It appears I'm not the only one who feels overwhelmed by the concept of cooking from scratch, preparing meals (namely meat) and planning around ingredients.
It's a cultural thing.
Americans have slowly allowed the "cooking culture" to die out. Through a generation (or two) of Cathy comics (I made my favorite thing for dinner, Reservations!) and latchkey kids with TV dinners and microwave meals, Julia Child has become a household legend...and fallen from the ranks of female empowerment to the unachievable Martha Stewart or Donna Reed.
According to this article by Michael Pollan (who first revealed the corn controversy to the masses in Omnivore's Nation) We, as a nation, don't cook anymore.
The 8 pages are a lot to wade through on screen, however, it's an interesting read.
I still think my meat eating husband could give the vegetarian a hand in planning meals that involve flesh foods (and their leftovers) But I also think that much of the country is in the same boat we are.
Although, I must say...it seems like it would be easier if I didn't have to worry so much about corn in every new potential ingredient.

New Rule: No more diets!

Seriously. New restrictions for new people is getting old.
My dear husband was bemoaning his inability to lose weight. His knowledge of the need to diet, but not knowing where to start. He craves carbs like a fiend. He gets migraines, he feels fatigued. And hungry. He joked about tapeworms.
I bantered along, and then I went and threw out an ominous single word.
"Candida".
Ooops.
He wanted more info. I directed him to the infamous spit test. (Which I always seem to pass, though many people I know have failed and I've read claims that it's impossible to pass. More proof that I'm weird?)
The next morning he began his morning routine before I was up. Then he slunk back to bed and pulled the covers over his head.
"I'm hungry," came a muffled voice.
"Mmmm," I groggily replied, thinking I'd just gone to the store and the shelves and fridge are bursting at the seams.
"I don't know what to eat," his voice was very low.
I tried to pull myself free from the last dregs of sleep to put these pieces together. Oh. "You tried the spit test?" Uh, huh. "You fail?" Uh, huh. "And now you want to go yeast free?" Uh, huh. Help me?

Of course, I said yes. I told him to choose a plan of attack. There's "Feast without Yeast" (Potato heavy, otherwise similar to the famous Anti Candida Diet), "Anti Candida Diet" originally devised by William Crook, or the SCD. His eyes grew wide.
Okay. We'll just sort of do what most people do in the beginning, and focus on cutting out refined sugar and trying to eat real food.
So we sat down to make up a list of safe meals. Eggs. Sauteed veggies. Salads. Brown rice, potatoes, sweet potatoes and grains in moderation, nut butters in moderation. What about meats?
Shrug.
Okay, hon. You're the meat eater. I don't know what all is out there. Chicken?
Sure.
Um, beef?
Sounds good.
What kind?
Huh?
Well, what are we going to do with it?
Whatever you want.

Now we don't fight often. We may disagree, we each take walks (or drives) alone and we wait until the kids are in bed to discuss bigger issues. However, this response produced a small argument. Which I feel bad about.
I wanted to know what kind of meat he'd like, and how to prepare it. He doesn't know. I tried to be patient, and asked for dishes he liked, maybe they were safe or we could make them sugar free/gluten free. He didn't know. I asked him to describe how to prepare the meat, at least.
He told me that was my department.

I'm the vegetarian of the household! I'm second generation vegetarian, in fact. Third, if you count my great grandma, but my grandma (her daughter) ate plenty of flesh foods. Just not really on my day to visit. Since I was vegetarian and all. (Do you get that I was raised vegetarian?) I was even spared turkey prep at Thanksgiving time. (I helped with the rest of the meal.) Not only do I not eat it, I was never around others preparing it to learn from osmosis.

I have an idea that there are giblets stuffed inside a store bought turkey. I know that these should be removed before preparing. And that you need to thoroughly scrub everything raw meat touches. (and cooked meat, for that matter) He claims this is more than he knows, or knew before meeting me.
I don't know what it's supposed to look like! (Raw or cooked. "Good," he says, "When it looks good you know it's done." I've never seen anyone eat beef that looked appealing. Even in our dating days when it was presented on a lovely platter by trained chefs.) I don't know what you're supposed to do with it, or if there are more bits and pieces to trim off before preparing.

And he shrugs and says "I guess we'll find out."

I just hope I don't hurt him in the process. (accidentally, of course)

Avoiding GMOs

Handy trick I just learned from America's Test Kitchen : To find out how fresh produce was grown look at the sticker. The one that has little numbers on it (Penguin likes to decorate her lunchbox with them) It also happens to have a secret code.

In brief: 4 digits indicate conventional produce and usually start with a 3 or a 4. 5 letter digits beginning with a 9 are the sought after "organically grown" fruits and veggies. And 5 letter digits beginning with the number 8 should be avoided at all costs, since they stand for genetically modified organisms.

I suppose you can purchase number 8 if you like...but personally I find the concept of designer DNA disturbing. I'll stick to organics, thank you. Or conventional. Even if there is the very real potential of "drift" from GMO fields. I want my money to say NO to GMO. And support the farmers who are struggling to agree.

Lunch time woes

Back to school time is fast approaching. We're squeezing in the last few activities of summer, picking up back to school shopping lists and trying to create a lunchtime plan. The one child who can eat hot lunch, won't. And Mr. Violets needs a bag lunch, too.

Luckily, this time of year there is no shortage of articles available for inspiration. I found in my inbox earlier an ezine from Family Fun that included the recipe for a cream cheese and strawberry sandwich. I described it to my picky Bumblebee, asking if she thought it might be something worth trying. (She said Maybe. Yay!)

Penguin piped up with "I'd rather have cream cheese and tomato roll up."
"Oh," I asked, mentally making a note, "Would you eat that in a lunch?"
"No," she answered, "I tried it once and it tasted horrible."

"Well, it sounds good..." she said in response to my look, "I should have liked it."

After a particularly hard morning, Bumblebee is curled up in my lap.
"I'm never going to have kids," she says with a sniffle.
Oh?
"I don't like listening to crying," she explains, "I just want to go and turn the TV on when people are crying or being too silly."
I see. Does she expect her kids to cry a lot?
"Uh, huh. I cry when you make me do things I don't want to do, and my kids will have to do even more things."
Oh. Okay...
I just can't let it go, though. Sorry, kid, I really need more info here...What things????
Eyes roll.
"Like chores. I don't like doing chores so I cry."
Yes. I've noticed. But what does that have to do with your kids?
"They're going to cry because I make them do all the chores! So I'm not going to have any kids!"

She's not in my lap anymore. I'm clearly clueless.
But she relents when I repeat what she just said back to me. She doesn't like picking up after herself, and it makes her cry when I tell her to. So she can't have kids because she'll have to listen to them cry when they have to pick up after themselves.
"Yes. And the other stuff."
Other stuff?
Shrug. "You know, like the laundry. I don't want to do laundry. It's too hard."
Oh. So your kids will have to do all your chores, too?
"Uh huh!" she brightens. I get it.
And that will make them cry, so you can't have kids, ever?
She nods and snuggles back into my side.
Okay.

So, hon, who is going to do the chores when you grow up?
"Huh? Hmmm..." She taps her cheek thoughtfully.
"Mommy, can I live with you forever?"
You'll still have to do your chores.

She thinks some more.
"I know! I can live with you, and you can hug my kids when they cry!"

The child worries me. But man, do I ever love her!

Slow Food

There was a time prior to the allergy diagnosis when we ate "normal" processed foods, and yearned for something more. A return to "old" cooking. I quickly learned that this meant different things to my husband and I.

One year, I wanted to do something special for his birthday. I was still trying to wrack my brain when he commented idly how much he missed butterscotch pudding.

Pudding?

Yes, pudding. But not just any pudding. Not the little plastic cups that you get at the store, and not the instant boxes. Real pudding. Old fashioned pudding. His eyes closed as he broke into a fond reminiscence...He conjured for me an image of his mother, with a frilly apron, slaving for hours over a hot stove, stirring a pot full of bubbling butterscotch pudding. She'd always have to make a double batch, and there were never leftovers.

The next time I saw his mom I asked about her recipe. She was vague. Pudding is pudding. She suggested I just buy some and tell him it was homemade.

Undaunted, I called her. I asked again, seeking specifics. Again, she was vague. It was a long time ago, she said, you don't want to go through all that trouble. Its all the same anyways.

But the trouble was going to be part of the gift. This confirmed to me it was real, old fashioned pudding she used to make. The good stuff I'd read about pioneer day books. I perused cookbooks. I looked online. Finally, I found something that looked promising. I carefully gauged the grocery bill that week to allow for real butter and actual cream. I measured, poured, and pot-watched. I stirred until my shoulders screamed for mercy. I entreated the toddler to entertain the baby. I almost cried when bits of scrambled egg appeared, but quickly grabbed a sieve and scooped most of them out.

At last, we proudly, albeit nervously, presented the concoction to my surprised husband. Who took a bite, and tried to conceal his disappointment. Shrugged and while I can't remember everything he said, I do remember one sentence. "Maybe she used a different brand. We could call her and ask."

Brand? Brand? Brand of what? Vanilla? Did she use real scotch? (I'd opted against that recipe) This had become a vendetta for me. I wanted to get it right. Was it the bit of egg that scrambled? WHAT?!?

He gave me a funny look.
Later his mom confirmed that "old fashioned" pudding was the famous J-brand...it comes in a box. (Eventually the enormity of my cooking fiasco was also made clear to my beloved husband, and he apologized for not being more grateful. He'd never fathomed the possibility that one could make pudding out of brown sugar, eggs and cream; let alone that it could take any more time or effort than baking muffins, which I did regularly.)

I think of this story with a chuckle whenever the concept of cooking from scratch is brought up. Because it seems that every generation over the past 100 years has it's own new idea of fast food, and it's own brand of nostalgic "from scratch" cooking. First those lucky town ladies who could waltz into the corner butcher shop for steak, or veal or chicken parts rather than keeping and slaughtering their own. Then the canned soup revelution. As soon as freezers became a household staple, there were TV dinners. And we've progressed.

My daughter pleaded for a cookbook at the last school bookfair, and when I leafed through it we found that not one of the recipes called for any fresh ingredients. They were all branded products. A woman at a Girl Scout meeting asked about our food allergies, and mentioned that while it seems hard for kids it also doesn't seem like a very big lifestyle change. She makes everything from scratch.

Of course I was interested...But very quickly learned that "from scratch" means using prepackaged ingredients along with some fresh herbs and prepackaged spice mixes to create a new dish. My vision was fresh baked bread, dicing veggies, and canning fruit. I suppose the dicing veggie part was accurate. She was offended that I consider sliced bread "packaged". Let alone her canned tomatoes.

Scratch cooking is a lost art. People don't know what a rhubarb is, much less what to do with one. Do you cook radishes? Are onions supposed to be this papery? How do you carve a Turkey? And what is this weird packet inside it? The term "cooking from scratch" has come a long way in the past hundred years ago. In fact, a hundred years ago, I doubt the term even existed.

There was a point in time when cooking a meal meant beginning with the decision of which chicken was next to slaughter. Meal planning was automatic. You went to your pantry, you put together what was there. There were signature dishes, of course, but as authors who try to create period style recipe books tell us, the expected results may vary significantly from today's standards.

My peers look with trepidation at an artichoke. My husband asks if he can toss the parsnips, assuming some carrots have gone bad. A woman in the store complains about the dirt left clinging to a potato, which makes me laugh. With a corn allergy, I look for dirt on my produce. Dirt means it's real. It's fresh. It hasn't been polished with corn derived wax, or rinsed with special germ fighting corny solution. Corn allergy has resurrected an understanding of "scratch".

It's also brought about an appreciation of simple food. Pasta with oil and a few veggies is delicious, elegant, and easy. Bread is a luxury, not a daily right. Rice is versatile. It goes well with beans, or eggs, or veggies or soup. And it's easy...rinse, glance through for stones (Which are hard on the teeth, but gluten, corn and casein free) and cook. Eggs are the ultimate fast food. If you want to enhance a vegetable, roast it with onions. The scent of caramelized onion will improve any meal and spark almost anyone's appetite.

I'm still struggling to come to terms with using meat, too. I can see the beauty in the simplicity. A roast chicken, a vegetable, a starch and you're done. However, there's a huge hole in my meal planning history that never included meat to begin with. I was raised vegetarian in the Seven Talents post-seventies granola era. Grains were high priority, although our doctors encouraged a heavy hand with the cheese. Until recently, we were encouraged to simply combine grains well. Eat a variety of supermarket and restaurant offerings. Too much thinking is discouraged. Look for an explosion of flavors, pour mixes and boxes together. Voila! A taste sensation.

Even the medical community, who is supposed to be supporting the slow food revolution, is slow to accept the movement. "And try to cut back on the fast food," the pediatrician always admonishes as we leave the office. I give him a withering look, but our lifestyle, our real, honest to goodness eating at home every night lifestyle, is beyond comprehension.

However, I'm still struggling to master the art of June Cleaver style cooking, and balance the pyramid.

Corny Lessons

My mom used to have a little magnet up that read "You can never be too rich or too thin". I saw that phrase quoted in a lot of places while growing up in the 80's.

It's come to mind a lot lately. And I think that the corn industry has proved it wrong, on both counts. Although many people theorize that corn is one of the primary causes of the expanding waistbands of Americans in general, for those with severe intolerance it can have the opposite affect. You see, in order to form fat cells, food has to sit around in the body long enough to be absorbed and digested. Some forms of intolerance cause the body to attempt to rapidly rid itself of identified attackers...including corn.

The guru of genetic engineering, mastermind of maize has proven that one can be too rich, at least as part of a corporation. It boggles my mind how one corporation can grow large enough to dominate the food supply. Sometimes it seems that there are connections, interwoven webs with Monsanto and Corn vital strands. Genetic modification still seems very arrogant to me. How can we presume to know enough about DNA and intricate workings of nature to manipulate the gene pool of the food we rely upon to nourish us? With the knowledge that releasing these genes into the open air, they become impossible to contain should come the responsibility to hold on to that particular technology. There are too many questions left unanswered. Why would anyone gamble our future, our children's health and world, on an arrogant science when better options exist? It boils down to money. There's money in new products, new techniques, new patents. Old ways can't be patented, they can't earn residual income.
Where are the people who are supposed to look out for us? Who's in charge? Well, it looks like the guy who convinced the FDA to treat genetically modified food as "substantially equal" to naturally grown food is now a Senior Adviser to the FDA. And the choice for Under Secretary of Agriculture doesn't trust the American public to make our own decisions about what we do or don't want in products labeled "milk". Otherwise why would he have fought to make it illegal for companies that refuse to use rBGH to label their products rBGH free? (And isn't it a violation of our constitutional right to free speech to forbid a company to advertise the truth about their own product? They weren't bad mouthing rBGH. Just stating that their product was hormone free.)

I suppose since our household is predominantly dairy free, I shouldn't stress too much. But I want to know what's in my food. I think that the American people have a right to know. And I don't think that monetary compensation should have anything to do with what we can and can't know about our food.
The truth is that people don't want extra hormones. They don't trust pesticides or genetic modification. They know that general health has been declining over the past 100 years, even if life spans might increase and treatments for disease improve the odds. Our general health and well being has been steadily going downhill. And we know, instinctively, that it's in our diet and lifestyle.
We aren't suffering from a deficit in gym memberships. We aren't suffering from a deficit in food, nor are we GMO deficient and we certainly don't suffer from lack of rBGH in our dairy products (which we faithfully chug thanks to the dairy boards "Got Milk" campaign). There's something wrong with the packaged food lifestyle, and modifying crops to increase yield, decrease variety and monopolize the food chain is not the answer.
We want simplicity. We want truth. And we want to be trusted with the truth. Unless the government trusts us, how can we trust them?

It's not easy feeling bleh

I think we're dealing with a stomach bug, here.
Of course, on top of 2 months of my feeling like a truck managed to yank out my intestines, run over them a few times, and shove them back in, I'm a little concerned. Is it a bug? Is it something they ate as in food poisoning? Is it something they ate as in allergy? Is it something else? Maybe it's just stress? (I'll stress myself into an attack if I keep this up.) At least it means the floors and laundry are being forcibly kept up with.

Luckily Penguin seems to be doing better. But Bumblebee isn't feeling so hot today. And she was supposed to go to a very important birthday party.

She tells me it isn't fair. I agree.
She wants to know why she always gets sick. I tell her she's my healthy one.
She says she's never going to tell me when she throws up again. I say that's fine, except that she still probably wouldn't have fun at the party.
She thinks they shouldn't have planned it for today. "Didn't they KNOW I'd be sick?"

Sorry hon. We just aren't psychic.
She feels bleh. She's not hungry. And when she does eat, she feels bleh some more.
I tell her there are good things about being sick. Getting snuggles. (She gets those anyways.) Lazing around the house. (We do that when Penguin has a migraine. Duh.) You can watch as much TV as you want. (She doesn't want to.) Er, you can play Peggle, or WII. (She doesn't want to.) Board games? (No, that's not a party.) And you can have as many popsicles as you want. (Really? Really, really?)

For a moment, I think I've struck the silver lining. Her face shines. She's happy. I start to get up and go about my business. A little arm stops me.

Her face is grouchy again.

"That's not fun," I'm informed.
Why?
"It means I'm sick!!!"
Oh, right. Sorry!

Why is it so hard?

I frequent several online communities or bulletin boards specializing in dietary restrictions of some sort. Recently, there have been a few friendly polls asking what we miss the most, what we wish we'd known, how things would have been easier. It left me thinking about the different attitudes portrayed.

Some people are given a diagnosis of food allergies, and they embrace the new lifestyle. They actively seek out alternatives and find themselves determined to meet and beat the challenge. Others fight the change with everything they have, determined to go out kicking. They settle for a few symptoms, and appear angry that doctors can't "cure" this named malady. And others curl up in a closet, limiting their diet to the few foods they'd previously enjoyed that remain free of their allergens. Most fall between the extremes, and many bandy about, depending on their level of grief, acceptance and research.

I couldn't help but wonder what makes the transition so hard, so frightening for some. I look back on my journey and see that I've hit various levels of extreme. I've also thrown caution to the wind, and suffered the cosequences. I've fought, and cried, and been accused of eating disorders until the mere mention of one makes my hackles raise. I've embraced, and experimented, and tried whole heartedly to overcome the obstacles growing in front of me.

But somewhere along the way, I stopped trusting food. It became quite an enemy, something that I fear rather than relish. I can remember walking the aisles of a grocery store and being tempted by new treats and delicacies. I can remember enjoying taste tests and can even empathize with those who claim to "eat their way through Costco" on a sunday afternoon. But no longer. Now, I find a new brand of chocolate chips, and instead of trying them out for a special treat, I save them until there's nothing going on for a few days and nothing urgent for at least a week, just in case they bite back.

I yearn for broccoli, or mayo or salad dressing. I long for a simple quick fix meal that is new, unique. Forget the candy and the baked goods, I want a casserole!

But I don't trust it.

I think that's the hardest thing, the thing I miss the most. I don't trust food anymore. It's supposed to nourish, to sustain us. No one ever said it could bite back, destroy the lining of our small intestines, sprinkle our body with itchy red spots and wreak havoc with our digestive track. Not if you treat it with respect, anyways. Food is supposed to enhance the social experience, drawing people together in a shared caloric pleasure. What you see is supposed to be what you eat, not a variety of re-designed, corn derived pseudo-foods that are supposed to enhance the experience. Fun colors and flavors are supposed to be innocuous, but all those rainbow fish and brilliant gummies I used to treat the kids with put my child in bed, pale, sweating and miserable. And me? I think I'm broken. While I desire the quick, the fast, the easy...while I mourn for the past, I wouldn't trust it if it were offered.

Mother nature, or the FDA, broke that trust a long time ago. And it's a hard road back, filled with the painful reminder of indigestion and more questions than answers. With intolerances, there are no firm lines. And there is no FAAN or other organized group at your back, offering knowledge, studies and expertise. Just the knowledge that you aren't alone, and the grass root support of those who are muddling through alongside of you, just as lost but determined as you are.

What we DO eat

Sometimes it seems as if we get caught up in the complicated labrynth of foods. We focus on what we CAN'T eat. Pizza. Ice cream. Corn chips. Those big chocolate chip cookies from Trader Joes. Frozen dinners. Nothing like a trip to a crowded grocery store to make one wish to wallow in self pity.

It's time to take a moment and count our food blessings.

Top 10 foods that I (and the rest of my family) can eat in moderation without regrets.

10. Baked Apples: And who doesn't like a brown sugar and cinnamon topped baked apple? Just because I rarely get around to making them...well, that just makes them all the more special.

9. Trader Joe's applesauce: No one in my family will actually eat this out of the jar (except on latkes, where applesauce belongs) But, it's corn free. Which means that when I want to bake anything that needs a little extra acid, or fruity flavor, or a touch less fat, I don't have to start by peeling apples to simmer for a homemade version. You can imagine how giddy the storebought variety made me the first time I realized this freedom!

8. Onions: Yeah, I know. Not raw, not by themselves. But just about any dish that begins with a few onions, lightly sauteed in grapeseed oil, makes mouths water. :-)

7. Ginger: Candied ginger to be exact. Baked into muffins, cookies or eaten out of hand, it settles the stomach and satisfies my sweet tooth. (okay, fine, so the kids aren't overly fond of it. But, technically, they can eat it. And I love it.)

6. Peas. Yes, I know, kids are supposed to hate peas. But they're green, I can eat them, and the kids love to smother them in margarine. Once they're on their own plate, that corny junk won't hurt me. I can eat them plain, and they satisfy that "not rice" craving. And it feels good to serve veggies to ALL of us. At one time. With only one pot to wash.

5. Dagoba Chocolate bars: Okay, so different members of the family need to eat different varieties. The point is...it's candy. And it's sinful. And it doesn't hurt (well, it pinches the checkbook a bit)

4. Sweet Potatoes: Roasted or fried, a special treat I'm simply forced to indulge in, since I can't eat prepackaged fries, oven potatoes or even chips.

3. Chebe Bread: The garlic and onion variety is to die for, even if you CAN eat gluten.

2. Tinkyada Spaghetti: Just like real s'getti. But better.

And number one, the best, most wonderful food that we have on our collective plate: Homemade Chocolate Chip cookies. Enjoy Life chocolate chips and ener-G rice flour sure do make up for a lot.

And now I'm off to pre-heat the oven...

Of course, it's just stress.

I have, again, been diagnosed with...Stress.

I went into the doctor with abdominal and menstrual complaints. I couldn't decide if I needed a gynecologist for the constant period or a GI for the ensuing stomach issues. I settled on my PCP when I broke out in a rash on top of it all.

And, after taking enough blood to twice collapse my vein (although the phlebotomist was awesome and I didn't even pass out this time) and doing a pelvic ultrasound to examine the female organs (during which I *did* pass out, oddly. Something about drinking too much water on a hot day...) The nurse called with good news.

I'm perfectly healthy.

Which, I guess, explains why I'm so tired and nauseous.

Now what?

Dyes Must Die

She's been at it again. My friend, the one who kept prodding me to go gluten free. Whose whisper haunted me until I decided to just do it and prove once and for all, to myself, the doctors and her that it was NOT the gluten. (And of course, it was)

This time it's dye. My youngest has some, well, issues. She's unique. She's wonderful. She's aggravating. At one point we were advised to have her tested for autism. But, since she was cuddly, bubbly, bright and happy to interact when there weren't strangers around, we never followed up on that. Now, she has few if any of the hallmarks. However, some days I can't decide whether I should fall down laughing or curl up and cry at her antics. She's usually doing both. She finds our buttons, and not just pushes but POUNDS on them. And then she pulls them out, just for the sake of doing it again.

The thing is, she doesn't seem to want to be acting up. She gets in a state and can't seem to control herself. And the bigger she gets, the harder it is to help her gain control. It's one thing to pick up a screaming 4 year old and deposit her in her bedroom. It's quite another thing to disentangle a 7 year old who weighs almost half what you do (granted, I'm way too skinny for my own good) from on top of her sister, gently manhandle her down the obstacle course of a hallway and keep her in her bedroom for the duration of a time out. Especially when she realizes that acting like dead weight until she sees a hand hold will definitely slow you down, and might even grant her a 3 minute reprieve. During which she can strip and run screaming through the house "Mommy hates me, Mommy hates me, Mommy hates me!"

(Why does shethink I hate her? Because I'm sitting there, gently prying her hands away, and taking away privileges while I try to get her to the quiet area that she can simmer down in. When the problem is obviously her sister's lack of malleability. She won't give up her share of a treat [at least, not all of it] or abandon her game in the middle without whining or just let Bumblebee win if they're playing against one another. It's what you'd expect in a 4 year old. But she's 7.)

She's not always this way. But when she is, I'm tempted to sell her to the gypsies. Or maybe just run away and join the circus, myself. (Wait, they sell popcorn there, don't they? Nevermind.)

The school called in a counselor when they tired of prying her sobbing arms off of me as I slipped away as quickly as I could, then slunk back to sneak peaks through the window, trying to reassure myself she'd recovered. The counselor seems as baffled as we are. Is it anxiety? PDD? SID? Is there something physical we're missing? Something else entirely? Best not to label, just wait and see. (But stop peaking through windows, its spooking out the kids and some of the parents.)

My friend has patiently listened to my frustrations. At each outburst she covers the same bases. "Now, Penguin has issues with dye...have you thought about that?" "Could it be some sort of food dye?" "Do you think she's reacting to something in her diet? Artificial dyes?"

Like an ostrich, I've stuffed my head in the sand. Reassuring her, and anyone else, that Ms. Bumblebee does not seem to have any issues with food dyes at all. She doesn't get headaches from them. No vomiting. She's my healthy kid.
Except when she has these outbursts. And then, she's still healthy. Just in danger of being disowned.

It's not the food dye. There wasn't much in my house. Occasional fruit "snacks" for only her, some medecines, valentine and Halloween candy. Our staples are dye free (And if you think yours are, check the ingredients on marshmallows, pickles and tooth paste.)

But after reading "The Unhealthy Truth", I resolved to stop spending money on artificial food colorings. I don't want that gunk in my kids, even if it is only the blue that hurts Penguin. I don't want to support the industry that pours chemical concoctions into the bodies and brains of growing kids, but only in the USA. (Many international countries already use natural food dyes in products found in other countries)

So, I sat the kids down and we replaced the occassional cheap fruit snacks with the occasional, not-terribly-expensive Florida's naturals and the not-so-cheap Annie's gummies. Things improved, but of course, it wasn't JUST that we've been dye free. Besides, we did still have melt downs, and occassionally my friend would gently point out correlations. "I did see her eating a popsicle with her class..." "Do you think it's related to that bright blue tongue?" No. No I didn't. Well, I did, but I didn't want to.

And then we had VBS. The kids had a phenomenol time on the "Boomerang Express"; singing, crafting, playing games and earning...starbursts? That's okay. I didn't think twice.

Until Wednesday. We were putting on our shoes, gathering our handpicked canned goods to donate and heading out the door when Bumblebee burst into tears. "Pick me up early!" she entreated.

Huh? The entire day lasted maybe 3 hours. She'd been having so much fun she hadn't been ready to leave all week. "You don't love me! I'm scared. If you loved me, you'd pick me up early!"

This was sounding very familiar. Very after-a-birthday-party-ish. Very I-don't-want-to-go-to-school-ish.
And she'd earned at least 3 starbursts the day before.

During another tantrum that afternoon, I sat down and talked with her. (This isn't easy when a child is screaming that you hate them so they hate you.) I told her that I was worried about the tantrums. And that I noticed that she might be feeling a little more cranky than normal (Fighting fire with fire just gives us both sore throats, so I thought I'd treat her matter of factly, and play down the screaming.) and I wondered if she thought it might have anything to do with what she'd been eating, like the starbursts.

To my surprise, she turned on me and said "NO! I was watching too and guess what? When I eat candy with dye in it you get REALLY REALLY MEAN!!! Even when I don't even tell you that I ate it! You just start hating me for no good reason!"

Wow.

After the storm had blown out she agreed that "everything and everyone is meaner" after she eats dye. She won't agree that it makes HER more upset. But she did say that she might, maybe, sort of, kind of be willing to give it up. She doesn't like crying.

I'm not certain that it is the dye. Like most parents, I'm tempted to blame the excitement of the day, and the weather, and say she's coming down with something. Food should be fun. I don't want to place unnecessary restrictions.

But, echoes of my friend's voice are haunting me. And *shaking sand from my ostrich feathers* I think it's time to say...It just might be the dye.

A Vegetarian Waivers

I've always been vegetarian.

No, that's not true. My commitment began when I was around 6. I'd just wheedled my vegetarian-leaning mom into buying me a hamburger instead of a fish sandwich at a fast food place. My brother was contentedly staring out the window, munching away. I'd just taken a bite when he asked, wide eyed and innocent, if the field outside was where they kept the cows before "bashing their brains out and chopping them up into hamburgers".

Of course I freaked out.

And when my mom managed to calm me down, and yet assure me that the hamburger I'd begged, bargained and pleaded for was, indeed, derived from a cow, I resolved to go hungry that day. (Well, I ate the fries) And never, ever eat meat again.

When my conscience finally connected chicken and turkey with the critters that run around flapping their wings and pecking the ground, they left my diet as well. And I finally fished fish out in an attempt to feel better. Literature in the 90's claimed that vegetarians had healthier lifestyles than meat eaters. I didn't know why, but I didn't feel good. And I was all to happy to blame meat.

By high school, I needed more than "meat is gross", and I explored all the real reasons for my vegetarian choices. Animal cruelty was one, but it was easily compensated for by free range, organic options that were hitting the market. Certainly my goal wasn't to save a cow, the excessive number that are raised are harming our environment as it is.

The concept that one vegetarian can survive for a lifetime on the land it requires to feed one meat eater for one year really disturbed me. Environmental and political concerns, coupled with the idea that our bodies were not originally designed to digest meat (Our teeth simply sharp enough) strengthened my resolve.

But looking back, I wasn't "well". I just hid it well.

I later dabbled with various dietary measures, noting that on days I didn't have time to eat I felt great. With the IBS diagnosis, I went vegan on a doctor's advice. I dabbled in macrobiotics. I've since read up on paleo diets, blood type diets and the Specific Carb Diet, not to mention several versions of the Candida diet.

I've come to the conclusion that there is no one diet that fits everyone. Many facets of cure-all dietary approaches are similar, but address different causes for symptoms. I don't believe that humans were originally designed to eat meat. But in the grand scheme of things, we've been doing it for much longer than we've been eating gluten grains.

I've also come to the conclusion that I can't survive on rice, eggs, applesauce and a few well cooked veggies. Especially when I flare and those well cooked veggies don't settle down and get digested. I don't know that animal foods will help, but since I'm trying to put my trust in G-d, I've turned to prayer for an answer. And it occurred to me that if I AM going to use meat, I should do it kosher, to the best of my ability.

The fact that any food that is truly kosher for passover is also corn free is a bonus.

I also can't bring myself to consume red meat. No bashed up cows for me :-) But Chicken Soup is the Jewish Penicillin...so; I'll take solace in the thought that Mary probably cooked up something similar for her son. What was good enough for Him can't be too bad for me. Can it?

In which the world becomes a better place...

I swear, the way to a mom's heart is through her kids.
Yesterday brought Penguin's elementary school years to a close. Of course there were tears. (I was a bit surprised, even a few boys were hauling tissues around.) But what touched me most wasn't the slideshow, or the farewell song, or the little "graduation ceremony".

Yesterday morning a PTA mom approached me with a box of popsicles and asked me to double check it. They were, indeed, free from artficial dyes, dairy and gluten. She was happy and went to give Penguin her treat (which made me happy, of course) and after school, Penguin catapulted herself towards me with eyes shining and said "Mommy, Mommy, I got a popsicle! They brought me a popsicle with everyone else! And it was my favorite flavor! It was soooo good!"

She went on to tell about the popsicle party, but what stood out in the story was how safe, and included she felt. That's when my eyes welled up with tears. I hugged her tight.

She's a good kid, and she's good about dealing with her allergies. But it's hard to be different, and she vents that at home sometimes. Earlier this week she was pleasantly surprised to find a safe sorbet on the 5th grade ice cream table, and her girl scout leader thoughtfully provided safe treats for the last meeting of the year. But it was this last touch, a popsicle that looked like everyone else's and was provided with everyone else's without much ado that really made her day.

Things are changing. Yay!!!!

Freedom?

They say we live in the land of the free. But I'm not so sure that our society truly embraces the ideals of freedom.

Sure, we promote free speech. When it suits our purposes, we flaunt it.

But there's more to freedom than simple speech. For every action we take, there is a result for better or worse. And nothing highlights this more than recent headlines.

In Australia, a young couple has been imprisoned because of their parenting choice. There appears to be no evidence that they were abusive or literally neglectful of their young daughter. They simply chose to treat her eczema with homeopathic remedies. Which might have worked. Unfortunately, this time it didn't. She developed secondary infections, and eventually succumbed, after the couple sought treatment in a hospital setting.

Of course, I'm appalled that the child suffered. I'm mortified that something like eczema was the cause of death. But, even more, I'm concerned that there are people who condemn these parents as "bad" simply because they made a choice. They did NOT expect the choice to cost them their daughter. They, like most of us, wanted what was best for her and if their experience with western medicine was anything like ours has been, they were probably frustrated with the "system" and sought their own answers.

While I believe that life should be valued, and respected, I also don't think that when a life is lost it automatically means someone has failed. There is a fine line for us to walk as protectors of the innocents. While authorities should certainly intervene to protect children who are too young and helpless to protect themselves from abuse or true neglect, they also need to respect a parent's decisions when it comes to their children.

From the accounts I've read, this child was fed, clothed and loved. She was receiving alternate care. Yes she was still suffering. But her parents suffered alongside of her. And who's to say that Western medicine would have definitively fared better? There may be more to the story that a jury heard and acted on, but the public response that condemns these parents as "bad" simply because they are left grieving leads me to believe that we, as a society, do not value freedom as much as we claim to.

Parents are human. Everyone is human. The people running the court systems are only human, for crying out loud. How can they expect any more from their clientele? We all make mistakes and some of those mistakes prove to have greater consequences than others. But if they're made in good faith, they're still honest mistakes. The more harshly we hold people accountable for their mistakes, the more distrust people will have of authority in general. And the less likely they are to admit mistakes before they prove fatal.

The Australian couple has stirred up the vaccination debate in some circles. Is failure to vaccinate equivalent to abuse? Neglect? Or educated choice? Why should parents have to worry that not only are they making the "wrong" choice, but that they will go to jail or lose their children if something happens? Vaccines are a calculated risk. That knowledge doesn't help when your child is the sacrifice.

For me, it brings to mind the many "alternate" choices families make every day. Breast or bottle, formula or milk, alternative or cows? What to feed your children, and when. What they wear, what they watch, when they are permitted to stay home or in the car alone. We each make difficult parenting decisions every day, some of them heftier than others. Some are more wrought with emotion.

No one knows my kids like I do. I don't know other people's children the way that they can. I don't presume I can parent better than anyone. But, I know I am the one best situated to take care of my own kids. And I support everyone else's rights to best take care of their own kids...as long as they don't interfere with my right to parent mine.

That Mom

I always dreamed of being "That Mom". The one who was on the ball, all together, the one who was there for everything.
The one who was the back up, fall upon mom.
The one with cookies, or brownies, or muffins fresh from the oven.

And then reality struck. When I did volunteer, I ended up ditching them for the ER or a doctors visit. I find myself running late half the time for digestive issues, and I'm always ready to run when my stomach informs me of it's disinclination towards my last meal. (Please note that food allergies/intolerances are not the only thing I struggle with personally, there are definitely MORE digestive conditions going on than simple allergies. People with allergies feel fine when they eat safe food.)

Discovering food allergies allows us a certain freedom. It's certainly much less of a struggle when there are days when I know what good is. It's amazing to see my daughter blossom now that offending foods are out of her diet, it feels so refreshing to be able to send her to a friend's house and know that there's only a slight chance she'll come home sick. As long as I send food, of course.

But the darker side of food allergies (and other health conditions) brought a heightened awareness of what we, as a society, are eating. Reading ingredient list after ingredient list, and having to shake my head at Penguin time and time again sends chills down my spine. If it weren't for the allergies I wouldn't really think about these additives and preservatives. I've always tended towards "healthy" foods, but, when it came to "fun", well...fun is fun. I didn't worry about it, too much.

Now, I see party after party at the school and it just doesn't settle right with me. I see hundreds of pounds of sugar coursing through those tiny developing veins, and then the questionable additives, the Genetically Modified Organisms, and the bright neon colors that stain tongues, teeth and fingers. I feel sad, not because we're left out, but because society has placed a value on food. And that value is in the sharing of what we all agree is junk. Superfluous candy, cupcakes and ice cream complete our lives.

No wonder there's a tendency towards obesity, heart disease and type 2 diabetes.

As I look at the list of class parties for the next week, and shudder at the amount of kitchen duty (and cash) it means for us, as I smile under the questioning look of other mothers and field questions about our diets, as I am accidentally cc'd in the mass brownie e-mail, I discover something else.

I've become "THAT mom". Not the one I wanted to be, for sure, but certainly distinct. I'm the seventies era granola, free love, tree hugging hippy food tofu mom. (Except for the tofu part...there's corn in that, too.) People who haven't tried our treats assume them to be the tasteless grapenut-concoction from after-school special nightmares sequences. They shudder and truly feel sorry for our pizza deprived, ice cream deficient home. I'm "That Mom". (The one you don't want in charge of snacks for the brownies meeting.)

And I'm proud of it. (Well, all except the part about Brownies.)

Skinny

I'm skinny. I'm slender, thin, twiggy, emaciated.

Other women seem to think the best way to "bond" is to walk up and chat up diet and excercize, to say things like "Oh, I hate women like you. You have so much self control."

Ha. Talk to my husband, who is almost horrified by the amount of chocolate and sweet potatoes I can consume (not together).

And I hate that the corn allergy thing is lumped with my figure. No, I'm not anorexic because there's nothing left to eat. The corn may have played a significant part in causing intestinal damage that prevents me from gaining weight well, the celiac certainly did. But there are foods that I should be able to eat. If it were a matter of allergy, I'd function within the confines of my diet. Corn allergy (etc) certainly complicates things, but there's more. And no one seems to know what it is.

Even more, I worry about raising two girls in a society that places deep value in calorie counts, pounds, and the size on a clothing tag.

People tell me they're so busy between work and parenting they can't find time to "lose weight". People with perfectly acceptable, natural, healthy looking curves tell me this. And I can't find the words to say I wish I had the energy to be that busy.

Happy Mother's Day

My mother's day weekend didn't get off to much of a start.

Yesterday morning the kids woke me with a battle about whether or not I should open gifts on Saturday. There was a lot of high pitched screaming as one or the other attempted to protect their secrets from being spilled, thankfully it was resolved before I decided to simply call off the entire holiday.
Then came the news that a beloved childhood pet passed on late Friday night.
We agreed to stay in and mope.

However, this morning managed to pull into a lovely start. My oldest fondly recalls making soap together when she was little, and dh found someone to help her make (hopefully) safe soap for me. My youngest made a lovely coupon book, and instead of filling it with things like "good for one night free from washing dishes" she filled it with wishes that make me grin. I thought I'd share a few here. :-)

*I love my Mother. There's (almost) no one who loves you more than me.
*I'll clean the Earth for you.
* I wish you would lose all your allergies. [This one made me cry]
*I wish I could plant flowers for you and make them grow overnight.

I'll treasure it always.

The Swine Flu

I'm not panicking.

Maybe there's something wrong with me?
The schools have repeatedly reassured me that there's no reason to panic. My Mother in law sent an email to my husband letting him know it was nothing to be too concerned about yet.

And all I can think is...well, obviously.

So far, the biggest concern is that the CDC doesn't "know" everything they want to know about the "new flu". It's breaking out in May, which is new as far as I can remember (Spring and summer are the end of the illness routine. Everyone tells me that when the kids invariably come down with something this time of year.) The vast majority of people who are sick have recovered without the use of antiviral drugs.

As far as I can see, it's just the flu; taking a different path than the one predicted by scientists.

Now, I don't mean to be callous. I hate being sick as much as the next guy. I'll whine, maybe not quite as loudly as my husband, but I'll certainly commiserate. But the recommendations are...wash hands frequently. Don't come to work or school when you're running a fever. And cough into your sleeve.

Isn't that normal? Its always been my pet peeve that people drag themselves to work or school with fevers and sit there hacking up a lung. It's rude, and dangerous to those with compromised immune systems. And it doesn't matter if we know what the virus (or bacteria) is or not, if the wrong person contracts it, that illness can be fatal.

I'm much more concerned about food allergies. Which are rising steadily, or were at the last time they were studied, at a rate of about 20% a year. And food allergy mortality is unknown because the CDC does not consider it a reportable event. The figure appears to fall between 1 and 200 confirmed deaths a year (with a suspected 50% of cases being misdiagnosed)

If your throat swells shut because you swallow some soy lecithin, the CDC could care less. (Especially since doctors repeatedly tell us that lecithin has NO protein left and therefore will not cause anaphylaxis despite occasional evidence to the contrary. Note that I'm carefully avoiding the subject of corn.) But, report some body aches with a fever over 100* caused by an unusual strain of influenza (which seems to pass quickly albeit uncomfortably) and they will call a national emergency.

Wonder how many petrochemicals are in the recommended treatment? Rehydration therapies are generally loaded with colorful ingredients and flavorings; at least the pediatric versions. And from the rainbow of meds I've seen on store shelves while seeking safe pain killers, I'd bet any drugs they offer are just as colorful.

Getting Greener...

It's Earth Day. (Or was when I first started and forgot to post this entry)

The sun is shining (Thankfully not quite so hot as it was yesterday, or the day before); the garden is growing, and Bumblebee chose today to debut her brand new stainless steel bottle tote.

It's a work in progress. She says it hurt her shoulder, so the next proto-type will include a shoulder pad. We'll get there, and we'll grow greener doing it.

I'm still a bit skeptical about our garden. Although I'm elated to see green sprouts popping out of the ground, stretching their leaves to the sky, I have to remind myself that it's only taken them twice the germination time cited on the seed package.

Is it the weather, which clouded over and rained for a week as soon as we gently tucked them in the warm, dark earth? Is it the seeds, which were purchased on sale from another season's guaranteed to grow crop (seeds are seeds, and they ought to last if they didn't get wet or otherwise damaged) ? Or is my brown thumb rearing it's ugly head?

Maybe it's just stress...since the raised bed does not get a LOT of sun. None of the yard does.

However, the few nasturtiums that returned from last year seem happy, and I have a stunted looking rose that bolted into something resembling a tree in it's quest for light, and the fairy house looks pretty wild in the back nook. The yard is still, well, not tidy or anywhere resembling something that can be shown off. But it's green. And it gets us outdoors and excited.

(until Penguin sees a snail and runs for cover, anyways.)