how long, and while I find her character far from having a “tendency toward domestic disaster” as the back book cover describes, she does have little care for keeping up with laundry, has a knack for losing important things credit cards and house keys, and keeps a stash of revolving credit card debt hidden from her husband.

Lucy left her high powered career while her star was on the rise after finding the hours incompatable with motherhood. Her best friends include Emma, a single career woman with a knack of falling in love with unattainable (read: married) men, and Cathy, who is going through a nasty divorce and learning to balance her life by being party girl and then devoted single mom on alternate weekends. Now, as Lucy’s youngest son starts nursery school, she finds herself suddenly involved more in the oh-so-political world of parental school participation, and befriends Yummy Mummy No. 1, Celebrity Dad… and Sexy Domesticated Dad. It is Sexy Domesticated Dad’s dangerous flirtatious presence that starts a series of complications in Lucy’s life. What ensues are countless embarrassing and awkward situations all stemming from characters questioning love, and Lucy learning to work through her own conflicting emotions while also loyally supporting the emotional drama occurring in her friends’ lives.

What I truly admired about Neill’s portrayal of Lucy is that as unorganized as she may appear, she is the only character in Slummy Mummy to have held her confidence throughout the entire novel. She is a woman who is completely comfortable in her own skin. Her mother-in-law and husband try to convince her to prescribe to systems to be more organized, her mother still attempts to make her question her decision to leave her job in order to raise her children full-time, Sexy Domesticated Dad attempts to make her indulge his own loss of control and his mounting self-insecurities, and through it all, Lucy remains true to herself. This is something so rarely seen in modern mama lit: allowing the main mother figure to hold steadfast to her ground, to remain unwavering in her decisions, values and personality traits even in the midst of conflict and controversy. For this, I applaud Neill. Personally, I am tired of mothers being depicted in a constant state of insecurity, of having no control, of settling for one life or another. Lucy Sweeney’s character -while surely going through some emotional upheaval - always knows who she is and won’t change for anyone else. Even when she questions her marriage, she never questions herself.

The book is funny and light, a great quick read if you’re looking to escape to the world of a grown-up Bridget Jones. At times, Neill’s flashback scenes are awkwardly timed and often ramble on for much longer than necessary - so much so that I would often forget I was reading a flashback scene and be jolted in surprise when suddenly after many lengthy paragraphs or even pages, I am back to the present. Her writing otherwise, however, is at ease with the subject and characters, and I found myself devouring the book without wanting to put it down. I think most mothers will be able to relate in some fashion to Lucy Sweeney’s character, her friendships, and even her conflicts on some level.

review by Kalynne Pudner

Janet Evanovich calls Jenna McCarthy’s The Parent Trip: From High Heels and Parties to High Chairs and Potties “clever and irreverent.” Evanovich speaks truly.

McCarthy is one funny, edgy gal; I spent some time perusing her website (www.jennamccarthy.com) to see if the clever irreverence of The Parent Trip is endemic to the author or just the product of pregnancy/first-year sleep deprivation. It’s her, alright. Check out the bio on the website, and see if you can’t imagine this 20-something Floridian showing up to a big-time NYC magazine editorial office wearing all white…then trading it in for bikinis and pajamas, in succession, on the California coast. Go on: tell me she doesn’t sound like the first person you’d call for one of those crazy girls’ nights out. If I’m ever in Santa Barbara, I might just do it.

That being said, and said sincerely, I’m not convinced such edginess translates smoothly to a book for new or expectant moms. In no way am I denying that edgy humor is appropriate to motherhood — I’d never have survived almost 20 years and nine incarnations of the state without it, believe me! But not until Chapter 6 does The Parent Trip arrive at motherhood. Before this, it’s about — not “high heels and parties,” as the subtitle might suggest — Jenna’s sex life. (See? I told you she’d be good on a girls’ night out.)

Once I got my 40-ish sensibilities past the “unvarnished” (in the words of one reviewer) descriptions of teenaged Jenna’s desperate machinations for avoiding pregnancy and later just-as-desperate machinations for achieving it — and what I personally found to be an extremely off-putting remark, “unless you are one of the three virgin brides to tie the knot every year” — I was not only entertained, but instructed. Specifically, I was instructed as to how little the business of new motherhood has changed in 20 years.

The new mom’s hospital status still shifts precipitously downward once the baby arrives; there are still a gazillion more baby items available for sale than you could ever figure out how to use, much less need; breast pumps still hurt; moms still vie for one-upmanship; maternity pants still resist being packed away postpartum. (Even though I didn’t particularly care for the, er, unvarnished prose in the section entitled, “‘Take Me Now, Big Guy’ and Other Things You Won’t Be Saying Anytime Soon,” the point still stands. I remember the topic coming up in a postpartum exercise class with my first, and a veteran mom of two saying, “Sex or sleep? Sleep or sex? Hmm, let me think about that a minute. Zzzzzzzz [feigned snoring].”)

And although McCarthy makes full disclaimer that the book is meant to entertain, and not educate, many of her “Trip Tips” are actually quite good. For example, she strongly suggests new parents avail themselves of gift registries to avoid having to dedicate an entire closet to receiving blankets; to choose which of the aforementioned gazillion items are most useful, compare the online registries of several random other expectant couples. My first reaction to this tip was, “Good Lord! Who has the time to google a dozen baby gift registries?” Then it occurred to me: when I was pregnant the first time around, I did. I had all the time in the world! This would have been an excellent use of it (had we known Google in 1989, that is). Another well-advised tip is to figure how many diapers you think you’ll need for a road trip, then triple it. And then distribute them among all the carriers and bags and pockets available.

So do I recommend The Parent Trip? With reservations. It’s funny, it’s clever and it is most certainly irreverent. But for the average new mom, or new hopeful mom, I suspect its bite would be worse than its bark, so to speak: the content is a good bit edgier than the cover copy portends. This may be because some things really aren’t good candidates for humor until you’ve “been there, done that’ — the humor is in the recognition that, as McCarthy proclaims, “you are not alone.” I found myself thinking through all the young women I know who are expecting, or plan to be in the foreseeable future, and not one struck me as someone to whom I’d feel comfortable giving this book.

But that may be just me, and my milieu. Undoubtedly there are readers who don’t flinch at, and are in fact entertained by, “unvarnished” discussion of premarital and marital sex. And I have to admit that among all the grins I gained from previewing The Parent Trip, the biggest one was inspired by discovering in the acknowledgment section (yes, I go back and re-read the beginning after I’ve finished a book; doesn’t everyone?) that McCarthy’s husband’s last name is Coito.

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