Everyone's a Comedian

I always knew I wanted two kids.  I dreamed of having the “million dollar” family arrangement of one of each.  When I found out I was having a boy.  I was happy.  My husband was ecstatic.  I know this is going to sound cheesy, but he actually said to me, “Honey, since you are giving me a son, I want to give you the moon!” 

Ok, so I should tell you, he told me this while we were selecting new kitchen floor tiles, and he may have only meant for the moon to extend as far as our kitchen, but I like to think he was referring to something much more existential. 

After Noah was born and as he grew, so did my anxiety.  I loved him, but worried there wouldn’t be enough of me to cover the needs of two children.  In addition, the stress of the therapies, the seizures and a 10% increased chance of having another child with autism, caused me to pause. 

However, after Barb came into my life, everything seemed more manageable.  She was like a valve that allowed me to release some of the pressure threatening to break my fragile vessel.  So, when Steve and I decided to expand our family, I had only one request, “Dear God, please give me something different, I just can’t handle more of the same.”

Natalie’s delivery, unlike Noah’s, was planned.  Her entry into the world came the day after we discovered the cause of Noah’s seizures and were able to control them with medicine.  She arrived without fever drama and epidural complications.  She was more than a pound larger than Noah.  Instead of making an enormous protest about leaving her comfy quarters; she let out a small meow-like cry, then quickly closed her eyes like she couldn’t be bothered.

It has been interesting to watch the differences unfold. 

When Natalie was about six months old, I remember a scene in which I was sitting on the couch, her in my arms with Noah by my side.  Her gaze was fixated on her four year old big brother, when Noah commented, “You know Mom, she kinda looks like a moon.”  It was true, unlike Noah who has a slim face like mine; Natalie inherited her Daddy’s perfectly round, German noggin.  I giggled to myself, recalling Steve’s moon promise.

At eight months old, we discovered Natalie had several food allergies, among them peanuts, tree nuts and eggs.  How curious…as Noah preferred a routine diet of cheesy eggs for breakfast and peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. 

Today their tastes in foods are from opposite ends of the spectrum.  While Noah would be happy with a steady diet (if we'd let him!) of processed meats and cheese, Natalie prefers raw veggies and fruit...the only exception being bananas.  Of course, bananas are the one fruit I can count on Noah to eat without complaint.

With Noah you know what to expect.  He likes to live by a playbook of his own creation.  Once a rule is set – it’s set in stone.  It’s easy to follow, as long as you have a copy of the book.  While Natalie prefers a life of what if’s.  If you ask her a question and give her two choices, her response is usually to come up with a new option.  

Noah prefers an ordered room and likes to play with one toy at a time.  (A mother’s dream).  He likes things to go back where they were and can spot a misplaced Lego guy instantly.  Natalie, on the other hand, likes to cook up Littlest Pet Shops in her kitchen while donning a coonskin cap and tutu.  Her room is usually a tidal wave of stuffed animals and Polly Pockets caught up in a twister of discarded tulle and plastic bugs.  If you ask her why, her response is usually why not?

Sometimes I wish I could have a “Freaky Friday” moment and see as she does.  She doesn’t ask questions like, “why is the sky blue?” She asks, “what do clouds taste like?” and “what does it feel like to be awesome?” She feels free to paint skies yellow and grass purple.  When coloring, she puts no pressure on herself to stay in the lines…she pretends there aren’t any.

Natalie has helped show our family what is possible when you stop worrying about the results and start enjoying the process.  She has also taught us that by not always doing what is expected, you open yourself up to receiving gifts you never dreamed were possible. Because of this, I’ve stopped listening wholeheartedly to what the experts say.  Instead I try to stay in the here and now, but it doesn’t always work.  When I think of Noah and his desire to become a Jedi; I can’t help but entertain the idea that Disney MGM Studios would be lucky to have a guardian of justice like him on their team. 

I’m also reminded of a time when Natalie was four and asked me, “Why do boys have a penis?” When I told her that’s just how God made them, she countered with, “Does God think he’s funny?” 

Today I can say with 110% conviction, “Yes, Natalie.  I think He does.”

The Power of One

About the time Noah received his diagnosis, God answered my prayers…actually I wouldn’t really call them prayers.  My convos with the Lord were more like a two year old having a fit over not getting a Hershey bar from the display case at the grocery aisle cash wrap.  Why God?!  Why?!  I’m hungry…just one!   But, before I go further, I need to give you the back story.

When I got pregnant I knew life would be different, but I wasn’t prepared for the sadness I would feel in losing my social circle of co-workers when I chose to work part-time from home versus full time in an office.  The difficulty was compounded by the fact that Steve’s car had lost the will to live and our mechanic had recommended a do-not-resuscitate order.  Noah, was just 6 weeks old, and since I had had an emergency c-section,  I wasn’t scheduled to start back for two more weeks.  Then came the call that my job was no longer secure…that is if I didn’t plan to haul my entire family on down to Sarasota, FL.  In the end I was able to work out a deal that allowed me to return to my post, but I would get to work from home and for only 20 hours a week.  The only catch was that this situation was temporary.  I had bought myself and the company, three months to find my replacement.

Our situation was aggravated further by the fact that 18 months before, my husband of good intentions, had tried to strengthen our portfolio by purchasing a rental property.  Unfortunately, we bought high, and soon after the bubble burst, and we were left with a second home that drained us and our bank account . I rationalized that since I was only going to be working 20 hours a week from home, I wouldn’t need a car because I'd be tied up with nursing and trying to fit in four hours of work each day.  Steve used my car to commute back and forth to work, and to school, and to the second job he’d taken to help us make ends meet. 

I was then left to cope with walking a line of having one foot in the working world and one in the SAHM world.  I didn’t have a solid footing in either place.  What I really needed was to create a new circle of friends and support which was no easy task without wheels.  I logged a lot of miles with my stroller and visited every park within safe walking distance from my home.  Every day I’d ask God…ok, I guess I should be honest here, I didn’t really ask – I pretty much demanded and swore and had a Super Size tantrum for him to give me one girlfriend who would listen and commiserate with me.  I was lonely dammit.

Enter…God’s perfect time line:

October 2004 – Steve and I joined a church (I had spent more than 15 years trying to convince myself I didn’t need one – I was spiritual.  That was enough, right?)  Though I was born and raised Catholic, we settled on attending services in a contemporary, Methodist one. 

December 2004 - Noah began having seizures.  A blessing in disguise, because it fast-tracked us to seeing a specialist.

January – March 2005

• We bought a second car!
• I am given the opportunity to work again with my former boss and forever friend, Ellen Rohr. 
• A space opens up in a Mom’s Day Out program allowing me to work without a toddler under foot, one day a week. 

May 2005 – Noah begins receiving therapy through First Steps and I begin my education in Sensory Integration Dysfunction and managing a very intense “sensory diet” with our son.

June 2005 – While taking a class at church, I meet a new mom.  Her name is Barb, but I’m so sleep-deprived and overwhelmed by Noah’s health issues, I don’t recall much passed her name.

August 2005 – I learn through the church bulletin that Barb’s family had experienced a death in the family.  Though I don’t know her well, I feel compelled to send a sympathy card.  A day or so after I sent the card, she called to thank me!  Who does that?  By this time, I wasn’t sure I wanted a friend as Noah’s behaviors and tantrums were growing as fast as he was and I was busy with work and working the “sensory diet plan” which involved:

·         Brushing and joint compressions -  10 times a day

·         Listening therapy  - twice a day, 20 minutes increments

·         Swinging therapy – twice a day,  15 minute increments

·         Systematic desensitization program –  twice a day, between meals

I wasn’t embarrassed by my son or his diagnosis, I told myself.  That’s because somewhere deep down (I don’t even think I consciously thought it) there was a part of me that felt if I just worked the plan, followed the therapist’s instructions, I’d get his issues licked and our lives back on track. 

What I thought would be a short, five-minute call, turned into a two hour therapy session.  I couldn’t believe my luck when Barb told me she was an occupational therapist.  What were the odds?  Our daily phone calls turned into frequent play dates and a sweet babysitting swap set-up.  It was amazing how easily the words passed between us and she cared for my kid like he was her own.  It was as if God had hand-picked her to drop in on my life when I needed her support the most…oh, yea.  Duh.

In a Kitchen Far, Far, Away

Though we own quite possibly every Star Wars figurine, game, ship and card ever stamped with George Lucas’ seal of approval, I haven’t yet found or maybe George hasn’t yet figured out a way to capitalize on the aroma that is Star Wars.  If he did, I can assure you – I’d be having my Galactic Republic spices of Glitterstim and Ryll from the planet Kessel overnighted. 

Noah may resemble my husband and I – but our little clone has taste buds that come from a galaxy far, far away from ours.

One evening while preparing Fettuccini Carbonara, Noah, six at the time, walked by the kitchen with his face all screwed up and puckered and demanded, “What is that smell?" 

“I’m just frying some bacon,” I innocently replied. 

“Well, I don’t like it,” he stated.  Then added, “I only like Star Wars smells.”

Well, not only was my kid cuter than an Ewok, he was a marketing genius!  Why in the world hadn’t the King of Galactic enterprises, not thought to expand his Star Wars merchandising empire to include a line of spices and sauces, like Ectoplasmic Hot Sauce or Eukamint oil?  Mealtime in our household would be much more pleasant.  Right about now I could be sautéing my veggies in Fleek oil instead of lame o’ olive oil that sends my kid packing.  As I considered this, I lamented that I didn’t continue my college art education.  Instead of listening to a chorus of complaints from a pint-sized Padawan, I could be sculpting meatloaf into Wookiees and teddy bear-like Ewoks that no Jedi in training could refuse.  

To read more adventures with Noah's food sensitivities, click "Life on the Ranch."

Life On the Ranch

When I see a Norman Rockwell painting of a happy family gathered around a dinner table,  smiles plastered on their faces, thrilled and appreciative of the three course meal the matriarch of the family has prepared, I just want to give a big, slobbery raspberry over the whole thing. What a crock! Norman obviously never had a family nor did he understand the workings of one. Maybe it’s just me, but I remember when I came to the cold, hard realization  my life would probably never resemble even a pinky nail's worth of truth as depicted by the artist of American culture.

Our son was almost three and had very specific tastes. He liked everything actually, except the stuff he didn't like. One of his therapists told me she’d been specially trained in Systematic Desensitization, a type of behavioral therapy used to help children or adults become more accepting of different textures and foods. I was skeptical, but willing to give it a try.

The first day she brought out a bottle of Ranch dressing and ceremoniously set it down on the kitchen table. Now, since I’m not a big Ranch fan, my little guy had never even seen a bottle, yet his “Jedi sensors” were up, and he was not going to take that move lying down. The sight of the bottle sent him into a blood-curdling scream. As time went on, he became more accepting of the bottle.  Soon, she was able to put a little on his plate, then a little on a carrot stick, then we moved to singing a little tune while walking the ranch covered carrot  up his arm. Eventually, over the course of a couple of weeks, we got him to put the veggie in his mouth, but this fish wasn’t biting. Instead, he hesitantly licked the manufactured garlic-infused goo from the carrot stick. I braced myself for a noisy protest that never came. Instead, his eyes got a faraway look. Then, his face broke out into a huge grin. It seemed my kid was in love… with Ranch.

His romance with salad dressing double-dated with Cheerios, peanut butter sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies. The therapist urged me not to give up. She promised me this was just the beginning, and that since he liked the Ranch, soon we’d be able to get him to try other foods with Ranch as the catalyst.

For months, I followed the program, but caseloads of Hidden Valley’s finest later, it was clear, we needed to try something else. I then spent the next six months trying to work Ranch out of our lives. It wasn’t easy.  There were times I thought maybe Ranch dressing was his destiny. I was ready to phone up the executives of Hidden Valley – Hey! Have I got a new spokesperson for you! There had to be a silver-lining to all of this, but at the moment I couldn’t see it…I couldn’t even smell it over the garlic that seemed to have perforated my senses.

To read more adventures with Noah's food sensitivities click "In a Kitchen Far, Far Away"