Transplanted a bunch more of the seedlings today – Shasta Daisy (Alaska and some other kind – something Princess?), ‘Irish Eyes,’ Coreopsis, and Baby’s Breath – as well as some of the things from the window box from Jess’ wedding. Since those are succulents, I’m not sure they’ll make it much past the next couple of weeks; they’ll still look better than the weeds that were in that patch. There’s supposed to be more rain coming tonight (surprise) and Thursday – will the mulch I added make it better or worse? Only time will tell. Ooooh – and 4 (or maybe 3 – I can’t remember) cubic yards of dirt got delivered today for the raised beds that Kelley built a few weeks ago.

Next steps: mulch the pumpkins and sunflowers (they’ve made it half a week!), plant the last few daisy plants and the Forget-Me-Nots, move the dirt from the driveway to the beds

Check it out – two posts in one day!

We transferred all the pumpkin and sunflower seedlings to the side of the house today. Well, rather, I transferred them while Lucy and Will helped by weeding. (Which, incidentally was quite cute. Of course, as I put them to bed I found that they had both eaten various snacks/dessert without washing their hands first. I now find myself wondering if there is a possibility that the weeds they pulled were poisonous — I mean, I know they’re not foxglove, and I know they’re not random mushrooms, but I will most certainly be doing breathing checks tonight before I go to bed.) Since the forecast predicts rain every day for at least the next week, I’m not feeling overly optimistic that, come fall, there will be a thriving pumpkin patch; at the same time, I will keep my fingers crossed.

Hopefully there will be enough sun at some point over the next week to plant the rest of the seedlings. I’m afraid that if they stay in those flats for too much longer they’re all going to go to that compost pile in the sky. (Or maybe just the compost pile in the backyard. Much easier to get to.)

As Lucy and Will were brushing their teeth before bed, I happened to look in the mirror and, thanks to the light hitting exactly in the wrong way, saw nothing but gray in my hair.

Lucy’s response to dismay: Mommy, it looks really pretty. Like lots of highlights.

Will’s response, delivered while looking at her like she was crazy: Uh, there’s a lot of white stuff there.

Sigh.

A is for Apple
B is for Balloon [although, I have to admit, I read this as Barroom the first time through]
C is for Car
D is for Dinosaur
E is for Eye
F is for Fahad
G is for Green
H is for Helicopter
I is for Ice Cream
J is for Jet
K is for Kitten
L is for Lance
M is for Marcel
N is for No
O is for One
P is for Panda
Q is for Quit
R is for Rascar [i.e., race car]
S is for Sami
T is for Truck
U is for Ubr [your guess is as good as mine]
V is for Violin
W is for Will
X is for Xray
Y is for Yellow
Z is for Zoo

So there we were in the bathroom tonight, me putting the toothpaste on Will’s toothbrush as he was talking about the plastic boat he saw under the big table in his room.

“Oh, [????],” he said, “I didn’t know I had three boats.”

“What did you just say?” I asked.

Silence, of course.

“Did you just say ’shoot’?” I said, hopeful.

Guilt all over his face, he looked at me. Then he shook his head.

“You didn’t just say ’shoot’?” Doesn’t hurt to give him another chance, right?

No, he shook his head again.

“So you really said, ’shit’?” I asked.

Taking the toothbrush from me, he started brushing his teeth. He nodded.

Mommy, I blame this on you.

Had to share this morning’s conversation with Lucy and Will:

As we were getting ready to leave for school, Lucy mentioned that she was sad because her best friend (Lydia) had a new best friend (Hannah), and that even though they were all sitting in the same group at school, it was ending up being not fun at all because Lydia and Hannah always chose each other for partners and not Lucy. Ugh. If there’s anything that I have absolutely no answers for, it’s that.

I also happen to know that there’s pretty much nothing to say to make her feel better. So what I said was: I know how sad it makes you. It’s an awful feeling. And sometimes it has something to do with you, and other times it doesn’t, so the important thing is how you handle it.

Then I found myself telling her how I had this friend who was following, like, 54 of the 52 people following her on Twitter. Who was one of the two she wasn’t following? Yep, me. “But,” I told Lucy, trying to get back to a point that would actually make sense to her, “even though it made me sad, I know she’s still my friend and I’ll just make sure to be the best friend I can be to her anyway.”

It did seem to help a little. And then Will chimed in, saying to Lucy, “Did you tell her? I would just tell her that she’s making me sad. Antonio’s my friend and he doesn’t make me sad.”

Lucy, of course, glared at him. Sympathy, Will. Sympathy, not solutions.

“Antonio will always be my friend,” Will continued, oblivious. “Ezra’s my friend, too.” Ezra, i.e., Lydia’s brother. “Ezra will always be my friend.”

Since this didn’t help things at all, I ended up spending the next several minutes trying to make Lucy feel better. As we were leaving the house, Will, exasperated, just said to me, “Why don’t you just tell her to be happy? Why do you need to say all the other things?”

Lucy, being more Lucy-like, rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t work like that. You can’t just make something happen. If you wanted John McCain to be president, you can’t just go up to Barack Obama and say, You’re not president any more. Things don’t work that way.”

Will looked at Lucy then looked at me. He looked at where Kelley’s car would have been if Kelley hadn’t had to leave for NY an hour before. Even at six, he knew enough to realize there was just too much estrogen involved for him to get any further. “I’m out of this,” he said, holding up his hands and shaking his head. And then he played with his cars.

*****

Been absolutely crazed lately — three major work projects (6-month; 1-year; and 2-year projects) culminating during the same three week period that also had the Gala (last weekend) and Jess’ shower (this weekend). Oh, and everyone getting sick, etc., etc. I say that all just so everyone knows that yes, I owe everyone emails or calls on just about everything — and I owe a resolution to that last post. (Sorry to leave you hanging.)

So, the big update: Will’s not allergic to peanuts. He still can’t have other kinds of nuts — I’m particularly concerned about almonds — but PB&J sandwiches have come back to the household. Of course, in the last two weeks he’s visited the dentist (he might need to have a crown — have you ever heard of a 6-year-old with a crown?), the eye doctor (he needs glasses), the neurologist (the tics just keep on coming), and the walk-in clinic at his pediatrician’s twice, thanks to his croup coming back (a week after Lucy’s came and went). So, well, yes we need to get him back to the allergist, but the poor kid hears the word ‘appointment’ and practically has a panic attack. We need to call, but he needs a break.

At 8 a.m. this morning, with our 2 tablespoons of peanut butter in hand, Kelley, Will and I presented ourselves at the Children’s Hospital Allergy department so that Will could do his Food Challenge.

What’s a ‘food challenge,’ you might ask? Well, it’s when you take the thing that you’ve spent over a year avoiding due to its potential to cause the death of your child and, yes, you feed it to him.

Now, of course, the reason you do this at the hospital is so that, should that worst-case scenario seem imminent, there are presumably enough qualified medical personnel on hand to bring him back to life. Still, as he sat there, looking suspiciously at the nurse who’d just given him the spoonful of peanut butter and telling her that he wasn’t supposed to eat it, I had to use every bone in my body to resist telling him to drop it and run.

“It’s o.k., Will,” I said instead. “That’s why we’re here. To have you eat peanut butter.”

Since that night a year ago November we’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out what caused him to have such a ’sudden and severe’ (the clinical terms, apparently) reaction on the side of the highway. There was no x-ray taken in the emergency room so no one was able to tell whether the top of his throat was closed (which would indicate anaphylaxis, i.e., what happens when you eat something you’re severely allergic to), the bottom of his throat was closed (which would indicate a severe case of croup or, alternatively, an asthma attack), or, simply, if he’d swallowed something and was choking on it.

The fact that he’d been asleep for three hours prior to suddenly waking up coughing pointed away from the choking idea, whereas the fact that his inhaler only seemed to make things worse made it seem like asthma wasn’t a factor either. In nearly a third of fatal anaphylactic shock cases, we were told, the case is never determined. Since Kelley had eaten a bag of nuts in the car two hours before the reaction occurred, however, it sounded like that could be the culprit.

When something like this happens, of course, the heavy artillery comes out. We carry EpiPens wherever we go. We read labels for hidden dangers. We know the doctor’s office phone number better than the phone numbers of most of our family. We also go to the doctor on a nearly monthly basis, whether for asthma check-ups or further allergy tests.

Over the past year Will has had skin tests to see what he might be allergic to. (Just about everything, apparently, although some things more severely than others.) With the peanut test being inconclusive, he had a second test (negative), and then a full-on blood test (negative). With food alergies, though, as anyone who has dealt with one knows, two negatives don’t necessarily make a negative. In order to be completely sure, you need to actually eat the food.

To be honest, I was less nervous about it I thought I’d be. Considering that, as we were in the height of the aftermath I wanted to just go and sit in the parking lot of the Emergency Room and have him eat a PB&J sandwich so that we could know once and for all, well, it was kind of nice to know that for once I seemed to be in synch with the world of science. It was kind of like getting the EpiPens — a calming of the nerves, so to speak.

And, after sitting there this morning for three hours in the safety of the nurses and doctors who work at one of the best children’s hospitals in the world, I was feeling all good and proud of myself that we’d made it through. He ate one spoonful of peanut butter, and then another. No swelling, no hives, no death. Thank you, God.

So I wasn’t at all prepared for the nurse to tell us as part of our discharge, “As you know, the reaction can take place up to 24 hours after exposure.”

Um, come again? “24 hours?” No. Suffice it to say that I didn’t know that. I didn’t know that at all. Even me, who worries about everything in the world, thought that all I needed to be concerned about was the 6-7 hours after he ate it. After all, that was the time period everyone seemed concerned with when they were trying to figure out what could have cause him to nearly stop breathing that night.

Still reeling from the fact that they were sending us back into the non-medically-trained-staff world of our daily lives, I almost missed the part where she said, “And we’d like him to eat 2 tablespoons of peanut butter each day for the next three days. Oh, and you shouldn’t do it before sending him off to school because you want to be in a position where you can watch him for the signs for at least half an hour afterwards. Be sure to have the EpiPen with you at all times. Bye, now.”

O.k. So maybe she wasn’t quite that flip. Actually, she was kind of great — both throughout the morning and at the end of it, taking the time to deal with my sudden inability to leave the protected womb of that hospital room and answering all my questions with confidence and reassurance. Still, I am now sitting here on my couch, TV off as I listen for him to suddenly wake up coughing like on that night a year and a half ago.

I look at the list of the symptoms we’re supposed to be watching for:

* Anxiety

His or mine?

* Itchy Skin

The kid has the driest skin ever. I’ve never known his skin not to be itchy.

* Throat Tightness

For a year I’ve been asking him if his throat is o.k. The more I do, the more anxious he gets. (Which means that I have no idea if the bullet point #1 anxiety, should it occur, is anaphylaxis-related or mommy-induced.)

* Hives

No way in hell he’s getting a bath until this testing period is over. I don’t care if he’s so dirty that he looks like Pigpen. I am simply not capable of thinking clearly enough to make the distinction between hives caused by his dry skin reacting to the bath and hives caused by peanut butter. I pick the free pass on that one.

* Facial and/or Lip Swelling

I guarantee you that if you look at your kid to see if his lips are swollen (and therefore indicating that a potentially fatal reaction is about to occur) you will see a set of lips that are swollen. And, by the way, allowing him to have a Pixie Stik as a treat after dinner is a very bad idea. Sour/sugary abrasive dusty candy does not a non-swollen set of lips make.

* Vomiting/Diarrhea

* Stomach Cramps

Well, yes. These are kind of obvious. But when you’ve spent the last month trying to avoid getting the stomach bug that various friends and family members are getting, how the hell are you supposed to know if it’s just a case of bad timing?

* Coughing

* Sneezing

He has a cold. ‘Nuff said.

There are a few more items on the ‘Watch For’ list, “fainting” and “loss of consciousness” among them. I figure that if those happen, I’m pretty clear on the need to dial 911. Then again, he’s now asleep in bed. Kind of hard to determine whether someone’s lost consciousness when they’re already out cold.

The rule of thumb, apparently, is that if two ’systems’ are affected simultaneously — i.e., if he’s vomiting at the same time he’s got hives — then it’s an anaphylactic reaction. Although he’s coughed throughout the day, sneezed quite a bit, and been itching his skin for hours (“But it’s just normal itching, Mommy”), I’m fairly certain he isn’t experiencing anaphylaxis. Yet. And I am desperately trying to believe the words that our asthma case manager said to me the week after this happened — despite the dark, despite the highway driving, despite the fact that you’d heard him cough on countless occasions before: “You knew.”

We knew that the cough was different that time. We knew something was wrong enough that we pulled off onto the side of the highway. We knew something was wrong enough that we called an ambulance to meet us on the Mass Pike at midnight on the Saturday night after Thanksgiving.

On the Monday morning after this all happened, we sent Will to school with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It wasn’t even a full 48 hours later, and at that point, no one had indicated that this could have been an allergic reaction. At that point, no one had yet mentioned that he was about this close to dying that night. At that point, I hadn’t yet had my near-nervous breakdown in the parking lot of his school when I left him in that room and realized that one of these days, I could be saying good-bye to him for the last time.

He didn’t die on that day, though, nor did he have a reaction of any kind that anyone can remember. So tonight, as I am sitting here and straining to hear any signs of distress, I will cling to that. He’s eaten peanut butter without any reaction. He’s had test upon test to bring us to this point. And, according to the discharge paperwork, he ‘was able to complete this challenge,’ which means that, according to all that is known, he ‘has likely outgrown the food allergy.’

But oh, how these next four days are going to suck.

A few weeks ago, a terrible thing happened: we gave Will a stack of books before checking for dead flies.

Now, in most households, you wouldn’t expect this to be something you’d need to do. Will, however, is petrified by (of?) flies. Over the fall, our house seemed to be invaded by big, fat flies, making their presence known. Every night before bed we did a fly check and kill; God forbid you went anywhere without a fly swatter within range. Even now, I quake as I realize I have no idea where one is. I still shiver at the memory of the bloodcurdling scream from when that slight buzz was heard.

So, now that you know the history, it might not surprise you that, on that fateful night, when Will turned his head to the stack of books that has become in his mind one of the things that makes all the world right, the sight of a dead fly on Fizz the Fire Truck’s book binding shook him to his core. Since that night, we’ve had to inspect each book before putting it on the bed. He refuses to go near the trash can where the dead fly was disposed of. And, each night since then, I’ve had to come up with the three things he can think about so he won’t be scared.

Despite all this, I had no idea what the root of the fear actually was. This conversation from earlier this evening shed some light on the subject. It started with the requisite, “Mommy, are there any dead flies on the books?”

“There aren’t any dead flies on the books,” I answered, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice. “Besides,” I said, “they’re dead. They can’t do anything to you.”

After looking at me for a good, long moment, Will said, “But what if they turn into zombies?”

“They won’t turn into zombies,” I answered, silently cursing Fahad and Antonio, the two boys in his class that keep talking about zombies and beasties. “That doesn’t happen.”

Undeterred, Will said, “But dead people do.”

“Do what?” I asked, not sure where he was going with this.

“Turn into zombies,” he replied.

“No,” I said. “That doesn’t happen either.” (Being the Buffy fan that I am, I did knock on wood.)

“What about baby Jesus?” he asked, taking things down an entirely different road.

“What do you mean baby Jesus?” I said, trying to hide my surprise. I mean, I know this kid has a lot of things running through his head, but this isn’t exactly something I would have come up with, even with my own overactive imagination.

Solemnly, he said, “Baby Jesus came back to life.”

And here’s where you need a little background. Over the Christmas vacation, we had quite a conversation on our way to NYC, during which the subject of Baby Jesus came up. (One of these days, I’ll try to get that conversation down as well. It was a good one. Trust me.) Needless to say, there was some talk about that third day.

Ummm… “Baby Jesus is different. He was very special. When he came back to life it was good; he watches over people. He didn’t turn into a zombie.”

“Don’t say that word,” Will said.

“Zombie?” I foolishly repeated.

“I SAID DON’T SAY THAT WORD!!!!!!”

“O.k., o.k.” Dumb mommy. That’s, like, one of the first things you’re supposed to learn in Mommy School. I must have missed that class. “Pretend I didn’t say it.”

“I don’t want to talk about this any more,” he said. “What else should I think about? And don’t say anything about the thing happening tomorrow.”

Almost making the same mistake again, I said, “You mean-”

“I SAID DON’T SAY IT!!!”

Sigh. Right. “Then think about Jasper, Sour Patch Kids Watermelon, and opening the presents from your birthday party.”

“What else?”

Ugh. More than three things? “I can’t think of anything else. After that, just count to 1500.”

“I can’t count to 1500. I don’t know anything past 9 billion.”

Oh, my God. Do not laugh. Do not even crack a smile. That might have been the only lesson I did learn, but at least I’ve got that one down. “1500 is less than 9 billion.”

He looked at me suspiciously. I saw my opening. “Good night, Will. I love you.”

“Me too, Mommy. Good night.”

Yes, there’s been another dry spell. Many posts pass through my head, but don’t make it to here. Sad, I know. I have a few notes jotted down and will hopefully be able to post again soon. Just for posterity, however, I’ve decided to repost my stream of tweets from last night as I was dealing with my laptop crash and burn. Hey, it’s something right? Here goes:

So optimistic. Who knew what was in store?

[Note: For the good of all concerned, I'm skipping over the mini-breakdown I had as I realized what was happening. Which brings us to...]

At apple on boylston with a very sick – but hopefully not dead – mac. 9:13 PM Jan 6th from txt 

‘From txt’ – notice that? Mmm-hmm. Couldn’t type it, ‘cuz the laptop wouldn’t boot up. Eventually, that brought us to:

$1500 later (and in response to James’ note) …

@jroberts5 Alas, we are long past Applecare. Am now typing on my new MacBook.  10:51 PM Jan 6th from web in reply to jroberts5

Yes, I mourned. That laptop and I spent five years and three months together. They were a good five years overall, and I managed to fill up all but 6 GB of that poor hard drive. However, a new laptop is a new laptop. Now the data on the other hand…

Sooooooo glad to have back up. Of course, external hard drive has firewire; new laptop does not. TY genius bar folks! 10:52 PM Jan 6th from web

Alas, my external hard drive and my new laptop are not able to talk to each other. The genius bar man played intermediary and got all of my documents to my new machine. Unfortunately, however, ALL of my songs, pictures, calendar info, and email back-up are still on the hard drive. Linnea gave me some ideas of how to deal with it over the next few days. Hopefully it will work. I miss my stuff! 

That said, to see all my files exactly where they’re supposed to be, I can’t tell you how much of a relief that is. I still want it all synched up together, well, phew.

Interesting – Facebook blocked from Apple Store but Twitter is not? about 24 hours ago from web

Of course, then it did occur to me that my old (dead) computer, my new computer, and all of my data etc. were in one place together — along with me on Boylston St. in downtown Boston at 11:00 p.m. 

Car did not get towed. I did not get mugged btwn apple store and car. So far so good. about 24 hours ago from txt

 That walk to the car was a long one! 

Me and all the cabbies just hangin’ at south station. about 23 hours ago from txt

Um, as was the wait for Camilla.

Which is better? Inside with the crazies or sitting outside alone on the desolate street? Choices, choices about 23 hours ago from web

Suspiciously eyeing all the people eyeing my new toy about 23 hours ago from web

Why isn’t Camilla’s train posted on the big board? about 23 hours ago from web

No snow yet from what I can tell; BPS not closed yet. about 23 hours ago from web

(That last one was me being convinced that Lucy and Will would have a snow day today. Don’t even get me started on how they had three snow days — two of which were on days without snow, mind you — that led directly to the 1.5 week vacation. But when I dropped them off at school yesterday, the drop off area STILL WASN’T PLOWED. Seriously.)

Oooo – is that Camilla’s train? YES!!!!!!! Here she is!!!! about 23 hours ago from web

So, yes. Camilla got here and we got back to the car and then back home with everything intact. I’m still a little on edge until I get all my backed up stuff back and then re-backed up, but, trust me, am in a lot better shape knowing that I at least have a decent chance of getting everything recovered.

I also have to say that having an Apple store that is open until 11 p.m. — with live (wonderful, helpful) people to talk to! — was a lifesaver. Thank you, Apple; thank you, Linnea; and yay, Boston.

10/07 PSF Purchases the Presentation School building

Originally uploaded by jendoyle2007

I realize it’s been forever since I posted anything. Somehow, the semesters are always like that. Maybe someday…

But anyway, I am sitting here in Aunt Irene’s living room and uploading pictures to Flickr. The majority of what I posted today are from the 10/07 celebration of PSF’s purchase of the Presentation School building.