5 Facts About Being the Child with Allergies

(Earlier today I read an article called "5 Facts about Raising a Child with Celiac Disease." Or something like that. This is my version. I figured I'm entitled since I actually have the food allergies and my perspective might be helpful.)

1. Eating is really boring.
Really, really boring. If I could get away with not eating, I would. I've actually tried it on occasion. It usually ends badly (since I'm hypoglycemic... and human), but it doesn't really stop me from trying. When something that should be pleasurable requires quite a bit of effort, it severely cuts down on the attractiveness of the activity.
(I realize that sentence could be interpreted as kind of scandalous out of context, so please don't quote it out of context. Unless you want to make people laugh and make me turn red. Which is your prerogative, I suppose.)

2. It doesn't mitigate fussiness.
We didn't discover my dairy intolerance until I was about ten and I didn't become soy intolerant until I was in my mid-teens. With these discoveries came a lot of adjustments to my diet. Unfortunately, ever since I was a wee one, I have been a famously picky eater. For some reason, though, many people assume that since I am so limited in menu, I'll gratefully eat anything they put in front of me. I might, out of politeness, but I don't usually like it. I like plain, simple food. I like it to be tasty, but tasty does not mean adventurous. I am not an adventurous eater. So for future reference, don't assume that the people that you know who have food allergies aren't picky eaters. We're still human with individual likes and dislikes. Just saying.

3. It's less scary for me than it is for you.
I know, I know, this one sounds kind of backwards, but it's true. It's a lot less scary to be the one with the allergies than the one watching an allergic reaction. Don't ask me why. Maybe because there's more of a sense of helplessness when you're watching someone suffer, maybe because it's less unpredictable or unusual from our end. I'm always reassuring people: this is normal for me. It is. I pass out. I get up. I move on. I don't like throwing up. I don't like having splitting headaches and dizziness. But I know it will pass, that I'll (most likely) live through it, etc.

4. STOP FREAKING OUT.
So I know it's hard, but please STOP freaking out. When you freak out, I feel like I have to take care of you. From the floor. It's difficult. Help if you know how, but if you don't know how, don't ask me how you can help. I'm not in the mood. If you really want to know, ask for some instructions when I'm not having a reaction. Then I'm happy to inform you.

5. Don't harp on the subject.
We know we have allergies. I understand that with little kids, they don't understand the connection between certain foods and getting sick. They may not think through the consequences. That Reese's Peanut Butter Cup looks reeeeaallyyyy good. So I understand some hyper-vigilance in that situation. But by the time we're a older, we are more acutely aware of our allergies than you could ever, ever, ever be. I'm serious. I check and double check labels. I'll won't eat something if it doesn't have a label that I can check or I didn't watch the person make it (because most people don't think of using Pam as a problem or something to list among the ingredients when I ask). I bring PB&J when I go to a party. I know how to take care of myself (and I'm getting better about actually doing so). But we don't want to be reminded all of the time that we're different. WE know we're different. And it's hard being the kid who can't do everything. Who can't eat at the party. Who can't just eat like a normal person. Sure, we get used to it. But some days it isn't easy. And when, on those days, we're repeatedly reminded of our problem and how we can't eat something, we do the typically human thing. Think Adam and Eve. "Don't touch" is like a challenge to touch it.

I realize that these have varying degrees of seriousness, but life has varying degrees of seriousness. And while allergies and intolerances are serious things, it's good to learn how to have a sense of humor about it. Because we're human too.

Breakfast Dessert and Other Shenanigans

Last night, two of the awesomest people ever came over for dinner. Of course, when you have awesome people over, awesome things happen. Awfully funny awesome things. For example:

This one needs a little background: Dan (awesome person number two) insisted that he bring something over with him. I challenged him to make a "Bridget-proof" dessert. When discussing options, he asked if I was allergic to goats' milk products. On receiving a negative, he expressed relief because he wanted to bring goat milk yogurt. I raised a quizzical eyebrow or two, but I, being a gracious hostess, didn't actually vocalize the concern.

At least, I didn't tell him. I did call Karen last night (awesome person number one) and ask her if I should surreptitiously bake brownies because Dan was bringing breakfast for dessert. She said no; she thought it would be ok. If he was still hungry, he could eat when he got home. Kinda a strange answer, but I let it go.

When Dan got to our house, he asked for a pot so he could start our "breakfast dessert." Incredulous, I looked at Karen. "You told him??" She conceded that she had and I turned a bright color. He is never, ever, ever going to let me live this down. Especially since we weren't having yogurt for dessert. We were having some fancy dessert that consisted of apples boiled in wine with cinnamon and sugar and stuff of that sort, garnished with the plain yogurt and the wine boiled down into a syrup. He did graciously leave the left over goat yogurt for our consumption. It made a tasty breakfast.

The second event worthy of mention is that our family failed to live up to Italian standards: we had no garlic in the house. Ok, maybe not strictly true. We had a quarter of a teaspoon of garlic powder. That's it. The spaghetti was... not garlicy. I may or may not have panicked. Dan may or may not have tried to put a chili in it. And pepper. He's clearly not Italian.What was probably the funniest part of the whole thing was that I called my sister, hoping that she could pick up garlic powder before she got home from Mass. I didn't quite succeed. We had a phone conversation while she was in our garage. Ha! But no garlic powder. Which merited a cheeky comment from one of our guests that was to the effect of, "It needs garlic."

The third thing was not really something I can explain. It was just hysterical to watch. Karen, Andrea, and Dan were all involved in the vegetable cooking. There was a great flurry of pot holders, spoons, spices, etc. The oven was opened and closed, shelves were repositioned, and there was just general chaos. It was quite the project. And it left me laughing hysterically.

My Squishy

We never managed to come up with a good name for our room. We had some good material to work with: out initials are the first two letters of the alphabet. But nothing came. There was similar situation with this layout: I couldn't really think of anything to say about it. That may be because I'm tired and feeling a whole mix of emotions that I didn't know could co-exist in a person. Or it may be because my friendship with my roomie is beyond description. I'll let you decide :)

Stinging Injustice

I was victim to two acts of injustice today. Both came from the same person. The sunshiny, happy, but law-abiding, lawsuit-fearing HR lady.

The first offense concerned the Halloween costume contest. I went to work as a gypsy today. I had bells around my ankles and neck, a colorful, floor-length silk skirt, hoop earrings, ornate scarves, bangles, etc. I didn't put any effort into it - one of my coworkers provided me with most of the stuff - and I didn't expect to win. I wasn't even going to bother participating very much.

When I went down for my lunch, I inadvertently found myself smack dab in the middle of the costume parade. I was stuck in a mass of people. Figuring that I should make the best of an awkward situation, I danced and waved like a good little gypsy around in the circle. The judges ate it up - everyone else was marching somberly.

I still didn't think I'd win. Without giving it a second thought, I went up to cover the receptionist's lunch break. She mentioned that the judges had been up there discussing the winner and for the individuals, they unanimously picked "the cute gypsy girl." I was surprised and rather pleased... until I heard that the HR lady had vetoed their decision.

Huh?

It was all in the name of preventing strife among the employees. You see, I am a temp. According to some menopausal, cranky pants women people, since temps are not company employees, they are not entitled to win any company contests... or even eat company-provided meals. It was too risky to announce that the winner of the company costume contest was a temp. Horror of horrors, right?

Anyway, so I didn't win. I didn't get anything. Not that I expected anything... but I should have won. That makes me feel good on the inside. Missing out on the $200 Visa card because I'm not a permanent employee... that doesn't make me feel so good on the inside. Oh well.

The second injustice is the reason that I am able to bring this blog post to you so early in the day. You see, I have a tendency to pass out. If you know me, you also know that this is very, very normal. Not a big deal. Give me a few minutes, I'll be up and moving. Well, I passed out yesterday and today. The HR lady flipped out. Not my boss, not my supervisor... the HR lady. And she sent me home. She asked if someone could pick me up. I explained that my mom could get there in about 20 minutes, but I would be fine in five or ten. I insisted that I was fine. But she wouldn't let me stay. She nearly ordered me out of the building. I had work to do. Money to make. But no. She made me leave because she's afraid of liability.

So much injustice. Just because I'm me. How is this fair???

Happy Halloween.

Stuff

I am such an undisciplined blogger. I do apologize.

Things have been pretty quiet around here. Just the same ol' same ol'. I'm ok with that, though. Here's some random facts about my life:

I made my very first divorce card this week. Not really my specialty, but a good friend from work's divorce was finalized and I bought her a bottle of wine to celebrate. If that's even the right word. I wasn't very... verbose. What do you say on such an occasion? I went with Mum's suggestion of "Onward and Upward." That's all it said. Oh, and my name. I made the front pretty with a doily and ribbon and such things. Not really my specialty. I hope it isn't a task I have to repeat.

I'm going to visit my dear, darling friend Augusta this weekend. My train leaves at oh dark thirty tomorrow morning. You know I must love her if I'm sacrificing my Saturday morning sleep-in to get an extra five hours with her. So excited to spend time with this girl.

We have an iMac. Yay! Pretty pretty.

In the two confirmation classes we've had, we've talked about gay marriage and contraception. We weren't really supposed to be talking about those things, but the kids brought them up and really wanted to talk about them. And we couldn't leave these things hanging. After all, they thought that Catholics hated gay people and that the solution to abortion was birth control. Oh boy. They also seem to be an odd mixture of excited/awkward about the fact that they have to talk to their catechists about s e x for six weeks next semester. Ha!

My boss-boss amuses me. He says funny things.

"Next time you pass out, can I please call 911? It's for your own good... they might be cute."

So does my mama.

"Whatever you do, don't forget your shirt. I mean, your medicine. Though the other thing would be bad too."

Oh, and I had this strange conversation with my boss-boss this morning.

him: "Perception is reality."
me: "Uh, I don't think so. Reality is reality."
him: "No, reality is what you perceive it to be."
me: "I am not Cartesian, thank you very much."
him: "Carty-what?"
me:"Cartesian. As in Descartes. The philosopher."
him: "What's that?"

Sometimes I feel so alone in the accounting department... 

BABY!!!

Thaaaat's right, folks! My dear, dear, dear friends had their first child today!!! A little boy. I am distracted with happiness. I cannot stop GRINNING. I'm "Auntie Bagel." HA! I am so excited and happy for them!!!!!!

Welcome to the world, Daniel!!!

Military Love

Crickey. It's been a while.

In the past couple of weeks my life was turned upside-down, shaken violently, and then put back. Kind of like a snow globe. My brain kind of resembled that blizzard. The little fluttery pieces are falling back into place, though. They move slowly, suspended as they are in some sort of watery substance, but gravity wins out in the end.

Geez. I got excited about that metaphor. Moving on.

I would love to show you a new layout... but I ran out of adhesive. I know. TRAGEDY.  I was in the middle of a layout and POW, no more adhesive. Tears were shed.

So what I will do is tell you about the MCAS Miramar Airshow. It was on Saturday. It was fantabulous. There were loud, fast airplanes, big guns and explosions, paratroopers falling from thousands of feet up in the air...

... and cute men.

EVERYWHERE.

The last time I went to an airshow, I was 17. For some reason, the fact that there were cute, young, in-shape, uniformed men every five feet didn't make an impression. But it did this year. Oh man. Talk about a target-rich environment. I was so besottedly happy.

I spent most of the day flirting with talking to them. There was the Osprey pilot from Sacramento and the helicopter crew captain from Indiana. Then there were all of the men from the local battalions and squadrons selling stuff to raise money for their events. I may or may not have bought not one, but two, hoodies. One of which is an XL... it's huge. But I couldn't say no. How could I? The Death Rattlers are cool!

I should, however, consider more carefully the relative lengths of my hoodies and dresses before I combine them. Ha!

One of my favorite moments of the day was right at the beginning. The guy who was manning the metal detector at the gate asked me, "You want to go to Sea World? Six Flags? We can go anywhere you want, girl."

I love Marines.