Friday, April 27, 2012

Food Allergies and PIGs!



When I was a child, I blamed my parents for a lot of things.  I blamed them because they didn’t help me achieve my dream of worldwide stardom via my undeniable and incomparable talent in the performing arts. I also blamed them for not promoting my supreme swimming aptitude into a gold medal winning Olympic career I so richly deserved.  I even blamed them for cursing me with curly blond hair when I clearly would have been much better off with straight blond hair.

In retrospect, I realize, it’s silly to blame my parents for my lack of a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and the absence of Olympic gold medals around my neck.  However, that curly hair thing – that really is their fault!  I mean, I’ve forgiven them, even though, to this day, I still am the target of multiple Jewfro jokes…. Their genetics caused my lifelong hair trauma, but I’ve forgiven them – except on humid days. 

I bring this up because I officially have become a PIG. I’ve consumed a lot of time thinking about being a PIG and beating myself up over it.  I’ve rolled my PIG status over in my head a thousand times and I always coming out more PIGgy.  PIG: Parent with Inheritance Guilt. 

I’ve guilted myself over many inherited “features” (a very clever term used by computer programmers when referring to what a commoner might call a software “bug”) I’ve passed along to my kids…. Jack, my oldest, is such a smart and sweet kid.  And, he does not have a competitive bone in his body.  Not one.   While many will think that’s a good thing, it can be a bit detrimental as a kid who is expected to compete for just about everything in a school environment.  This is my fault.  That comes from me. 

Will more than makes up for Jack’s lowered competitive spirit . He competes for everything!  Will competes with his siblings to see who gets first rights to the bathroom in the morning… and he always wins! However, Will is the kid that will not try any new foods.  He likes the tried and true – chicken nuggets, pizza and spaghetti.  Just like his dad was at that age.  Again, my bad.  It’s on me. 

And Emma – my little princess – is so sensitive that one misplaced critical comment (like “Emma, how come you didn’t finish your breakfast?”) can send her spiraling into the safety of a hiding place.  Her bedroom closet is a favorite.  Mine was under my bed.  Ugh.  That’s on me, too.

All of those character traits are the mountains I will have to help my kids climb and conquer.  And, in time, I know we’ll get there. Then there is Sam, my baby.  And, for him, I am the biggest PIG….

Sam is an adventurous kid, even at one year old.  Unlike his older brother, he likes trying new foods. When mommy or daddy are eating something interesting, Sam will request a bite.  And by request, I mean thrust his entire body forward, towards the food, full force, with his mouth wide open, making a sound that can best be described as an infantile battle cry.  He is the William Wallace of mealtimes.  He makes it known he’s coming in.  Prepare yourself to donate the “baby tax” directly into Sam’s mouth. 

Yogurt Mountain is a favorite dessert spot for my kids.  Of course it is - why wouldn’t it be? Add “do it yourself” frozen yogurt with “do it yourself” candy toppings galore and you have grade school nirvana.  The three older kids love to make their own ice cream monstrosities, bringing unending smiles to their faces.  And, of course, Sam goes in for the baby tax.  But after taking a few bites, we noticed that Sam’s own unending smile is now surrounded by a rash of some sort.  Uh-oh.

As it turns out, Sam has food allergies.  The Yogurt Mountain incident (along with a few others like it) resulted in a trip to the doctor’s office to investigate.  A few awful blood tests later and we have confirmation… Sam is allergic to dairy, peanuts and (gulp) shellfish.  (Why the “gulp”?  Well, someone else in the family has a shellfish allergy….me.  Yep, confirmation that I’m a PIG.)

So, my happy little Sam – the boy whose smile can light the darkest of times, will be restricted in what he can eat for the foreseeable future and maybe the rest of his life.  And it’s my fault.  Stupid genes. 

Look, it could be worse.  It could be a lot worse.  Sam could have gone into anaphylactic shock immediately and who knows if we could have reacted in time.  His throat could have swelled up.  Truthfully, we are very, very lucky.  But the bottom line is Sam can’t have dairy or peanuts or shellfish.  And that’s on me.

The reality of this hit me when Blythe came home from that doctor’s visit with two Epipens.  Epipens!  Sam needs to have access to an Epipen…just in case.  Know what an Epipen is?  It an emergency does of epinephrine.  Know what that is?  To quote a medical website:

“Epinephrine injection is used to treat life-threatening allergic reactions caused by insect bites, foods, medications, latex, and other causes. Symptoms of allergic reaction include wheezing, shortness of breath, low blood pressure, hives, itching, swelling, stomach cramps, diarrhea, and loss of bladder control. Epinephrine is in a class of medications called sympathomimetic agents. It works by relaxing the muscles in the airways and tightening the blood vessels.”

Did you see those words? Shortness of breath.  Low blood pressure.  Swelling. He may not have had those symptoms yet, but they are possibilities.  And it’s my fault.

And though I accept the blame, I don’t accept victim status.   We all have choices to make.  There are two sides to this coin…  Shall I wallow in self-pity for my son (I guess that’s self-pity by proxy, actually) or shall I be grateful for what we have and control what we can?  I choose the latter.

No child could ask for a better advocate in life than Blythe.  When she senses danger, her protective instincts turn into action.  Don’t mess with mama bear’s babies.  She has taken on this food allergy condition as if she were preparing a PhD thesis.  She now knows more about allergies than the doctors we visit.  If knowledge is power, she’s the food allergy Wonder Woman.  And, so, Mother Nature, Sub-Section: Allergies, please consider yourself put on notice.  You’ve messed with my wife’s baby.  She does not forgive easily.

My role, other than supporting my wife in her crusade against food allergies, is simple.  Along with Blythe, we’ll work on keeping Sam comfortable and safe.  We’re so fortunate to live in a time when information is readily available.  The plethora of “kid food allergies” websites alone is astounding.  And the food alternative choices for Sam are really incredible, too.  This morning, for the first time in his young life, Sam enjoyed ice cream.  Well, “rice dream” ice cream, but to him it’ll be ice cream ice cream.  He loved it.  And that smile alone makes the efforts all worthwhile. 

By the way, we also bought him a few varieties of vegan cheese.  We sampled along with Sam.  Sam enjoyed his new foods.  I, on the other hand, found it to taste roughly the equivalent of soggy shoe leather.  Luckily, it wasn’t purchased for me.  Or the dog.  Even he hated it.

The beauty in all of this is that Sam is just a really happy little boy.  To see the joy that he brings to so many people, his parents included, is to understand the seeds of love.  All of my kids have been different and all spectacular (I’m not at all humble when it comes to the awesomeness of my kids).  Sam has changed the world for the better.  And food allergies aren’t going to keep that unending smile from his face, so surely it shouldn’t keep it from ours, either.

I look forward to the day when Sam is free to eat whatever he wants, whenever he wants, without any repercussions.  But if that day doesn’t come, then I’m just going to look forward to any day that I get to spend with Sam.

   

Monday, April 23, 2012

Legacy Planning 101


Legacy is not a word that I’ve even begun to contemplate.  Legacy is outweighed by things like car payments, birthday parties, doing the dishes, carpool duty, and walking the dog twice a day.  Who has time for a legacy?

Yet, today I’m thinking about my legacy.  Not today’s legacy though – I sincerely hope I have many more years before anyone has to really consider my legacy.  However, an introspective piece of radio I heard yesterday got me thinking about “legacy”.  Dan Savage, a fairly controversial sex-advice columnist (are there any other kinds?), spoke in front of a live theater audience, which was simulcast on radio (it was recorded about 2 years ago; however, this was the first time I’d heard it).   Whatever your views on Dan may be, his monologue was not controversial at all, nor did it regard his “expertise”. Instead, he spoke about his mother.

You can listen to the whole show to gain all Dan’s insights, but the essence of his communication about how a mother’s love transcends the barriers of circumstance.  Dan’s mother was a devout Catholic.  Dan is a gay man who, along with his partner of 14 years, has adopted a son.  Dan’s mother accepted her son life, loved her son and grandson, understood her son while never abandoning her own strong faith.  It’s a beautiful story of her devotion and Dan’s reaction to her death.

Which brings me back to the idea of a legacy… What will my kids think about me when my time comes? It’s a morbid thought, but, let’s be honest – it’s going to happen one day.  Hopefully, “one day” is many days from now, but since birth certificates don’t come with expiration dates, we’ll never know for sure.

There are a finite number of days between now and then.  And, I know this will be shocking to those of you who know me well, I’m a little bit of a worrier.  And the antidote to worrying, for me, is planning.  So, welcome to Legacy Planning 101:

Step 1: Make Memories
This is a bit tricky.  For a lot of us, when we think about “making memories”, we assume it has to be a big memory, like the time we went to Disneyland and my brother puked on Space Mountain (which is actually a made-up memory – my brother never puked on Space Mountain.  But I might have told all his friends that he did).  When I think back on my own childhood, it’s not the mega-vacation memories that jump forward.  Instead, I remember things like sitting on lawn chairs in my open garage next to my dad as it rained.  He sat and listened to the rain as he smoked a cigar.  Very quiet moments.  I loved those moments.  And I frequently sit on our covered patio in thunderstorms and just listen.  I hope my kids will remember those kinds of moments, too.

Step 2: Create Traditions
Thanksgiving day is my favorite of the year.  I know a lot of people feel that way about Christmas day.  My mom talks about her memories of her family every year around Passover. The traditions of those days are powerful.  It’s been important in our family that our kids know the agenda for every major holiday, including their birthdays, every year. And they do.  They know that Christmas Eve means opening one present before bed – invariably, pajamas to wear to bed on that very night.  They know that Christmas morning means breakfast strata after the first session of opening presents (and the second session invariably commencing as soon as the kids have stuffed their faces as quickly as they can) .  They know we open presents from youngest to oldest, one apiece until we’re all out.  They know we’ll have stuffed shells for dinner that night. They love the tradition as much as the presents.  So do I.

Step 3: Be The Person You Want Them to Remember
Last week, we had a particularly tough morning.  The baby wasn’t feeling well and, as a result, neither my wife nor I got as much sleep as we would have liked.  I was tired and irritable when driving the older three to school.  And they were in rare form, fighting about every last detail of every seemingly trivial activity of the morning.  When all three were being nasty to each other about, of all things, a Pokémon game they were playing, the proverbial straw broke.  I laid into them.  I have a long fuse, but you don’t want to be there when I finally go off.  And that day, I went off big.  I was in rare form, first yelling then simply lecturing condescendingly to an audience too afraid to participate in the conversation.  Ten minutes later, when the craziness had finally vacated my brain, I pulled into the school parking lot, stopped the kids from getting out, and sincerely apologized.  Not for the content of my message, for I deeply believe that “taking care of each other” is our family mission, but for the delivery method.  I didn’t want my kids to think that being passionate about a message is reason enough to yell and scream about it.  It’s the least elegant way to communicate passionately, actually.  I failed in delivering my message, and in doing so, abused the trust they put in me as a parent.  I apologized to the kids.  I let them know that I still felt that fighting with each other is wrong on a lot of levels, but I was wrong to have yelled at them about it.  I hope they remember the guy who communicated that message.

Step 4: Model a Healthy Lifestyle
Admittedly, this one is the toughest for me.  I know I have a long road ahead of me to get this one right.  And, I know that I need to hurry down that road before my kids start to follow their own wrong path. 

I don’t know anyone without a vice or two… or eight.  For some, its smoking.  For others, its drinking or recreational drug use.  There are people who regularly “text and drive” or who still won’t wear a seatbelt.  And, for me, for as long as I can remember, it’s been weight. 

It’s one thing to risk your own health, but quite another when your habits start to impact your kids’ habits.  I think about this a lot.  When I was growing up, my dad was very heavy.  In his late sixties, he had a stroke.  We were lucky as it was a mild stroke, and it served as a wake up call to him.   He made changes and is now at a very healthy weight.  However, I’m not there – yet. 

I don’t want my kids to follow my bad habits and have to struggle with this issue.  So, I’m dedicating myself to fixing the problem.  I’m doing it for me, because I want to be the best role model to my kids I can be.  I haven’t been, but I’m going to be.

Step 5: Share the Ride
Everyday, when I first see my kids afterschool, I spend a few minutes with each of them, talking about their day.  Of course, I get the routine answers of “nothing happened today, Dad.” But, I’ve been in the parental management game for far too long to know answer #1 is simply a test to see if you’ll leave them alone.  And I never do.  I’m persistent in asking specific questions: What specials did you have today?  What did you do in Spanish? How was the spelling test? Who did you sit with at lunch?  What did you talk about?  What did you do at recess?  Did your teacher say anything goofy today?  Ask enough questions and you’ll get the real answers. 

My kids know that my wife and I want to know everything – good, bad, funny, sad.  We want it all.  We want to share their experience.  We want to let them be the star of their story.  We love when they tell us how they shine.  And I hope they think of this when they think of me later on.  I think it might be all I’m thinking about when that time comes.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life, right?  I’m choosing how I want those days to impact my kids – legacy planning 101.