Chesed

Tomorrow is Liam’s three hour oral food challenge.

The almond honey cake is laced with egg and ready.

His backpack is still empty and needing to be stuffed with supplies to entertain him for three long hours in a tiny exam room.

His scratch tests in early June were all negative except peanut, egg, and birch trees. Not even wheat or tomato showed up this time. Unlike our previous thought, he has very few true allergies.

Two weeks later we went back for patch testing. Instead of scratching his skin open in thirty different places, they just filled seven little wells with food, taped them to his back, and that was that. For forty-eight hours he wore wheat, tomato, pineapple, soy milk, milk, cocoa, and goat milk looking for a delayed allergic reaction.

There was nothing …. except for a rip roaring inflammatory response to the tape. His back was so red and painful under the tape it looked as though someone scalded him. But where the little wells of food had been were little circles of perfect skin.

We went home with instructions to start re-introducing foods.

Milk was first. By day three on two tablespoons of milk, Liam was up to three loose stools a day and enough gas blowing around to get our car to Hawaii. His behavior plummeted to the depths of somewhere relatively unknown since those horrible days of “before.” The meltdowns were innumerable and beyond ridiculous.

The past two days I gave him foods containing wheat. This afternoon, well, more bathroom talk.

The bad news: It’s not working and that’s pretty depressing.

The good news: Trace residual amounts of milk protein used to set him off with diarrhea and an inability to sleep. Now we get a partial reaction to two tablespoons. Maybe we can call that progress.

Tomorrow is the big one.

The potential for good news exists. We *might* actually eventually have a breakfast food for Liam.

The bad news: I don’t expect good news.

signed: the pessimistic grouch

For those of you who are not on facebook, we are running a sale and a few giveaways in celebration of our one year anniversary here!

The last time my sister, Beth, was here she breezed through the door and said, “Well, it looks like your thumb turned a little bit green!”  Best compliment I’d had all day. 

I’m a far cry from a master gardener.  More like a shoot-in-the-dark-hope-to-hit something kind of person with a hoe and a watering can.  But this year, I have loved it more than I ever did before.  I think I am *finally* learning a few of the hidden secrets.  Did you ever notice that when you ask a gardener, “how do you do it?” they shrug their shoulders and say, “Oh, I don’t know.  I don’t really do anything.” 

Yeah right.

I can tell you what it looks like when I don’t do anything.  Those people must have miracle gro breath.  I don’t.

Here are my two secrets.

1. Good soil.  Compost.  Compost.  Compost. 

2.  Be out there.  A lot.  I went to the garden a lot more often this year and discovered I spent way more time weeding, snipping, watering, fertilizing, pruning, spraying, and just coddling because of it.  When you go out often, you see what needs to be done before the problems take over.  Well sometimes. 

Oh, and here’s the other secret. 

3. Mulch.  We put the grass clippings from the yard around the tomatoes and potatoes this Spring.  I didn’t have too much faith in it because I thought we should have put newspaper down first.  But let me tell you, it was awesome.  If only we’d have done the entire garden.  Because the rest of it I weeded and weeded and weeded.  Good soil grows great plants but it also grows weeds like babies grow fingernails and ear wax.

I thought it was fun to see the progression and I am positively amazed at how much produce a teeny tiny garden can grow.  People smile when they see my garden because it is so little!  This year it was a lot larger because David picked up free landscaping block (from the same place we picked up brick) and made two raised beds. 

Because it’s tiny, I plant everything close together.  We don’t have a tiller anyway so whatever space is open, I have to hoe.  Why have space?  Beats me.  We planted early stuff and as soon as the peas were out, replaced them with sweet potatoes.  I just pulled the green beans out yesterday (all except for one little row) and I am honestly sighing with enormous relief to see space instead of more work.  Truly I am still not a vegetable gardener at heart! 

The garden in May:






Garden in June:






 


Garden in July:
I’d prefer Gloria not see this picture since she always thinks of me as a worker and I’d just as soon she keep that lovely disillusion. 

(as of this morning with most of the plants GONE! yippee kay yeah!)

So you saw how tiny that garden is? 

Would you believe that I have canned:

31 pints of pickles (eight or so were from cucumbers from a friend’s garden)
9 pints of pickled red beets (We don’t even really like them but David loVes red beet eggs.  I’ve never done them before and decided to try them only to discover I sort of like them after all so we’re both happy.)

and frozen:

79 1/2 pints of green beans
four quart size ziplock bags crammed full of green pepper wedges on top of all the peppers that went into 12 pints of zucchini relish (the zucchini was from a friend because the squash bug laughed at my organic spray)

Lying in the basement and being devoured rapidly:
Almost fifteen gallons of potatoes.

We are absolutely loving all the fresh cherry tomatoes and cucumbers with fresh mozarella and basil or feta and black olives.  And if you have never tried Ryvietas you have missed out on the best part of summer food.  Layer a ryvieta or wasa cracker with mayo, cheese (I like cojack, David loves feta), basil, green peppers, red onion, avocado, tomato or any combination of vegetables you like.  love.  love.  love.

 I walk to the garden and the freezer and just feel rich.  The sweet potatoes are growing and growing.   And just knowing that every single freezer box I own is full and in the freezer (thanks to nearly 70 pints of strawberries and all the beans) makes me feel virtuous.

The biggest sore spot in the garden (other than the first zucchini plant that died and the one cucumber that followed suit thanks to those bugs) is the tomatoes.  They have horrible blight.  I bring the orange ones in every day and let them ripen as much as they will then scald them and pop them in the freezer for a canning day later.  They are disgusting.  We’re getting a few that are nice enough to eat, but my tomato thumb is truly impaired. 

I am still not convinced that it is cheaper to garden.  At least not if you buy compost.  And spray.  And fertilizer.  But I am convinced that the produce tastes better.  My true garden fetish began twitching back in Ireland when I heard Darina Allen speak in 2005.  That woman has no idea how she changed my life in that hour long session in a crowded tent surrounded by mud.  And while our chickens do not wander through the garden at will or jump up on my kitchen table, we are at least raising chickens.  It was my first introduction to Slow Food International.  I savor flavors and think of her.

Liam’s issues and a stomach turning look at Food, Inc set the wheels in high gear.  I don’t know if I’ll always do it.  But for now, I am happily pretending to be a gardener.  And not so secretly sighing with relief yelling with pleasure when every plant gets yanked out and loaded in the wheelbarrow.

I don’t read gardening blogs or books.  Proof that my interest does not lie there.  But I do love this blog and have learned so, SO much about gardening from her expertise.  Every time I wonder over I get stuck reading another and another. 

I want to hear about your garden if you have one. 

Not only am I the mom who doesn’t have chocolate chip cookies warm out of the oven after school. Not only am I the mom who left the muffins all wrapped up and ready to go for the first day of school celebration. Not only am I the mom who didn’t read the school calender correctly and did not pack a lunch the first day. I am also the mom who lost Adam’s first grade report card.

Among the bags of school things he brought home was a navy blue folder with three calender pages of activities to keep him busy this summer and his report card. It floated around on the island for a few days and I clearly remember having it in hand trying to decide where to put the folder. Somewhere in the kitchen so I have easy access to the calendar pages or immediately filed as school records. I remember not taking the time to make a new folder right then. But I canNOT remember where I went from that spot in the kitchen. And I cannot find the folder.

And it makes me sick.

What kind of mom loses her child’s first report card?

I have looked and looked and looked and looked and looked and looked and looked and looked.

I have prayed.

The boys and I have prayed.

David has looked.

And I have looked and looked and looked.

I am beginning to be very afraid that I inadvertently tossed it.

I realize that there are three billion four hundred million seven hundred eighty-nine thousand five hundred sixty-two more needful things out there to pray about.

But I really want to find that folder.

And I thought maybe y’all would help me pray about it.

BEFORE


AFTER

We worked as hard as we could for over a week to have the deck guest friendly by the fourth.  Missing handrail is not the nicest way to entertain anyone, much less persons under three feet tall.  Lots of sweat later, we were finished.  You guessed it, thirty minutes before the guests arrived, it started raining and our party of twenty-four plans moved inside.  Thanks to Jenny’s inspiring roll-with-the punches post, I did not panic.  Then again, what did I have to panic about?  Unlike her million dollar worthy party details, I rely on the, ahem, natural enhancement of the mountains in the distance and ambient air. Snicker.  I think some people call that lack of inspirational talent.  Oh, and in case you hadn’t noticed, my geranium growing skills have not yet won the lottery.  Improved in that I can now grow green leaves.  Lacking in that I cannot get them to bloom.

Happiest of weekends everyone!

In the last three years, I have been to more doctor’s appointments than I want to count. Worse, at least to me, I hear the strangest names at times. Before I became a mom, I thought that I at least had a general sense of childhood illness. You know, they get the flu and throw up. They get fevers. They teethe hard. Sometimes they get things like brain concussions and broken arms and in very, very bad but rare cases, cancer. I knew that little girls were prone to UTI’s and that there would be a hundred garden varieties of the common cold.

I did not know or expect, that in three years time our little family of four would hear (on top of the multiple cases of broncheolitis, ear infections, pink eye, ring worm, eczema, a brain concussion, cracked rib) toxic hip synovitis, multiple antibiotic reactions, food allergies and probable FPIES, ACL repair, Ehrlichiosis, molar pregnancy, and as of yesterday, lymes disease.

When I was nineteen and convinced I did not want to live my life in a boring way, I was not referring to the health needs of my future children. I would be JUST FINE with some normal stuff for a few years. You know, strep, broncheolitis, colds and coughs, and maybe a case of pink eye. Just saying.

I should be heading to bed. But it’s Friday night. Who cares about bedtime?

We have been having so much fun this summer. I’m working on a project for the kitchen wall by the table. The easy part is done. As in, buy a whiteboard calender at Walmart, figure out what size everything is going to be, and hang it on the wall. Check. The other part is taking a little longer. I want a chalkboard and a memo board … or whatever you call those things that let you stick pictures and papers on them. I headed to the shop with David one day and under his step by step instructions cut the plywood base for both and started making a frame including (drum roll please) a rabbit groove and mitered corners for the frame. The chalkboard is painted. The frame is only half glued together and sitting in the basement awaiting the appearance of a brad gun. Not that I actually have any idea what a brad gun is. I just know I need one. Maybe sometime before September I’ll get to finish the frame. Then again, judging by the stacks of half finished projects around here, maybe not.

But wait, I was going to talk about fun. The boys love being able to see what is on our agenda. I’m thinking maybe this winter I will use it to help Liam notice the weather. He could draw a sun or snow (I did NOT just say the “s” word, did I?) or clouds or rain on each day. But for now it is event laden and color coded. Adam thinks it is so much fun to cross off the days as they happen.

Last summer just disappeared in a blur. This summer I purposed to be more intentional. Unbelievable as it sounds, summer can just disappear and we never did all the simple little things that make summer feel like summer. I’m also being intentional at keeping the boys occupied well. Last summer was just a little much. A little too much rambunctiousness in the house. A little too much arguing. A little too much of a lot of things. This summer there are more jobs … like picking bugs off the plants and feeding them to the chickens. This summer Adam can read. This summer Liam is three, not two. This summer is like a slice of heaven. Well, except for the missing pool.

About a month before school let out, I began concocting a list of activities. I knew from the beginning that we wouldn’t nearly do everything on the list, but there it is. A constant reminder of things to learn, things to play, things to teach, things to keep us moving, happy, and enthusiastic about summer. As though we needed the last part.

Now it’s July (STOP!) and we’re not quite halfway through the list. Is it a little bit sad that I have to have a list to remind me to do fun things? I thought so.

Just for kicks, we did a daffy supper the other night. It was one of those spur of the moment brainstorms (and actually not on the list). The boys giggled and giggled and giggled until I felt even happier than my regular Vitamin D happiness level which is saying a lot.

This week Adam did the big one. He planned a menu and cooked supper. His very first words when I told him what was up? “Ok, but I am going to have dessert.” Punctuated with a ton of emotion and emphasis. Yes, sir. While the idea was cool, in retrospect, I wish I’d have started with one item. He already fixes our salads whenever I think about getting him started early enough and does a great job of checking the vegetables for bad spots and chopping everything. But as it was, I spent nearly the entire day in the kitchen. The morning went ok, but by 4:00, I was pretty frustrated. Everything took so long and it was too much of a stretch for his attention span. But we did get it pulled off — in spite of him getting burned as he carried Liam’s serving bowl to the table which sent the entire bowl and contents spinning to the floor — and his food was deLICious. Somehow I have got to learn to be more patient with time-consuming projects and mess. It’s not his bad. It’s mine. He is actually very careful for a seven year old and he listens to instructions well. He just has trouble sticking with something that doesn’t take his full concentration and he never moves quickly. Liam and Adam are polar opposites in almost everything. I love the way it helps me to appreciate things in each of them. When Liam is seven, he will be quick. But I predict he will also be messy and not care.

I’ve been learning all over again that when I start feeling frustrated with the way things are going with the boys, it is usually my fault, not theirs. Sometimes it’s because I stretched them a little too far or expected too much of them. Or because I’ve lost too much sleep. Or because all of us are starving and it’s an hour past lunch time. Other times I feel bombarded with the realization that I have not been consistent with boundaries. Or the fact that they are being boys (their job) and I’m supposed to be teaching them and showing them the way (my job). But I get things switched around and just expect them to be little adults. Just like I expected to have a lush, green lawn with only weekly maintenance (snort, snicker in this part of the country).



That’s us. Living life imperfectly, but loving the ride. I think this summer will get recorded as one of the best summers yet. Except for the pool issue (and I wonder where the boys get their whining from? Go figure.)

Here is part of our list:

Play pitch & catch

Sew Handkerchiefs

Visit Abe’s mechanic shop

Read aloud

Play Bat & Ball

Math Flash Cards

Study Water Evaporation

Play Basketball

Have a Picnic

Hike Crab Tree Falls

Go to the Zoo

Draw a Scene or Object

Visit DC

Hike Humpback

Go to the Park

Take a Train Ride

Play with Play Dough

Create Cards

Play Hop Scotch

Roller Blade

Shrinky Dinks

Take lunch to Daddy

Go to the library

Paint pictures

Water Balloon fight

Have a hot dog roast

Host a mom / friend playdate

Sleep on the deck

A & P class (?draw / identify)

Help Grandpa Beachy with a project

Project at Grammie’s house

Plan menu, get groceries, make supper

Act out Bible story with props

Sing the scale

Learn a new song

Learn Spanish words

Sew pillows

Hike Shifflet Falls

Practice Telling Time

What’s on your summer fun list?

(PS lots more pictures here)

We are driving down the interstate and cruise past a truck / camper.

Adam: “They must have seen the ads in Field and Stream!” (He pores over those magazines for hours and even purchased the subscription with his own allowance money. And yes, they always have ads for RVing.)

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Adam: “I want to drive a motorcycle.”

Liam: “I want to drive a car without a top.”

Me: “I want to go with you, Liam.”

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I smile inside every time I hear words pronounced incorrectly by someone little. I know the day is coming, but it is hard to make myself correct them. Cute things shouldn’t all come to an end until they really are no longer cute.

Adam hardly ever says any words wrong anymore. Until today he came up the steps as granola scents wafted from the oven.

Adam: “MMMMMMMMM, it smells like cimmanon rolls up here.”

I love that he has not yet realized that his mom pretty much never makes cinnamon rolls.

Liam’s two most frequently used incorrect words are “I bi dums” (vitamins) and “buss up” (barefoot). The I bi dums I can understand the correlation. The buss up, not so much. But every single morning about 10:30 he says the same thing as he goes potty. “I ave (have) ‘ellow pee pee f’om my I bi dums.”

He’s in that stage where you use the same word over and over and over.

Like very.

As in, “Mommy, I bery (very) don’t ‘ike bocc’i (broccoli).”

or

“It just berry slipped off.”

His most not funny at all phrase is used almost as frequently.

“Mommy, I et (wet) myself. It’s dust a ill bit. It’s dust a ill drizzle.”

Three drops or not, that is not funny. If you need to use the bathroom then go before it’s that desperate.

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Pretend play is a huge thing for Liam. It’s his coping skill for when he can’t do or eat what someone else can. The Saturday David and I primed deck boards, Adam was allowed to paint a different board with primer. Liam wasn’t because I didn’t want to clean him up with gas later. He was ticked until I gave him a cup with water and a paintbrush and told him he could “paint” with that. Suddenly all was right with the world. As soon as his cup was empty he headed toward me.

“Mommy, can you fill dis tup up for me? Dis is berry, berry bois’nous (poisonous). ‘ou better not touch it. I need to wash my hands with gas.”

I filled his cup, handed it back and promised not to touch it. The irony of it all completely escapes him.

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Either it’s the summer time effect or a growth spurt but all day I hear,

“Mommy, I’m DARVING hundy.” (starving hungry)

Adam on the other hand cannot satiate his appetite for books. The other day when they were DARVING hundy and the pantry was nearly empty I grabbed some chips for them. Adam ate a few and then said, “Mommy, do I have to eat my chips? All I want to do is READ!”

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We watched this video the other day which I found funny. Adam was a bit appalled by their brassiness on one hand and cracking up on the other. I looked at him and said, “Do you think you would do something like that?”

Adam: (quite vehemently) “NO!” And then he added, “I bet they were teenagers.”

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My favorite of all though, is hearing grown up vocabulary.

Adam: “Some tea just trickled down my shirt.”

Liam: “I fink dat rain dust missed us.”

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Any funnies at your house?

We seem to always be working on a project around here.  I still think of this as finishing the house actually as opposed to home improvement.  It’s been four years since we moved and five since we started building and we are still “building.”  It’s all terminology, I know.  But somehow I think I will know when we cross the line and begin home improvement.  And I am beginning to think / hope / believe that it will happen late this year.  Although around here we’ve grown to anticipate curve balls so I’m not banking on it.  That’s called flexibility, not pessimism just to set the record straight.





Current project:
Finishing the deck we built two years ago.  We didn’t stain it immediately.  Absolutely, positively shameful.  I can tell you why.  David the perfectionist wanted it perfect.  In his mind, this meant renting a big floor sander and getting it lotioned skin smooth.  I can’t remember if time or money was the hold-up, but it didn’t happen.  When we hit a huge sale over the home show in April, we bought the stain.  And finally it was time.  We had a weekend at home when it didn’t rain (harder to schedule than we’d thought) so David and the boys took the rail sections down.  Adam was way thrilled to back screws out with the power driver. 





 
David washed the deck off with deck cleaner til he ran out, then he used bleach.  After reading all over the web (and hearing it from a few people) that you should never,  ever just use chlorox, we purchased deck cleaner.  When he ran out, David insisted on getting bleach.  I said, “No way.”  So he read the list of ingredients.  “Water. bleach, and what’s sodium chloride?”

“Um, that’s salt”, I said.

“What?”

“Yes,  I’m serious.”

Just telling you, we’re going to be buying gallons of chlorox and a few canisters of mortons, diluting it all with water and re-selling it for $30. 


{check out the difference in the floor before on the left and after cleaning on the right}



The rail sections got cleaned another night and we were ready!

Tuesday, the 14th, we celebrated our ninth anniversary.  We’d been talking about doing another hike (Mount Rogers this time) or more likely, canoeing.  But then we started looking at almost $1,000 in health care costs this month thanks to three routine dentist appointments that had already been put off for too long and Liam’s continued issues.  And canoeing shot out of the rapids into dreamland.  I was sad about not being able to spend the day together and suggested we stain the deck so we could at least be together.  And, oh, what fun we had! 

The boys stayed with their grandparents the night before already so we got to wake up way late (8:00) without two cute, bouncing wiggle worms in our bed.  We ate breakfast without bibs or spilled milk or juice requests.  Much as I love those little guys with the long eye lashes, it is so good sometimes to just be alone together … remembering why we fell in love in the first place.  I love the way we automatically touch each other five times more just because we aren’t holding someone else or keeping them out of danger or feeling way too overtouched already.  Because by 5:00 on some days, I just want to yell, “please can I have some space!”



I definitely got the good end of the deal.  David sanded every square inch of the deck on his knees with a BELT sander.  He could have done this in minutes if we’d have had the money to rent a floor sander.  But we didn’t and we wanted it smooth.  He sweated away for hours.  I tightened screws and soaked up the sun and watched and picked up subs so I wouldn’t have to cook and ran for more sandpaper at Lowes.  I felt terrible watching him work so hard for so long, but he wouldn’t let me take a turn.  So I blissfully enjoyed myself because one of us might as well have fun. 

I tried to stain when he was about two thirds finished, but we kept getting sawdust in the stain so I gave up til he was done.  The staining itself only took about an hour!  It was so much easier than painting like I’d done on the front porch (that took me almost six hours in an area not half as big!).  I could not believe how different it looked and how much better the wood felt to walk on!  But someone tell me why they don’t make nicer stains?  I chose what I thought was the best color option.  I knew the wood would shine yellow like all pressure treated wood does so I tried to choose something not so yellow.  Well, it’s not reddish. It’s orangeish.   And it looks disgustingly similar to cheap sunless tanning lotion.  Instead of covered bridge, they really should have called it Coppertone.

 

We cleaned up in that easy way you do when it is just you to take care of and headed off to the Bonefish.  We didn’t get to celebrate Valentines Day because I was in the hospital having a D&E and I’d given David a gift card so we could have fun later.  But we never did.  Until now.  The Bonefish just does not disappoint.  Bang Bang shrimp?  I could eat those every day!  I ordered the Ahi Tuna Tokyo style without knowing what I was getting into.  I love grilled tuna steaks and had no idea I was actually ordering a sushi style tuna.  The outside edge was grilled just a bit, the inside raw.  It was the biggest cultural experience my taste buds have ever experienced.  From beginning to end I just kept saying, this is so wierd.  I don’t love it.  But I don’t hate it.  But it’s just so not neutral.  My tastebuds were literally tingling with sensations the entire time.  It was like they had split personality disorder.  David finished it and said, “I know exactly what you mean.”

In the end I said, “I’m so glad I ordered that because I liked it, but I don’t think I will ever want it again.” We walked down to Starbucks to get a latte to share, snapped a few pictures with the self-timer, and on the way home, would you believe, I started craving another bite of that bizarre tuna!  Nine days later I know I’ll try it again if I ever get the chance.  Strange.  Very strange.

Feeling happily spoiled and more satiated with togetherness than we have for a long time, we drove back to pick up the boys hoping for a quick bed when we get home.  Two smiling, very dirty boys looked up at us and began disintegrating.  “Mommy, we just STARTED this game.” 

Most of the way home was interspersed with talking back, grouchiness, and complaints of being hungry (anything to stall off bedtime) and talk about how they were not ready to come home.  (Like we couldn’t tell?)  Fully back in parenting mode, we hauled things in, put Liam’s leftover food away, and wrangled through baths and meltdowns.  When I joined David in bed he said, “Marital Bliss with a kiss of reality.”  We both snickered.  Welcome back to real life!

And now, if it doesn’t rain, maybe we’ll get a coat of paint on the hand rail tonight.  The sections are primed as of Saturday.  I cannot wait to see that coppertone deck all put together again!

This is my favorite summer breakfast …. originally posted by Shelly and discovered by Christy. I am in love.

Meet Muesli

1 cup quick oats (no, don’t cook them)
1/4 cup shredded coconut
generous sprinkle of cinnamon
lots of fresh fruit (or in this case frozen blueberries)
drizzles of honey
milk

Stir and enjoy. Some people like to let it sit for a few minutes. I prefer eating mine right away. It is the ultimate quick summer breakfast. Cool. Refreshing. Healthy. Satisfying (seriously, some days I don’t eat lunch after eating this). And best of all, nearly prep-less. Just my kind of kitchen experience.

edited to add: the measurements I gave are one serving for me. I just now saw that Shelly’s amounts are exactly double and it serves THREE of them. And I just told a friend this morning I don’t eat nearly as much since I’ve hit my thirties.