My Kid Has a Peanut Allergy

Dear Moms and Dads,

Your whispers and eye rolls did not go unnoticed.

I saw them.  I noticed them.  And, I even understand them.

You see, five years ago, I was you.

I sat in a classroom listening to another mom in my oldest daughter's class plead for the life of her son.  Her son had a peanut allergy and any exposure to peanuts or a peanut product would cause him to go into anaphalactic shock.   The mom begged us not to send in any treats that contained nuts so that her son could be safe.

The thing is, I can clearly remember thinking, "Oh, give me a break!"   Her words echoed in my head, "He could die from a peanut."   The actual idea of it just sounded so ridiculous. A peanut?  Really?  I thought about how Abbie would not be able to bring in her favorite treat, peanut butter cups, for her special treat day.  I thought about the fun tradition of making fall haystacks with chow mein noodles and peanut butter and chocolate that we would not be able to share at the classroom Halloween party.  In short, I thought about how no peanuts would affect me and my own kid.

I was selfish.

Never once did I think about that other mom or her fears for her son's life.

And now . . . I am that mom.

My kid has a peanut allergy.  And just last week, I had to stand in front of you parents and explain how my Ellerie, my little full of energy, sprite-like ball of smiles, could be taken down by just one little peanut.

I emphasized.

I pleaded.

I even begged.

But, even in this day, when there are many kids that have life threatening allergies, I saw you roll your eyes at me as if to say, "Oh no!  Not another kid in my kid's class with allegies. . ."

I get it.

I really do.

Because I was you.

I was selfish.


But now. . . I am not.


Now, I am depending on you. . .

to help keep my 3 year old baby safe,
to keep my girl peanut free,
to keep my Ellerie alive.

In short,  I am entrusting her life to all of you. . .

And I am praying that you have an unselfish heart.


Humbly,

Annie


********************linking to Shell's PYHO***********************

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To Meet or Not To Meet . . .

Dear Abs,

I love you.

You are such an awesome kid.

I love that you will spend an afternoon designing and sewing a pillow pet for your sister.

I love that you have finished 10 chapter books this summer already.

I love that you are developing quite a snarky sense of humor.  You raise your eyebrow like no other.

I love that you love to swim.  You do 20 laps without realizing how hard it is to do twenty laps.  You glide through the water like a Cullen glides through the forest, eerily arriving at your destination without effort or undue exertion.

You are amazing, my girl. 

Amazing!

So, please keep all of these wonderful qualities close to your heart when I tell you that  . . .

I do not love your swim meets. 

They are torture my girl.

Torture.

They are 20 seconds of excitement followed by hours of sheer boredom, in 90 degree heat, with other stinky, sweaty and tired parents.

They are volunteering to corral 100 kids that are not mine and that can not understand why they can not be in the pool until their race.

They are listening to little Suzy's mom explain how little Suzy is swimming in the winter so that she can bump up her scholarship opportunities.  Scholarship opportunities, mind you, that will not be available for at least another 7-8 years since little Suzy is 10 years old.

They are being available to be the mosquito buffet for the evening.

Swim meets suck, plain and simple.

So, christen me the summer time Grinch, but I can find no good quality in a swim meet.

No good quality except for the wide smile you give me when you finish your race.

For that, I'd endure anything.

With love,

Mom

PS To recap . . . Love you!  . . . the swim meets? Not. so. much.

*****************Linking with Shell's PYO*****************************

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I Want To Get Off This Roller Coaster

I am struggling with this one.

In fact, I have started this post 7 different times only to reread my words, take a deep breath and hit delete.  If I were writing this old school with actual pen and paper, I would probably have a mountain of wadded up notebook paper at my feet and ink stains on my fingertips. 

But I don't.

Instead, I have a blinking cursor daring me to write the hard things.  The important things.  The things that I can not say. . .

I have been on a roller coaster this past week.  Summer arrived, as it always does, with a feeling of freedom and promise and sweet expectations.  The kids and I had made our summer wish list, and we had visited the pool for a last day of school picnic.  I was relaxing into my summer mode when my mom's phone call arrived.

"Dad is going in for another heart catherization."

My mood plummeted.

Her voice was low, but even, which I found odd.  I know that she was staying calm for my dad and probably for me too, but every word she spoke was like a click of a roller coaster inching its way to its peak. 

"Again?" I questioned quietly.  "What happened?"

She replied, "He is having chest pains, " and then she paused for what seemed like a week, " . . . just like last time."

And then silence.

What else was there to say, after all?  We had ridden this ride before 3 years ago.  And after that terrifying experience, there were promises made to eat better, to make smarter choices, and to exercise. 

Promises that have not been kept.

And here is the rub . . . dad's heart procedure went fantastically.  He is at home recovering, and I am thrilled that he is feeling better, that he is OK, and that we all get to have him around.  So, why do I still feel like I am on the roller coaster?  Why do I keep anticipating that next bottom-falling-out feeling?  That next drop?

It is an interesting problem.  Loving someone so much that you can not imagine your life without him, but also recognizing that life without him is a very real possibility if things do not change.  Loving someone so much that you would do anything for him, but being unable to make him do any one thing that will keep him alive.

It is frustrating as hell.

And truthfully, it makes me so angry that I want to scream and throw things and bury my head under a pillow just like my 3 year old does when things get a bit too scary. 

But I don't.

Instead, I call and talk to Dad and listen to him joke about his "6 pack" of stents.  I know he is joking because that is just his way, but I don't find it the least bit funny. And when I try to broach the subject and get serious, Dad changes the topic to our family's summer plans.  I want to parent him and lecture him and give him a laundry list of what to do and what not to do.

But I don't.

Instead, I love him  . . . and hope that that will be enough.

**********Linking to this week's Things I Can't Say ****************************

I Want . . .

I want to wear dark sunglasses, hop on a plane, and arrive at some exotic destination.

I want to sip fruity cocktails while I lounge sea side in a cabana and read a trashy novel just for fun.

I want to drift off to sleep in the sun, napping the afternoon away, waking up only in time to get ready for a yummy dinner.


Instead, I don layers of sunscreen and arrive at the community pool with dozens of other women and children.  I navigate through a sea of swim diapered bottoms and melted popsicles to find a pool chair that has one slat missing and that allows my ass to sink through it.  I pass the afternoon away doling out snacks, reapplying sunscreen, and fending off the yawns with caffeinated Diet Coke.


I want to wake up at 10 am and have my morning coffee at a leisurely pace while perched on my shady back deck.

I want to eat chocolate croissants, get my fingers dirty, and lick them off one by one.

I want to spend the morning in my pajamas while I write and write and write. . . with no interruptions.


Instead, I wake at the crack of dawn to watch the puppy poop.  I start at least 4 cups of coffee and then leave them all over the house to get cold as I get kids ready for the last days of school.  I manuever around the Direct TV men that have their plumber's butts assalting my eyes in full force.  I wolf down a cherry pop tart- cold- and then load up the car to start the day's errands.



I want to get dressed up in a pretty frock, put on make-up and fancy, girly shoes.

I want to walk down the stairs in my gorgeous get up and have hubs be speechless.

I want to go out to dinner and dancing and drinks. 

And I want to laugh and laugh and laugh.



Instead,  I slap down a pizza on the counter for the family.  We hurriedly chomp it down, and then we load up the car.  Once there, we pop the trunk, get out the snacks and sleeping bags, and hubs and I snuggle with three loves to watch the drive-in movie.


And, we laugh and laugh and laugh.



All is good.


All is good.

*********************Today I am Pouring My Heart out at Shell's.************************