I don't think I have ever been aware of how much I must see Selah as some part of myself as I have begun to be now that she is interacting more with other children, often in less-than-cute ways.
When I was chatting with friends at a gelatto shop and their two-year-old son tried to take Selah's toy, she didn't fuss, say "no," or simply let him have it, as she formerly would have done. Instead she screamed at the top of her lungs as if he had tried to cut her head off, frightening him so much that he ran away and lay down on the ground, terrified. Later in the day when this same child tried to have some of her cheerios, she attacked him with her snack cup, hitting him with it repeatedly, and when I whisked it away, she used her sippy cup to spray him with water. I was horrified.
Our darling baby has turned into a toddler, and I take this personally. She is supposed to be an angel, thereby reflecting both my first-rate genes and my outstanding parenting techniques. Instead, we have become a spectacle, the sort of scene-causers that cause you to avoid our aisle at Safeway: a screaming toddler throwing fits so hard that her lips are turning blue from oxygen deprivation, and a distraught, tussled mother, begging, "Please honey, just put back the M&Ms. Please? Please sweetie? Okay, fine! Eat them! Just be quiet, please!"
Tonight we ate dinner with our neighbors, and Selah spent some time playing with their daughter. The three-year-old girl was actually being quite nice for a three-year-old, but she had her limits; Selah surely should not be allowed to monopolize the toys or press all of the buttons on her small stereo. In response to the girl's attempts at regaining some control over the chaos, Selah shrieked "nonono!" clenching her eyes shut and waving her fists wildly. I'd love to say I was shocked, but this has become an every-five-minutes production. It is tiring to say the least, and generally kind of embarrassing. The real rub, however, is that this wasn't supposed to happen. Selah is so social, so friendly, so downright flirty--so why is she beating up little boys who are sharing her snack? I remember statements like "I'll give you something to cry about," and "DoYouWantMeToPullDownYourPantsAndSpankYouRightHere???" and I suddenly completely understand what drove our poor parents to make such silly and useless threats. And of course I was dumb enough to believe them. What scares me is that I know, just from looking into Selah's scarily shrewd little brown eyes, that she would turn to me in a couple of years and say "Yes," calling me on my bluff. Who, after all, in their right mind, would ACTUALLY pull down their child's pants and spank them in a restaurant? Don't answer that, because I certainly wouldn't, and that's all that matters.
I guess I don't know what else to say, except to apologize in advance if my child happens to advance on you at some point, rebuking you loudly and swinging.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
Living in a Celiac World
As many of you know, I am a celiac--or, as some prefer, I have celiac disease. I know this sounds like something fatal, or perhaps like I have some kind of mental illness that might cause me to spontaneously shriek obscenities at you (that's a different problem that I have), but it really is more of a lifestyle issue. When I was first diagnosed, it felt like a huge curse, but now that I have progressed to the acceptance phase, I see it as a way to help educate people and to be an activist--this is a very common problem, with scientists estimating that up to 1 percent of the population being afflicted.
For those who may not know, celiac disease is an auto-immune system problem. When a celiac eats wheat, rye, or barley, my body sees their gluten as being something to attack--and attacks itself in the process. Celiac disease may produce no symptoms at all, but commonly causes various stomach ailments, as well as side-effects such as depression, infertility, fatigue, weight loss (not the good kind), etc. It also produces skin problems in some celiacs, such as hives or eczema. Celiac disease damages one's small intestines, resulting basically in malnutrition (which is why all of those symptoms occur--one's body is not getting the nourishment that it needs). At this point, it can only be "fixed" by one method--diet. I must eat gluten-free, meaning...yes...I cannot eat girl scout cookies.
This brings me to the activist part. I have known for two years that being a celiac is responsible for my feeling cruddy for many years before that. When I was first diagnosed, I experienced a lot of grief, and also had a hard time finding things I could eat. Even in these past two years, I have seen changes--more people I know have heard of this ailment, Safeway has started carrying some gluten-free products, and I have had greater success finding professional chefs and waiters willing to help me eat in their restaurants. I have hope that someday, when I am a grown-up (still waiting), living gluten-free will be merely a slight inconvenience, not a nearly insurmountable obstacle. I have always been IMMENSELY grateful to those of my family and friends who have gone out of their way to make special things for me (I never expect people to learn a new way of cooking just because of my needs), and to waitstaff who accomodate me--on our anniversary, at GarWoods on Tahoe, our waitress brought me a plate of strawberries since I couldn't eat the bread. Only recently, however, I have decided to write disappointed letters to managers and owners of restaurants when their servers give me responses like "We don't really know," when I ask them if there is gluten in an entree. You don't KNOW? What kind of response is that? I can't eat gluten--it is not something that I just don't like to eat very much. If you just don't know, I cannot give you my service. I am okay with "We have done our best to find out, and yet we still feel uncertain," or "I don't know. I will go find someone who does." But simply "Um, probably not?" is unacceptable--but no one will know that if I do not tell them. Jeremy has been an amazing support and advocate as far as that is concerned, and will occasionally say things like "Would you go ask please?" or whatever, which is nice, becauses frankly I don't want to have to spoil my relaxing evenings out being militant. But if a restaurant leaves me no choice, I must have the strength to be an activist, and to assertively pursue my own enjoyment.
Anyway, if you would like to know more about celiac disease, here are a few links for you:
www.celiac.com
www.celiacchicks.com
www.csaceliacs.org
And kudos to those restaurants that either want to serve people or want to capitalize on celiacs' business--frankly, I don't care which it is! Outback Steak House, PF Chang's, Andina, Assiago, Cafe Flora, and The Corbett Fish House are all restaurants with gluten-free menus available on request. Imagine my glee when I don't have to play 20 questions with my server! I have also had amazing help, at least once, at Rockbottom Brewery, Red Robin (go figure), Fife, and GarWoods.
For those who may not know, celiac disease is an auto-immune system problem. When a celiac eats wheat, rye, or barley, my body sees their gluten as being something to attack--and attacks itself in the process. Celiac disease may produce no symptoms at all, but commonly causes various stomach ailments, as well as side-effects such as depression, infertility, fatigue, weight loss (not the good kind), etc. It also produces skin problems in some celiacs, such as hives or eczema. Celiac disease damages one's small intestines, resulting basically in malnutrition (which is why all of those symptoms occur--one's body is not getting the nourishment that it needs). At this point, it can only be "fixed" by one method--diet. I must eat gluten-free, meaning...yes...I cannot eat girl scout cookies.
This brings me to the activist part. I have known for two years that being a celiac is responsible for my feeling cruddy for many years before that. When I was first diagnosed, I experienced a lot of grief, and also had a hard time finding things I could eat. Even in these past two years, I have seen changes--more people I know have heard of this ailment, Safeway has started carrying some gluten-free products, and I have had greater success finding professional chefs and waiters willing to help me eat in their restaurants. I have hope that someday, when I am a grown-up (still waiting), living gluten-free will be merely a slight inconvenience, not a nearly insurmountable obstacle. I have always been IMMENSELY grateful to those of my family and friends who have gone out of their way to make special things for me (I never expect people to learn a new way of cooking just because of my needs), and to waitstaff who accomodate me--on our anniversary, at GarWoods on Tahoe, our waitress brought me a plate of strawberries since I couldn't eat the bread. Only recently, however, I have decided to write disappointed letters to managers and owners of restaurants when their servers give me responses like "We don't really know," when I ask them if there is gluten in an entree. You don't KNOW? What kind of response is that? I can't eat gluten--it is not something that I just don't like to eat very much. If you just don't know, I cannot give you my service. I am okay with "We have done our best to find out, and yet we still feel uncertain," or "I don't know. I will go find someone who does." But simply "Um, probably not?" is unacceptable--but no one will know that if I do not tell them. Jeremy has been an amazing support and advocate as far as that is concerned, and will occasionally say things like "Would you go ask please?" or whatever, which is nice, becauses frankly I don't want to have to spoil my relaxing evenings out being militant. But if a restaurant leaves me no choice, I must have the strength to be an activist, and to assertively pursue my own enjoyment.
Anyway, if you would like to know more about celiac disease, here are a few links for you:
www.celiac.com
www.celiacchicks.com
www.csaceliacs.org
And kudos to those restaurants that either want to serve people or want to capitalize on celiacs' business--frankly, I don't care which it is! Outback Steak House, PF Chang's, Andina, Assiago, Cafe Flora, and The Corbett Fish House are all restaurants with gluten-free menus available on request. Imagine my glee when I don't have to play 20 questions with my server! I have also had amazing help, at least once, at Rockbottom Brewery, Red Robin (go figure), Fife, and GarWoods.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Imperfection at its Finest
I would just like to take this moment to say that I do not plan to edit this blog until it reads like Webster's Dictionary. It's a blog, for crying out loud, so lay off now, Julia, Beth, and anyone else dying to find errors. :) There, that's my disclaimer. I mean, their, thats my disclamer.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Blogging is for exhibitionists
Okay, so hopefully I got your attention with the title. I figure I have to set myself apart somehow; everyone I know seems to have a blog these days. It's true though, I guess. Why else write about myself where other people can see my thoughts?
I thought I would make a blog for lots of reasons. Since you're here, you have to listen to what they are.
First of all, I like reading the blogs of those close to me (or sometimes those of people only medium-close to me). It tells me things they might not tell me themselves.
Second, I need to get back in the habit of writing.
Third, I have become possessed by a fear that I might let my life pass me by without remembering to notice or remember it. My baby girl already isn't a baby anymore. She can say "It's a slide," "It's a ball," and "It's a flower." I do believe that she thinks there is a word pronounced "itsha," which one attaches to the start of each sentence, while pointing wildly at the object of discussion. But I digress.
I think my fourth reason is somewhat related to my title. I am not an exhibitionist; I have, however, always been overwhelmed with a fear that I don't actually exist. While Jeremy would rather key his own car than put a sticker on it, I am tempted to have a "sticker of the day" section, where I express my views and show off tacky, girly art. I talk too much. I write my name on everything. Fearful? Perhaps. Possessive? Certainly. Maniacal? Most certainly.
So anyway, if you want into this maniacal, exhibitionist, possessive, and sometimes boring world of mine, read on and weep.
I thought I would make a blog for lots of reasons. Since you're here, you have to listen to what they are.
First of all, I like reading the blogs of those close to me (or sometimes those of people only medium-close to me). It tells me things they might not tell me themselves.
Second, I need to get back in the habit of writing.
Third, I have become possessed by a fear that I might let my life pass me by without remembering to notice or remember it. My baby girl already isn't a baby anymore. She can say "It's a slide," "It's a ball," and "It's a flower." I do believe that she thinks there is a word pronounced "itsha," which one attaches to the start of each sentence, while pointing wildly at the object of discussion. But I digress.
I think my fourth reason is somewhat related to my title. I am not an exhibitionist; I have, however, always been overwhelmed with a fear that I don't actually exist. While Jeremy would rather key his own car than put a sticker on it, I am tempted to have a "sticker of the day" section, where I express my views and show off tacky, girly art. I talk too much. I write my name on everything. Fearful? Perhaps. Possessive? Certainly. Maniacal? Most certainly.
So anyway, if you want into this maniacal, exhibitionist, possessive, and sometimes boring world of mine, read on and weep.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
