Starting Over

A few weekends ago, we traveled to see my in-laws for Superbowl. And yes, before you ask, I did actually watch the game. And yes, I did actually enjoy it. Josh, being the dedicated Patriots fan, however, was not as thrilled to have watched the game. At least not when it was over. Another Superbowl loss for his team did not make him a happy camper. I, being the ever sensitive wife that I am, enjoyed poking fun at the situation. My loving, and oh so understanding husband, has become well adjusted to my unending habitual desire to joke in nearly every life situation that arises. No matter how hard I try to hide my sarcastic and joking side, it always takes over. Unemployment? Funny. Poverty? Funny. Black widow infestation? Funny. Perhaps not always funny at the moment, but I manage to joke about it someway or another. You know what they say. If you can't laugh, then you must not have any vocal cords.

Anyhow, as I was saying, we went to visit the in-laws. Now, we've become fairly comfortable (if that's possible) with our food allergic life style. Truly, it's become old hat to me when it comes to just about anything. Alex had also slipped into a dangerously comfortable place where he has become...well...far too trusting. Though I've taught him time and again to not take food unless I approve it, certain situations and people in his life he's come to trust. Turns out that this dangerous comfy place reared it's nasty head and has turned our lives upside down. Though I am ever vigilant in my label-reading and my mommy-eyes are always on alert when we leave the house, sometimes I just can't be in the right place when I need to be. Alex has certain things he knows is safe and someone just happened to offer him one of his favorite kinds of chips. The problem is that they also gave him some other chips of the same brand that were very much unsafe. I walked into the kitchen to see Alex carrying a bowl of chips. My highly trained eyes zeroed in on the bowl and his chip-stained fingers like a hawk spotting a helpless baby mouse in a field and I knew instantly what those chips were. Chili Cheese Fritos. And Alex had already eaten quite a few. I snatched the bowl away and B-lined for his medical bag. By the time I got back, he had developed hives on his face, began drooling and his ears were starting to itch. He was scared, possibly feeding off of my inevitable fear for his safety, but thankfully the medicine and my quick response reversed the effects and all was right with the world...or so I thought.

Fast-forward to present day, a few weeks later. Alex is now mortally afraid of every piece of food offered to him. Now this might not seem like a bad thing. Especially in school or other unfamiliar places. But at home, he should always...always feel safe. Home base = safety. Because of this one moment of taking the wrong food from someone he put his trust in, he has become scarred to a point that I am completely unsure how to deal with. He's struggling severely with taking food from me. He asks me with everything, "Is there cow milk or peanuts in that?" He asks with all food. Strawberries, soy-milk, bread, cereal, popcorn, etc. All the food he felt safe with, all the years I've spent making him feel safe, are now erased and I'm not sure what to do. So we are starting over. It's been the roughest few weeks I've had in a long time. At times, he becomes so afraid of what he's eating that he will induce what can only be defined as a small panic attack for fear that it has milk in it. He has even cried and curled up in fear under the table at the prospect of strawberries having milk in them. What am I supposed to do? I just don't know. I think he's finally beginning to trust me again, but I don't know how long it will take to get back to where we once were. I fear he's scarred from this, but with prayer and hope, this too shall pass. Poor kid. I feel like it's all my fault, but what more could I have done? Each day he seems to trust me just a miniscule amount more, but I fear the long road ahead will be a bumpy one. So anyone out there, pray for Alex to regain his confidence. He shouldn't have to live in fear at home. I'm praying for a healthy balance. Fear at school? Good. Fear at home? Bad. Yep...starting over can really stink.

Blah, blah, blogging

In case you haven't figured it out, I am in one of those blogging funks where blogging is simply the very last thing on my mind. Actually, I just came here to see how long ago I posted when I realized that it's been almost half of a month. Truth be told, my evenings, which used to be filled with non-stop boredom from lack of things to do (after the kids go to bed of course), has become the opposite. I've been spending 98% of my evenings/nights on the couch watching episode after episode of TV shows we have on DVD while I work on art. The art is made up of one subject matter to which one might assume I'm obsessed with if they took a look at my last four pieces in progess. The human spine. Weird, eh? Yeah. I know. But that's the thing about chiropractors, whom the art is for. They're positively obsessed with the spine and all things related. I've been working on art for my brother-in-law's soon to open chiropractic clinic. So he's keeping me busy these days. Truth is, I honestly don't have much else to be doing in the evening anymore since Farmville became too much to handle. I still play the game a bit, but it just doesn't hold that special place in my heart like it used to. Why companies have to go and ruin a good thing is beyond me. Stupid Zynga...grrr. Anyhow, so my absence in blogging is hopefully explained. Tonight I shall be finishing a whole work of art! Woo-hoo! But I will try to post something family/kid related this week. Key word here is: Try. No promises.

Germ Rules

Thanks to my cousin Shania for the inspiration for this little cartoon. She has the absolute best sense of humor! Once she found the words, I had to draw the cartoon that goes with it. I think it's an artist thing...

Because I'm such a Geek. That's why!

It's late and I want to go to bed but I had to share this with you all because I'm geeky enough to have spent the last four hours playing with my family super hero photos in my computer programs. I loved this part so much I just couldn't share with everyone. It's part of a larger project I'm working on and I giggled and smiled the whole time I was tinkering with it. Yep. It's official. I'm the biggest dork I know.

Mr. Stethoscope and Me

Once again, I find myself sitting at my computer during the wee hours of the night. I'd love to blame this on insomnia. Because that would mean that it's a personal problem that I have to deal with as an adult fully capable of dealing with problems. The actual reason is always far more challenging. Alex's asthma is the guilty culprit for my lack of sleep. The past few nights have been spent checking on him round the clock. It's just me and my trusty Mr. Stethoscope. I spend these kinds of nights, for the most part, attached to Mr. Stethoscope. We've become good buddies over the years. Sadly, the worst part of viral induced asthma is that it is notorious for rearing it's ugliest head during the night. Annoying, right? My thoughts exactly. This round of cold has somehow become more challenging to his asthma than normal. Strangely enough it wasn't that bad of a cold for us. It just settled in his lungs for some reason. Here lately, his asthma has been controlled with maybe one or two rounds total of his inhaler during any other cold. This time? Yeah...not so much. So I'm ticking away at my keyboard in an attempt to stay awake until his next treatment because the last treatment didn't work as well as it should have. I've become very familiar with the after hours nurses that are kind enough to remind me of proper levels and all the finer details. I have to keep checking on him every fifteen minutes until 4:30 a.m. Only one more hour to go. I suppose it's a good thing that I have silly computer social games to keep me awake when I need them too. Oh well. I suppose that this is the life of a mom with an asthma kid. It's been slowly getting better as he gets older, but we're just not having a good week. Here's hoping that tomorrow night I might get some real sleep. Mama's tired...mentally and physically. Until then...it's been another fifteen minutes. Time for Mr. Stethoscope and I to get back to work.

Life's too short to smile at the camera

Family photos. Everyone does it. At least it seems that way. I've gotten them from nearly every sibling with their families. They sit in front of the camera in carefully placed positions that are optimum to the situation in which they are being photographed. Then they smile for the birdie, click-click-click, print and done. Sure, they look nice. Everyone all gussied up in their finest threads and all primped and proper for the shoot. But it's a bit stagnant if you ask me. Don't get me wrong. I've considered doing this with my family just like everyone else. But as my family will tell you, I've yet to have it done. I have a five year old child and still have yet to get family portraits done to pass out. So recently I've wanted to stick something on my photo wall that is of us and know for certain that there are plenty of family members who want pictures of us as well. Well, the problem with those pose, point and click pictures is that they are fairly boring for the most part. Pretty, yes. But boring. I've seen some very interesting family pictures online on some of those 'fun idea' websites and I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be fun to have an unconventional picture instead of an ordinary one?" It just so happened that I had an idea for this that I've been tossing around. About a month ago, the kids and I were playing around with all of Alex's super-hero gear. We are all pro-super heroes in this house. Josh took a picture of us and it was fun. Now, the problem with this moment was that the kids were in the pajamas and Josh wasn't in the photo. So I waited patiently for a nice, sunny day to go to my folks house. I enlisted my mom to be our photographer and wa-lah! Our very own photo-shoot commenced. We're kind of a weird family. So we needed a weird family picture session. And I love it!! After some tinkering in GIMP (art program), they turned out fantastic (in my opinion). Totally geeky and 100% us! Conventional family photo, move over! It's time for...

I'm giving this as our family portrait unless I'm threatened under pain of death not to. :)

Battle! This was so much fun! My mom was laughing and so were we. I'm sure their neighbors thought we were nuts. And the cows and horses were going bananas in the pasture.

The boys in battle!

The gals in battle.

Sibling rivalry!

Peace, at last, between the hero siblings!

I love this picture of the hubby and I. I'd be willing to say it's the best one yet of us! Not a bad side-kick for someone with no practice, eh?

And the last shot of the day. This was so much fun and I hope that you all liked it too. If any family is reading this blog and wants any of these, let me know in the comments section or something and I'll put it on a list for what to print. It sure beats a staged smile and point session.

A Long Blog...Just Because

I'm not entirely certain where my original resentment or lack of caring for football began, but I think that I might have a good idea. In school, I was in band. I know, I know. You're probably shocked right now. Jessica?? In band?? But...but...she's so cool. How can that be?? Well, it's true. I played trumpet faithfully and fairly good from 5th grade until I graduated high school. Heck, I'll even go so far as to admit that I enjoyed it. Alot. I thought, like everyone else who can play an instrument, that I was pretty cool. Sure, sure. It's not an electric guitar, but hello? Haven't you ever heard of Dizzy Gillespie? Shoot, I'm probably not helping my 'cool' case right now.

So back to band and football. I grew to despise football in high school. School team pride, I didn't really have. I mean, I clapped when it was expected of me, but I didn't really mean it. I vividly remember band during football season. Who wouldn't remember being drug to the bitter cold metal stands and forced to blow air into an icy metal instrument whenever the band instructor so deemed necessary. (which was often of course.) But really it was the half time show that made me hold that ire that stuck with me so well. Hours of practice and marching, marching, marching in attempt to put on this awesome show where you not only march in complex formations but also do so while playing songs that you either memorize or read off of miniscule paper six inches in front of your face. You finish the show that you think is, well, pretty dang impressive and wait for the applause only to discover that about three people in the stands actually care enough to bring their hands together to clap four times. Pity claps. Ugh.

So this is about the time the crowd starts going bananas and you think, "Oh! Delayed applause! Yay for band!" No, no, no. The cheerleaders come on the field. Naturally. Suddenly the claps make sense and you roll your eyes and sneer at them beneath your hideous, feathered hat. So begins that epic battle between the cheerleaders and the band. While secretly, you wonder if the band wore too-short skirts and donned pom-poms if it would change anything. Of course, I never understood it, myself. Don't they say that a person in uniform is hot? Not like, 'Wow...I'm sweating like a pig in this thing' hot. But rather, 'Holy cow...would you look at them rockin' those uniforms,' kind of hot. Before I actually wore the uniform (pre high school), I thought that people watched the band go by and talk about how neat and snazzy they looked all geared up for the performance. Turns out that once you put the uniform on you realize that those whispers you heard weren't compliments but people attempting to hush their pity and laughter. Suddenly, you realize that the 150 year old hand-me-down uniforms weren't supposed to be yellow and orange but rather red and white. You begin to notice an obvious odor that permeates your very skin. You realize that it must be the embalming fluid they used to continue to preserve the uniforms for the next unlucky people dumb enough to think they were cool.* Of course, we got new uniforms two years before I graduated, but still. But no matter how hard we worked to impress the public, it was all about the football players and those blasted cheerleaders. It was all, "Yay football players! Yay cheerleaders!" and "Booo band!" *sigh*So band led me to despise football. I promised myself secretly that I would never support that blasted sport, despite the practical religious status it holds in America.

So here I am. Married. Kids. Two out of four people in the house loves football in a creepy obsession kind of way. Over the last year, I've started to pick up some clues, but still didn't really ever plan on watching any games. I remained true to my own self-established rule that I MUST NOT LIKE FOOTBALL. So I say this next part with a sheepish grin on my face. My son has asked me time and time again what team is my favorite. I never really have had an answer. A few weeks ago I realized that I really liked Drew Brees and Tim Tebow. The more I learned about them and watched them, I...I...enjoyed it. What?!? How did that happen? So I told Alex that I picked my team. I like the Saints...and the Broncos. (No judging, now.) Somehow...something began to slowly happen that I still won't admit to my husband. I've been watching games out of the corner of my eye from time to time. Slowly beginning to understand things they say instead of hearing naught but a bunch of mumbo-jumbo going in one ear and out the other. Honestly I didn't realize I was doing this until tonight. I was watching the Saints game. I mean really watching it. Suddenly Darren Sproles is runnining to make a touchdown and I found myself moving off of the couch in excitement. I physically floated out of my body as this was happening and watched as my butt physically left the couch, though ever so slightly, in actual excitement upon the touchdown. Naturally, I smacked myself in the head and stopped my moment of unnatural joy in mid jump and tried to pretend it never happened. I felt a sharp jab of betrayal to my self and my seemingly undying devotion to hating football.

So here I sit...admitting something that I fought for so long. I...*gulp*...enjoy football. I don't know how it happened! I blame my five-year old son and his adorable enthusiasm for the sport. Of course, I'm fairly certain that no one that would openly mock me for my sudden interest in this sport actually reads this blog so I feel safe admitting it in writing. I still don't plan on telling my husband because I've made fun of him for his love of football for so long. He'd never let me hear the end of it. Will I one day be one of those people sporting my Tim Tebow and Drew Brees jerseys on game days? Who knows. Until then...it's our little secret, okay?


*The band uniforms weren't actually 150 years old and I don't believe they used embalming fluid. But you never know...