Beemer plays on the bars, a favorite activity.

It was one of those glorious, rare moments when life with Beemer seemed normal.
Julie Williams was rolling on the floor, wrestling with her son. The two were giggling madly, having a riotous time.
In a flash, it changed.
"I leaned over and pretended I was a monster. He got so hysterical, so enraged, he was clawing at the carpet. He was running through the house, beating on the windows, biting, kicking, screaming. I had to pin him down and wrap him up in a blanket. It took an hour, wrapped up in a cocoon, to calm him down."
Tender moments haven't come easily to the mother and son. "We can have affection in short increments. He doesn't sit on your lap. We don't have snuggle time. But every now and then I can get a hug, on his terms."
Beemer, like many children with prenatal alcohol damage, has an obsessive personality, his mother said. He is obsessed with cars and cleanliness. His existence is punctuated with odd rituals.
"He would ask you to snap his pants 50 times because he liked the sound of the snapping. He's a compulsive neat freak. He'll go to my mother's house and say, 'You didn't vacuum today, and there's a glass in the sink that needs washing.'"
Williams believes Beemer is hyperactive and has attention problems, common in FAS and FAE children.
Physically, he's different. His fingers are short, with paper-thin nails. His eyes are small and set far apart. The palate inside his mouth is high, another indicator of fetal alcohol effect. He has mild organic brain damage.
Williams connected Beemer with state services when he was 5 months old. Therapy included working on social and language skills, behavior modification and bonding attachment.
She started talking to other parents. Fetal alcohol syndrome and fetal alcohol effect kept coming up.
"I thought, 'Gee, this is starting to sound familiar.'"
Williams called Theresa Kellerman, who started a support group here for families living with FAS and FAE. Williams learned more about the devastation caused by prenatal alcohol use.
When Beemer turned 3, he lost all state services. Williams was told more severely disabled children needed the services.
So she does her best to work with Beemer herself, using techniques she learned when he was in therapy.
Williams is a full-time mom. A neurological disorder forced her to leave her job as a respiratory therapist in the late 1980s.
She knows a never-changing routine is needed to help Beemer do his best.
With morning comes a bowl of Lucky Charms. "Mealtime means the TV goes off, and there's no conversation," Williams said. "That's the only way he can concentrate on eating."
After breakfast, Beemer watches his favorite PBS television shows - "Puzzle Place," "Shining Time Station" and "Barney."
Then it's snack time and play time. Cars and trucks are a constant favorite.
Williams can never let Beemer out of her sight, and she has to be careful that nothing he has can be used as a weapon.
Then there's lunch. His favorite is bologna and cheese, followed by a nap. "He's real slow after his nap, and he usually watches more TV. Then after dinner, he may go swimming or ride bikes with a neighbor friend in the courtyard."
Helping Beemer wind down takes work. A bath helps, followed by a few quiet moments with books. Williams turns on soft children's music, and Beemer drifts off to sleep.
At last his weary mom will have a few hours of peace as she waits to be catapulted into yet another exhausting day with her lightning bolt.