Thursday, July 18, 2013

Explorer. Destroyer.

Short story.

We are outside on the deck playing with the greatest thing EVER - the water hose.

Asher keeps telling me to come look in the flower pot for the shell he put there. Not knowing what he meant, I walked over. It was a cicada shell. Or whatever you call those things. Their skin.

I then remember my mom texting me that they had found one, and Asher had stored his shell in the flower pot. Should it come up again she wanted me to know where to find it. Which of course it did. My child forgets nothing. 

Cue present moment. We are observing the skin/shell and talking about what it is. Asher's observing closely. I snap a picture. 

Then, Elias pulls the water table down on top of himself. We run to the rescue. Elias saved, he needs to know what's going on over in cicada observation world. Yeah. There went the cicada. 

Oh Li Li. You keep us on our toes. 

Friday, July 12, 2013

This thing called potty training

I was a slacker in the potty training department. Really. I didn't read much about it, and I didn't even approach it with Asher until he was closer to three. And, when I did mention it and he seemed horrified by the potty, I just said, 'fine'. I knew he was smart enough to know when he was using the restroom, he just wasn't into the potty. So, neither was I. When he was ready, he'd be ready and I was going to wait.

Then, one day, my sister came downstairs and said, 'No more diapers for Asher. He just had a poop ball roll across the couch cushion and I'm over it.' Well, alrighty then. Bless my sister, because she wasn't the slacker here and she jumped all over this potty training thing. Asher cried and screamed like we were torturing him when she put him on the potty. He didn't care a thing about a potty prize or a sticker or a book or post-its on the wall for entertainment or anything.

There were some wet pants, which didn't phase him at all. There was a box of prizes, which he would push away and say, 'I want my diaper back.' At one point, my sister was doing some kind of ridiculous dance, playing, singing, tickling technique which made him pretty much laugh himself into peeing on the potty. I stopped working, ran down the hall and we made a huge deal out of it. We even said that Elias' banging on the piano was the 'potty song' for Asher. And that worked a time or two.

A few days in, I was ready to throw in the towel. I was neck-deep in laundry and car seat removal-washing and reinstalling (why don't they make that easier, anyway?). Then, it just clicked. He realized it wasn't the end of the world to stop what he was doing and pee on the little white potty chair. And he got a prize, too. Gasp! There was only one poop accident, and he's been a champ #2 machine ever since then. We were running out of prizes at rapid pace. 'I peed! I get a prize!' and 30 minutes later, 'I peed! I get another prize from the prize box.' And then, 'I pooped, I get two prizes!' I was digging around the house for things to put in that box until I could get back to the dollar section at Target.

My favorite story (sorry, teenage Asher) is when he declared at dinner, 'I need to poop.' He likes his privacy for that, so I told him to go ahead. This was very early in the whole process, and I didn't believe he was really going to poop in the toilet at this point. I peeped around the corner and he was standing on top of the big toilet seat. And pooping -- from the vertical position. He not only did this with ease, but he didn't make a bit of mess. It was hilarious.

And, my second favorite story was in the drive-thru at McDonald's when Asher said, 'I need to pee. I need to pee right now.' Joni grabbed the car potty from the back seat and put it in the front seat and sat Asher on it. Right about this time, I had to roll up to the pay window. The guy there looked over at Asher peeing in the front seat (literally) and said, 'You GO boy! Look at you all growing up!' Way to go, McDonald's guy. And, way to go Asher for peeing anywhere we've asked you to.

Once, we were pottyless in the car and told him to hold it until we could get to the big tree beside the road (nearest pullover spot). He bounced out, peed on the tree roadside and now thinks that every time we're trying to get to a good potty stop we are looking for a 'big tree' on which to urinate.

This was all months ago. My boy took a few days of fussing (with really only a few accidents) and fighting and WHAM, he's potty trained. We're still working on the sleep peeing situation. But, I'm not worried about that. If he needs to sleep super hard and not realize he's peeing, I'm fine with that right now.

All of this to say - thanks, Nini! And way to go, Asher! XOXO!

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Asher goes to school

My bigger boy started 'school' this summer.

We enrolled him at Benson Memorial United Methodist Preschool for the summer 'camp' program that lasts eight weeks. Rusty fully expected me to have a melt down and pull him out at the last second. But, I hung in there and sent my buddy off to school with every ounce of my bravery and a giant big brave-for-his-sake smile.

The first week was rough. He cried and cried (and cried and cried). I knew once he learned the routine (mom is, in fact, coming back) he'd be fine. But, at first, I was just dropping him off with a bunch of strangers in a strange place. His little brain was processing this and was not pleased with me.

Each day when I picked him up, he'd tell me 'school is fun' and 'I played on the playground'. And then, the second week rolled around (after a long weekend) and he was all, 'Is today a school day? I not going to cry today.' And he didn't. I carried him in ('I want to hold you') and he put on his brave face and walked into the room, anxious but brave.

From there, it was smooth sailing. Until I was late picking him up one day. He was the last kid left in the classroom, and he told me upon my entering the room, 'Mom, you are late' and pointed at the classroom clock. He didn't seem too troubled by it. But he reminded me at least 10 times that night that I was late. He told Rusty I was late. He told Nini I was late. And the next morning, we were back to drop-off tears. Damn me for being six minutes late. I ruined the mojo.

He's still (at week five) a little clingy at drop off. But he tries so hard not to cry. He will tell me each morning on the way that he's not going to cry today. And when I get him, 'I not cry today, Mom.' He has his buddies, and he comes home coated in popsicle each day (sign of a good time?). His teacher says that he notifies her of the weather outside of the window, and how much it's raining. And he keeps check on all the kids, informing her of who is missing on any given day. Bless his sweet, smart, awesome heart.

Now, to figure out school for fall!

Monday, July 8, 2013

Life-threatening peanut allergy

If I had written this post two weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to see the screen through the tears. I was a hot mess. Use the words 'life-threatening' in front of anything describing one of my boys (you, too, Rusty) and I'm a wreck. But, some time has passed. I've met with my psychiatrist to adjust my meds. I've done some reading and understanding of the food allergy world. And I've gotten a lot of support via family, friends, friends of friends and Facebook posts. And I've done a lot of praying.

So, here I am. Writing this post.

Elias has life-threatening peanut allergies.

This sweet boy right here. Sweet, cuddly, wild child.

It boggles my brain to think that any kind of cross-contamination of anything peanut protein related and we could be in an emergency situation. Look at that face. It wrenches my heart.

But, you know. This is manageable. I needed to get my facts straight, get a grip on my emotions and pray about it. I told my mom a few days after the diagnosis that I felt strangely, suddenly, at peace about it. I was telling her as I pulled out of the driveway to go somewhere or other. And right there, over our culdesac was a giant, bright rainbow. I burst into tears. It was a sign from God that it was ok to feel at peace. It was going to be ok. (Note: I'm going through and editing before posting. And what do you know? Somewhere Over the Rainbow plays on my Spotify account. Big smile. Deep breath.)

And, later, I recalled this rainbow story to a dear friend. She told me at her church they were talking about praying for a 'shield' to be around you and your loved ones. And that she thought of us. We can be a shield for Elias, and beyond us, God will be a shield for him. It will be ok.

A few days later, a double rainbow was in our path home from the mall. Rusty pulled the car over and we showed Asher. Again, thank you God. And moments later, a text from the same friend saying 'another rainbow!'

God is good, you know. It will be ok. Elias will be ok.

And because I know it will be ok, and because we have our shields in place, I can write the story of Elias' diagnosis.

I've always suspected peanut allergies. He'd get random hives, usually while at the table and each time, Asher had eaten peanut butter. But not every time Asher had peanut butter. But we sometimes shared face cloths when cleaning up, and you know, crumbs happen. I told our pediatrician that I had my suspicions. She had me do the 'poor man's test' and put some peanut butter on his leg. She said a reaction would be a good sign of an allergy and to hold off on introducing peanut butter for a while. We did this around his first birthday and there was a little red mark, but nothing crazy. His skin is so sensitive anyway and despite others saying, "he doesn't have allergies", I wanted to continue to avoid the peanut butter.

Then, right before his fifteen month well check up, I decided to give him a peanut butter cracker. It was morning and I'd be home all day to monitor him closely. I served one cracker along with his watermelon. He stuck his finger in it, seemed annoyed that I'd put some junk on his precious Ritz and pushed it aside. He continued with his watermelon. A few minutes later, I glanced his way from the sink. He was covered in hives from his nose down. And in the crooks of his elbows. There was no mistaking these hives. This wasn't a Kira's-freaking-out-again-about-something moment. Definite reaction. I wiped him down and gave him Benadryl and he was fine within an hour. Maybe he ate a tad bit stuck to his watermelon? Maybe this was just from being on his fingers? I didn't know.

So, a few days later (great timing!) at his well check up, his doctor said, "You were right all along. There's something to be said for a mother's intuition." Validation. Thank you, for saying that. She prescribed Epipens and gave me a referral to an allergist. I immediately made the appointment for a few weeks later (as soon as we could get with the pediatric allergist) and picked up the Epipens from Rite Aid pronto. We avoided peanut butter, but pretty much continued everything as normal as usual. Eating out, exploring new foods and places. I didn't let myself read any blogs or literature that would freak me out. I was going to be cautious until the appointment.

Thank goodness for Nini while Mom was turning into a puddle of anxiety.

Early into the 15-minute test.
Then, long story short, we had the appointment with the allergist. My sister came with me, thank goodness. Those little pricks on his back were not his favorite thing. And the peanut 'wheal' appeared instantly. And it grew large, with little white hive-y looking things in it. He also tested positive for dog, pistachio and pecan allergies. They confirmed he was, in fact, allergic to these things. They offered blood testing for further information, and to test other items in the legume family that can sometimes be tied to peanut allergies. I said, yes, of course. So, Joni and I held Elias down while they drew blood from his little arm. So pitiful. Poor guy.

I felt numb. I could feel my anxiety brewing up. I didn't feel like I got a lot of information from the appointment beyond: avoid peanuts, avoid things made with peanuts, read labels, avoid all tree nuts. I didn't even get an 'action plan' or print out of his results. It was weird. Oh, and here's your Epipen prescription. (However, I chose the new Auvi-Q one that is more compact and talks you through the process. In case of emergency, I definitely need something talking me through what to do. Whoever invented those is genius. And probably a mother.)

I asked how severe the allergy to peanut was. They said, you can't really, truly tell from this test. All you can tell is that he's allergic. You get a positive or a negative. There was no way to know how he'd react when exposed or what the threshold level would be to trigger a reaction. The best thing to do is to operate as if the allergy was the most severe and adjust your life/diet accordingly. That's how to keep him safe.

Cue: further anxiety.

I called back the next week to get the blood test results. (I was a little miffed that according to the paperwork they had had the results for days and hadn't called me. Couple that with the lack of information and just overall not great feeling I had from the initial appointment, I'm not sure I want to continue with them as our allergist. So, if you have recommendations in the Raleigh area, send them my way.) Anyways, back to the results.

They were high. And the nurse used the terms: life-threatening allergy. Severe.

Oh boy.

I was told to speak with the manager whenever eating out, and to consider packing our own meals for him. I was warned that egg rolls are sealed with peanut butter, and Mexican food uses peanut paste to thicken sauces often. Peanuts are all over the place. I had to be diligent with labels. I had to throw out the plain M&M's we used for Asher for pottying because they said, "May contain peanuts."

My anxiety was through the roof at this point. I listened to her through the phone and took notes feverishly. I cried, and called Rusty and my mom and my mother-in-law and cried to them. I refused to let myself Google though. I tried to stick with 'reliable' resources and websites that came with the allergist paperwork.

I talked to our pediatrician at a sick visit the next week. She said that his blood levels weren't off the charts high, but they were high. She told me to consider an allergy armband for him when we're out playing or eating. And again, reiterated, that allergies were unpredictable. Just because he has something once without reacting doesn't mean it's safe now. Labels change as manufacturing processes change. Cross-contamination occurs. Read, ask and watch. Reactions can be of varying levels of severity. So, a bunch of unknowns. But, she was reassuring and kind, and understanding since her daughter is allergic to cashews. I felt, overall, calm after our talk.

For me, not knowing triggers my anxiety. And this diagnosis a big, 'ole dose of not knowing. What if? What if? But what if? I kept asking anyone who would listen. What about when he starts preschool? And what about when he's dating and he wants to kiss a girl who just ate peanuts at the bar? What if it's that severe that something happens and he feels uncool carrying his Epipen. Ahhhh, downward spiral, you see. Maybe God is trying to tell me to relax and let go?

I feel like a broken record. I've had to tell myself and Rusty and those who help care for Elias: The only thing that's known about food allergies is they are unpredictable. I am never going to know what's going to happen, or could happen. I don't know how he'll react. All we can do is keep our tools handy to protect him. You can eat something once and it's fine. But next time, it could be anaphylactic shock. We have to be ever-cautious, especially since he's so little and will pick up (and chew) anything and everything. As he grows, he'll learn to help manage this with us. But for now, we are his shield. Us and God.

I have this nagging worry that all of my anxiety about things that aren't really big deals (colds, coughing, rashes, fever) and freaking out a lot in general will be to Elias' detriment. I worry that people won't take me seriously and just think, "Oh Kira freaks out about everything." But this is serious. So serious. I'm trying to tone down my overall anxiety and really convey to those in our lives that this is a big deal. A really big deal. And everyone has been great. My sweet sister reads labels after I've read them, even when I don't ask her to. My mom bought soy-butter to replace Asher's jar of peanut butter at her house and has listened to me worry and cry on repeat. My mother-in-law made a big lunch the other day, checked all the labels and offered to call the deli to ask about the oil the chicken was fried in. And yes, we have to worry about these things now.

But thankfully, Elias has an army of shields around him.

And it will be ok.

Monday, July 1, 2013

In a snap

There is a lot to say on here. About school. And peanut allergies. And sickness. And brothers. And husbands. And houses. And pottying. But for now, here are some of my fave phone photos from the last little bit.


A moment with Asher Ray, age 3

"Mom, I like you."

Plants a kiss smack on my lips.

"I like your blonde hair, too. And you did not come get me at school today. You were late. This tent is cool."

A few minutes later.

"Mom, I want to hold you."

Crawls into may lap and snuggles up .

"You are a great friend."

Sweet smile.

Monday, May 27, 2013

Backyard boys

I followed my boys around with the big camera in the backyard for a few minutes today. Little boys in bathing suits always need to be photographed, right?

It's quite the challenge. Dodge the sprinkler. Look for the wandering three-year-old. Chase the one-year-old wobbler. No! Don't eat that. Yes, the ants can bite. Don't squirt the wasp. Repeat and don't lose your cool. Oh, and take a few pictures in there somewhere.

But these, these are my boys. They are my heart. Dirt, tantrums, exhaustion and all.

My Asher. Water hose loving Asher.

Checking on the current water flow status of his sprinkler.

My Elias. Who learned to dig in dirt by scooping it under
and between his legs at rapid pace.

This is his running face.

He was making a mad dash to the garage. To proclaim 'CAR! CAR!'
over and over. And get into mischief.

Back outside, we're running again.

He's serious about his sprinkler.

Caught me. 'No taking a picture, Mama.'

The only bloom left on my bush after taking the others to Cille's grave.

Someone wasn't following direction and almost soaked Mama's camera.
No more water, says Mama. Life is ruined, naturally.

It was really an obnoxious display of  emotion at the time, and I was
terribly annoyed with all his carrying on - but this photo breaks my heart.

No good tantrum ends so soon. It must last at least 19 minutes.
And there you have it. About ten minutes in our backyard. :)

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Arlington National Cemetery

When Grammy passed away several weeks back, we knew that she would be buried at Arlington and that the date and time of the burial would be assigned to us. So, when we received notice that Memorial Day weekend (that Friday morning) was our scheduled time, we made plans to drive up Thursday to DC.

I had a lot of anxiety about the ride. My boys have despised riding even to the store lately, so five hours (without traffic) in the car with them made me want to poke my eyeballs out. We learned from the Myrtle Beach trips that it's best to not mention anything exciting at the end of the car ride, because Mr. Can't Wait would stay awake for said exciting thing. We told Asher we were going on a ride, after lunch, to 'see Nana and PopPop'. After a few hours he said, "Nana and PopPop's house is a looooong ways away." We thought we were banking on a solid nap after playing in the heat all morning and hopping in the car during nap. Wrong. There wasn't much sleeping. But, it wasn't too horrible either. Asher's DVD player broke (told you, kid, that kicking it would break it) and Elias was addicted to Finding Nemo on repeat. I had little activity boxes for both boys (with little small time-consuming items) and those helped out some. We stopped for picnics and bubble blowing at rest stops and took our time arriving. We also missed a few turns (thank you detours) and ended up in the heart of DC for a little driving tour. Read: lost.

And then, we arrived at 'Nana and PopPop's house' aka the hotel. There were cousins to play with, family to visit and a pool to swim in. So, that pretty much made it awesome. The hotel got our room wrong three times, so finally around 8 PM we went down to the pool. Yes, 8 PM. The routiner in me was flipping out. But the mom in me, that wanted the boys to enjoy themselves and SLEEP, was like 'let's go swim!' So, we swam and played. We were all in one room together, with a separate living area. Elias settled into this pack 'n play around 9:30. Asher around 10-something. Elias was up around 11, and 2 and 3:30 and 4:30 and 5. Asher slept through the first few screams, but then he joined in the noise making. Poor guy. He was saying, "Lie-us, huuuuuush. Go to sleep, Lie-us." Asher and Rusty wound up on the couch and then back in our bed. When my alarm went off at 6:30 I was zonked. ZONKED. Breakfast and a peek outside showed me that I had not packed for the weather. I did check the forecast and it didn't say 50 degrees, raining and winding like mad and just plain cold. We were not prepared. We wrapped up in blankets and layered with what clothes I did pack.


We ventured out to Arlington. We went to the main building and there was a family room assigned to us. We waited there until time for the service. The chaplain did a beautiful job. He spoke of Grammy - an Air Force pilot's wife - as a hero of heroes. And how fitting that she be buried there among the others. The boys actually sat quietly through the service. I realized early on that I had one little bar left of my battery on my camera, so I didn't get nearly the number of photos I wanted. Grandpop cried, a lot. When they brought the casket over, he asked, "Is that Mommy?" He's not really remembering what's happened, so we're hoping that by being at Arlington maybe it strikes a chord and he can somehow remember. I know it's hard on Rusty's dad to tell his father over and over at each visit that Grammy has passed away. While they buried Grammy we ventured over to the other side of the section and I was able to take a few photos of her final resting place. We loved that the Air Force memorial monument (like three jets flying) was right behind her gravesite.

The rain began as we were looking for Stanley's grave. Asher was begging to use his umbrella. I happily obliged because I had this vision of his bright umbrella meandering around the site markers on such a cloudy, otherwise gloomy day. We packed up after this and decided it was time to start heading back. The weather was too gross, we were too cold and we knew we had a long drive ahead of us (with no sleep the night before).

Cue: frenzy of packing up, more getting lost from detours (an hour's worth) and traffic jams like mad crazy. We tried to get off 95 to 'keep moving' and 'save time' and I think we just screwed ourselves. The motion did help the boys take a nap, but we were way out of our way and there was traffic even there. We stopped for meals and running around, and drove and drove and drove and drove. Elias pretty much fussed from Richmond until home. At that point, I just tried to block it out and get us home. Asher, sweet boy, kept trying to talk to Elias. At one point he said, "Lie-us, it's ok. Don't cry. Everything is going to be ok." Seriously. How stinkin adorbs is THAT? Annnnd 10 hours later -- we arrived. TEN HOURS. Whew.

Glad I have these photos of the sweet, meaningful, purposeful parts of our trip. I'm glad the boys could run around with their cousins. I'm glad we had that time to hang with Grandpop and Nana and PopPop. Grandpop was clearly enjoying himself. And I know it all meant a lot to Rusty.

Next time, I'm considering Benadryl and/or a chartered flight. No road trips for me anytime soon. Good glory.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...