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Nuts About My Son’s Allergies

February 16, 2012 By 7 Comments

The peanut hung over my son J’s lip while chocolate drool poured down his chin.

“Mom, I did something…I accidentally ate something with a peanut in it.”

Speechless, I couldn’t remember what to do.  I barely knew how to use the EpiPen in my purse, and I didn’t want to jump the gun and shoot him up with the pen before I tried Benadryl first.  Unfortunately, I’m not the type of mom who carries tissues and snacks, so I’m lucky I even had the pen with me.  Sometimes, I even forget to carry money.  I made a mental note to put some Benadryl in the car.

We were at a birthday party and goodie bags were distributed.  At each party and Halloween, I repeat the same instructions ad nauseam: Don’t open the bag or unwrap any toys or candy until we go home.  I don’t like sticky hands and party trinkets scattered everywhere.  Also, I worry that J will inadvertently eat a nut-filled candy.

When he informed me about his mistake, I dropped everything, rushed to the bathroom and made him rinse his mouth out.  Then I raced through goodbyes.  Once home, I gave him Benadryl and waited for the reaction that thankfully never arrived.

A week before J turned 2, he tried peanut butter and broke out into mild hives.  When the pediatrician examined him during his annual check-up, he suggested we try it again next year.  We chickened out.  Although I was somewhat concerned, we ate at places like Chik-Fil-A and Five Guys where they use peanut oil, and he never experienced an allergic reaction, so it couldn’t be too serious.  After confirming his allergy later on, the doctor explained that the peanut protein, not the oil, usually causes the allergies to act up. [Read more...]

Filed Under: "Un"Culture, Awareness, Family, Food, M. B. Sanok

Too Cool For You

February 15, 2012 By 2 Comments

“Don’t kiss me in front of my friends.”
“I can walk from here by myself.”
“Do you have to stay during the party?”

No, my son is not a teenager. He’s only eight-years-old. Yet these are the sentiments I hear from him every day. The thing is, it started early, somewhere around the end of the first grade. And I just wasn’t prepared for it. The first time I heard each of these statements, it was like a little piece of my heart was chopped off and stomped on.

His new attitude really bothered me until we attended a party at a friend’s house. Everyone was listening to music, singing along and dancing. My friend had just started to sway to the beat of the music when I heard her eleven-year-old daughter say, “Mom. No. Just…don’t.” My friend look at me and smiled and then kept on dancing. And that’s when I realized it happens to us all. Suddenly we parents go from being the sun that our children orbit around to the black hole that they’d like us to descend into. We become embarrassing.

I was willing to cope with his newfound desire for independence. But, was I so uncool, so embarrassing that we could no longer be seen in public together? Apparently, the answer was yes. However, if he was going to be embarrassed of me, then, at the very least, I was going to get some enjoyment out of the whole thing by toying with his fragile psyche. As they say, “Payback is a bitch and so is your mother.” (At least, they say this in my case.)

“Wait until you see my dress for the dance!” I told him excitedly not too long after my realization. “What?” was his confused reply. “My dress. For your winter dance? The one I’m chaperoning? It looks SO good. I can’t wait to dance with you! And your friends…I’m going to ask them ALL to dance! It’s going to be SO FUN!” The look of terror on his face was pure magic. Score one for Mommy.

“God, Mom! Be quiet! Don’t sing!” This is my favorite act of revenge. Singing in public. I’m not sure where or when it started, but the results are always the same. He’s mortified. It’s not that I can’t sing. I’m no Beyoncé, but I can hold a tune. However, the mere thought of his mother bellowing, “We could have had it alllll….Rolling in the dee-eep” is humiliation enough. In fact, it’s become one of my favorite forms of discipline. “If you don’t stop doing that I’m going to sing…LOUD.” [Read more...]

Filed Under: Christina Surretsky, Family, Uncategorized

I Have a Confession…I’m Not a Player

February 14, 2012 By 8 Comments

There was once a time when I would have considered myself a player. When my sons were infants I used to sit on the floor with them and play blocks or whatever other little baby toys they were interested in. When B was two we used to take all of his Little People sets and make an elaborate town on our family room floor. Actually, that should have been my first clue: I was great at building it (we had a zoo, police and fire stations, marina, food store, restaurant and streets), but I didn’t actually PLAY with it.

It is not that I do not like the toys my boys play with. They are into some really fun things B has become quite the space buff and N is obsessed with trains (really, the kid knows which train is the Shinkansen). I can sit with B and watch him put together one of his LEGO sets and I have fun building train tracks for N. I just do not want to fly B’s LEGO plane once it is built or sit on the floor and push trains around with N.

My husband is a natural player. He will sit inside the blow up fort that B has turned into the lunar module. He helps collect moon rocks and eats space food. He pushes the passenger train and makes all the announced stops while N manages the freight operations. [Read more...]

Filed Under: elizabethsboys, Family Tagged With: , , ,

Maybe…

February 13, 2012 By 8 Comments

Maybe she is a terrible mother.  Maybe that woman you see in the supermarket allowing her little brat to kick and scream and throw a temper tantrum is just clueless.  Maybe that kid is spoiled rotten and just needs a little discipline.  Maybe that mother should be court-ordered to sit down and watch Dr. Phil to pick up some parenting strategies.  Maybe she is out of her mind for relenting and giving that little tyrant the lollipop he is screaming for.  And what kind of parent lets their 7 year-old suck his thumb, anyway?  Or maybe… just maybe… there is more to the story.

Maybe that mom, with her hair all mussed and her food-stained sweats, is just like you.  Maybe she had dreams and visions of her child enjoying play dates, sitting down with her “mommy friends” enjoying a cup of tea while the kids played nicely in the next room.

Maybe that mom has seen all of the Dr. Phil parenting episodes and would give her left arm to be able to reason with her child and implement those positive parenting strategies she has read in the magazines.

Maybe her child has Autism. 

The blessing and curse of ASD individuals is they physically look no different than neurotypical people.  Those of us who are around it constantly can pick up subtle signs and are able to identify it rather easily.  But to the average person, they look just like everyone else.  Unfortunately, this fact breeds misunderstanding and, too often, judgment.

Autism parents still have to get the grocery shopping done.  We still have to pick up the dry cleaning.  We still have to go to the bank.  All the while we are deeply committed to teaching our kids the life skills they need to live as close to a “normal” life as possible.  Lessons in manners can only go so far in our home.  The experts tell us that we need to teach these lessons in the real world in order for our kids to generalize what we are teaching them.  Sometimes, to be blunt, those lessons go down the crapper.  Sometimes we have to cut our losses and give in to the restaurant tantrum and let them order ice cream for dinner just to survive the meal, pretend we are a regular family, and not have to leave before the appetizer arrives.

In this, my first post, I humbly make one simple request:  Maybe, instead of judging, ask that mom if she needs a hand carrying her groceries.  Maybe just offer a simple gesture of understanding… a smile… a sign that the whole world is not against her.  Maybe say nothing and just go about your day and offer a silent prayer for God to grant her the strength and inner peace to survive hers.

-For my wife.  I love you.

Jerry is a Jersey Dad and also blogs at BaconandJuiceBoxes.blogspot.com.  You can also follow him on Twitter @JTurning   and on Facebook/pages/Bacon-and-Juice-Boxes.

This is an original post for JerseyMomsBlog.

Filed Under: Awareness, Education, Family, JerseyMomsBlog, Special Needs Tagged With: , ,

Featured Partner: The Community YMCA

February 12, 2012 By Leave a Comment

At the Y, strengthening community is our cause. Every day, we work side by side with our neighbors to ensure that everyone, regardless of age, income or background, has the opportunity to learn, grow and thrive. We’re proud to serve over 20,000 people in Monmouth County with programs that nurture the potential of children and teens, help individuals live healthier, and foster a sense of social responsibility.

The Y is here for families! We provide safe, trusted, and high quality programs such as:  academic preschool, before and after school enrichment, health and wellness, swim and safety courses, teen leadership and character development, personal and family counseling, summer day camp, vacation and school break camps, arts enrichment and more.  

Here’s just a sampling of our programs:

The Y never turns away anyone who needs us and all are welcome.   Financial assistance is available.  For more information, please call 732.671.5505 or visit TheCommunityYMCA.org.

Connect with us on Facebook.  Follow us on Twitter.

Filed Under: Awareness, Family, Feature, Mind-Body-Spirit, NJ Fun, Sports Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

Worth Fighting For

February 10, 2012 By 1 Comment

My mom says I’d argue with Jesus himself.

My husband B claims I like to fight, especially with him.  Well, wouldn’t you want to fight a man whose opening line was, “So, you make the coffee in the office?”  Amazingly, the line intrigued me as I curled up my lip and snapped, “No…!”  And he looked kind of cute…

My son J instructs me that I need to ignore whomever it is that has crept under my skin.  Meanwhile, we’ve had to remind him more than once not to retaliate when in school or against a smaller, more vulnerable opponent.  Backing down when in a precarious situation or when he’s defending himself does not come naturally.  Maybe that’s why he likes wrestling and football.

My daughter E appears meek and innocent with her Precious Moments-like blue eyes, but she’ll sass you right back with a sizzle.  I can hardly wait until she hits puberty – autism or not, I can already sense the fights and hormonal rushes of being right.  Top that with my own PMS-fueled blitzes, and you have a mother-daughter nuclear war on your hands.

My sister L and I have a love-hate relationship which has since mellowed due to us living in separate quarters with our own families.  Being each other’s sole siblings with a mere 2-year difference, we spent a lot of time together.  One minute, we’re best friends forever, trying on fancy gowns at the mall for fun; the next, it’s classic sibling rivalry with hair-pulling and snarky comments about each other.  One time I threw a book at her and her nose bled which led her to slam my thumb in her bedroom door.  Another time, while watching the joyful, pleasant musical The Sound of Music on Thanksgiving Eve, she purposely elbowed me in the eye, and I wore black-and-blue that holiday.

Also, there was the time when L and I went to the town hall to rent a wheelchair for an elderly aunt.  Our Aunt F was spending Christmas with us and was having trouble getting around, so my mom assigned us the task of picking up a rental wheelchair.  We were bickering beforehand, possibly me as the instigator but reached a temporary détente while driving.

Upon arrival the clerk showed us the chairs and told us we could test drive them.  We chose a pretty, light blue one and wheeled it outside in the frigid December air.

“Get in,” L urged, “and we’ll test it out.”  I warily looked at her, my suspicions clouding above my head.  Her blank expression betrayed no anger or deception, but I knew my erstwhile enemy better than that.

L began to push the chair while I tried to enjoy the free ride.  What had she really planned to do? I looked toward the steep hill and thanked God the property was at the base of it.

Slowly, she gently pushed me and then suddenly picked up speed and started running.  Racing around the parking lot, I realized she still was angry and crazily riding me around in the chair was her revenge.  Did I ever mention that my mom forced me to accompany my thrill-seeking sister on amusement park rides because she didn’t like them?  And I not only used to be scared of rides, but I sometimes get physically sick on them, too?

Halfway into the death drive, the chair collapsed enough to make me fall to the ground with a clumsy thud.  Laughing hysterically, she fell, too, her breath coming out in short puffs.  I couldn’t stay mad, either, and experienced an achingly good belly laugh.  Luckily, the chair didn’t suffer too much harm although now you really couldn’t sit in it.

We wheeled it back inside while the clerk’s eyes narrowed, seeing the broken chair, and doubtfully asked if we would take it.  Maybe she had spied on our racing and pratfalls? We declined the chair and requested a sturdier-looking one without test driving it.  As we wheeled the second chair out the door, she watched us carefully and suspiciously, probably hoping we wouldn’t return.

From our fighting, came comedy, and we rekindled our friendship/sisterhood, saving our elderly aunt from breaking another hip by using the faulty chair.  It was worth fighting for…

 

This is an original post for Jersey Moms Blog.

 

 

Filed Under: "Un"Culture, Family, Humor, M. B. Sanok

The Stories In Our Stuff

February 8, 2012 By Leave a Comment

My favorite George Carlin monologue is the one about “Stuff” and how we collect and move our stuff (see the clip on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MvgN5gCuLac).  The piece is funny, of course, because it’s true. Quick -  think where your purse or wallet is.  I’m sure you know exactly where your important stuff is.

I’ve been thinking about “stuff” a lot because my brother, uncle, and I have been cleaning out my aunt’s apartment as she begins her life in a nursing home.  At first, we felt funny touching her belongings, as if we were burglars.  The reality, however, is that this amazingly gentle woman  is battling Altzheimer’s Disease and needs to live where people can take care of her.  As family, we realized that we didn’t want strangers (landlords, superintendents, and, perhaps thieves) touching her things.  We needed to do it, respectfully, gently, and with the knowledge that she may need some of her possessions.  So we began the task of sorting through her lifetime of “stuff.”

Like most people, my aunt and late uncle amassed a lot of junk (as Carlin pointed out, MY stuff is stuff while your stuff is junk because my stuff is MINE).  But what we found in the apartment, objectively speaking, was largely castoffs:   quantities of silly things like plastic bags, marbles, screws, mailing labels, and souvenirs from a myriad of vacations.  We discovered remnants of their employment.  He was an engineer who fixed book binding machines; he left blank books and machine parts in his closet.  She was a hair dresser who had an impressive assortment of hair pins, curlers, and, creepily enough, Styrofoam heads. In their more mobile days, the couple travelled to flea markets in Englishtown, New Jersey where, for entertainment, they purchased whatever inexpensive trinkets caught their eye.

But it’s the remnants of their past, fragments of a history I didn’t know about, that touched me.  We had no idea that my aunt had been married before – an old marriage license buried under her lingerie told that story.  We discovered pictures of her mother and handcrafted chachkas that displayed her pride in her Swedish heritage.  We found papers that showed my uncle’s promotion in the Army from a job that paid $1.80 per hour to $2.10 per hour.  My aunt had been a lover of needlepoint and lace-making as evidenced by the unfinished pieces we found in her closet.  And for some reason, my uncle kept snapshots of my grandfather who had followed a new wife back to Naples.  The photos show my grandfather, in his coffin, in a church in Italy.  I would have known the family jawline anywhere.

And I found portions of their lives that I did know about, tokens of my past that intertwined with theirs.   The many volumes of cookbooks reminded me of a woman who regularly served guests a six-course home cooked meal.  The books about holistic remedies spoke of a woman who credited a daily teaspoon of cayenne pepper as the reason for her longevity (she lived alone in New York City until recently).  The many silk blouses and cardigans showed a woman who was classically fashionable even if her only destination was the grocery store.

Much of her stuff is now in storage.  A wooden turtle that once sat on her coffee table has found new life  with my children who have embraced it as a “pet.”  I look at the turtle, dubbed Allie (for my uncle’s name, Al, and my aunt’s name, Winnie).  It was taken for granted at my aunt’s apartment as a dust collector; in my house it is cherished as a link to the past.   I bring small pieces of my aunt’s former life with me when I visit her, hoping it jogs a memory or brings her some pleasure.  What my family feels is important is safe now.

And I have to wonder – someday when my children are sorting through the material remnants of my life, what will they think? What will they remember?  What will my stuff tell about the person I was, the woman I am, the individual I will be tomorrow?

 

This is an original post for Jersey Moms Blog.

 

 

 

Filed Under: Family, MomsCrayon Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

Sick in the Head

February 7, 2012 By 2 Comments

“Mom, I think I have a virus.”

Nothing makes me shudder like the sound of my eight-year-old professing that he is ill or injured in some way, shape or form. And it’s not because I’m afraid that he’s sick. It’s because I’m afraid that he’s not sick. My son is a hypochondriac.

He wasn’t always like this. He used to be a regular boy, professing only to be sick when he truly was ill or just wanted to play hooky. But not anymore. For some reason, over the last few months, he’s had an array of complaints, including but not limited to a sprained ankle, blurry vision and a toothache. All of which required doctor visits. All which resulted in nothing being wrong.

Normally I would be thrilled that my child wasn’t sick. And I am. It’s not that I want him to be sick, but I’m at the point where I’m left wondering why he always thinks he is. It may be to get out of school, but he’s come to learn by now that I’m a hard ass that only allows sick days for actually being sick. I’ve been known to greet calls from the school nurse with a skeptical “Exactly how sick is he? Is there vomit on the floor?” So he rarely, if ever, gets a day off as a result of real sicknesses, never mind the phantom ones.

So what is it that is causing these hysterical illnesses? [Read more...]

Filed Under: Christina Surretsky, Family

Chew on This: School Food and Parent Responsibility

February 6, 2012 By 2 Comments

I invite you to put on your pointy policy wonk hat and take a look at NJ school food policy with me (or go Evelyn Wood and skim), then think about what’s going on in your own district and why.

The NJ School Nutrition/Wellness Policy, which sets the minimum standards for school food throughout the state, cites federal standards governing reimbursable meals and snacks (as defined by the U.S. Department of Agriculture Child Nutrition Program) and articulates its own rules regarding other food made available during the school day.

Specifically, items that can’t be served, sold, or given away anywhere on NJ school property during the school day include:

1) foods of minimal nutritional value, which are defined by the USDA as soda, ices without fruit or fruit juices, gum, hard candy, jelly candy, marshmallows, fondant (e.g., candy corn), licorice, spun candy, candy-coated popcorn;

2) all foods and beverages listing sugar, in any form, as the first ingredient; and

3) all forms of candy.

Items containing trans fats are discouraged and must be “reduced.”

Additionally, snacks and beverages that are sold or served on NJ school property during the school day can’t contain more than 8 grams of total fat (with the exception of nuts & seeds) and 2 grams of saturated fat per serving. At the elementary level, beverages can only be water, milk, or 100% fruit or vegetable juices and can’t exceed 12 ounces (except water and low-fat milk). In middle and high school, at least 60% of all beverages offered, other than milk and water, must be 100% fruit or vegetable juices, and no more than 40% of all ice cream/frozen desserts can exceed the standards for sugar, fat, and saturated fat.

In principle, federal and state nutrition policies aim to address the alarming trends in childhood overweight and obesity and their impacts on health caused by poor nutrition and a lack of physical activity. During the last 10 years, obesity rates have doubled for children and tripled for teenagers. More than a quarter of U.S. children are overweight. As a consequence, more than one in three white children born in 2000 will develop diabetes; black and Hispanic children have a one in two chance.

There has been good news on the federal front with the passage, in late January 2012, of stronger nutrition standards for school meals (see food advocate Marion Nestle’s excellent overview on her blog Food Politics). These standards seek to enact some of the principles set forth in the Healthy, Hunger-Free Kids Act of 2010, including more fruits and vegetables, a greater variety of vegetables, more whole grains, and low-fat or skim milk with meals.

In practice, on the ground in our schools, my sense is that the reality is much more a work-in-progress. While school districts in NJ can adopt the NJ state policy as is or decide to strengthen its requirements further in their own district wellness policies, implementation and enforcement probably vary considerably. My theory is that the interest and commitment of parents are among the critical success factors.

A few years back, a heated discussion ensued at a PTO meeting when the topic came up of serving soda (as we had traditionally done) at our elementary school’s annual Field Day. A few parents felt that soda wasn’t appropriate for a school-day physical fitness event. Many others felt that soda was an acceptable treat for a special occasion. The fate of soda was decided when a parent (not me, I swear!) called our Superintendent to ask that the district nutrition policy be enforced. Food and beverages served during special school celebrations and curriculum-related activities are exempt from the state nutrition policy except foods of minimal nutritional value. Soda tops that list.

A friend and I did an informal survey on the blacktop after school and learned that most parents we asked either a) didn’t care one way or the other, in some cases because their own children didn’t drink soda; or b) thought soda was perfectly fine. Although this was a few years ago, I’m not sure the thinking has shifted much.

If it weren’t policy, my unpopular-around-here position would still be that unhealthy foods don’t belong in school. Why not? What’s the big deal, especially for special events and occasions?

First of all, special events and occasions happen with dependable regularity, and treats are served at almost all of them. From birthday parties to holidays to PTO events, cookies, cupcakes, and goody bags of candy are standard fare. When treats become so frequent, can they still be considered treats? How often do we want our kids to have these kinds of foods? [Read more...]

Filed Under: Family, Food, Tara Spinelli Tagged With: , ,

Atomic Mom

February 1, 2012 By 5 Comments

“You’re the meanest mom in the world!” my five year old yells at me.
“Yeah, well, GOOD, because I strive to do my BEST at everything I do!” I yell back.

Here we go again. Another day of me yelling. It doesn’t start out that way. I actually start the day off like Mary Poppins, trying to wake my kids with hugs and kisses, gentle shakes and even music (yes, I play their favorite music!). But after five, ten, fifteen minutes of niceness, I start to get annoyed. I go from a melodic call of “Come on Loves! Rise and shine,” to an annoying nag of “Come on! Get UP,” gradually working my way up to explosive threats like “If you don’t move NOW you’re not going to watch TV for the NEXT FIVE YEARS!” The trip from Mary Poppins to Joan Crawford is only about a thirty-minute descent.

I wish I were one of those super-calm moms that never yell. But I’m not. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I don’t start off yelling, but I always end up there since it appears that my children don’t seem to hear me when I speak in a normal voice. Or, they choose not to listen. Regardless of which it is, they don’t pay attention until “Atomic Mom” makes an appearance. “Atomic Mom” is what I call my alter ego. It’s me, enhanced by what one would think is a combination of steroids, road rage and deep-seated anger management issues.

Atomic Mom is pretty effective when she yells. But she does more than that. When faced with unacceptable behavior that goes unrealized by the abuser after Regular Mom points it out (again and again), Atomic Mom comes in to inflict the commando punishment that Regular Mom is too nice for. Regular Mom does the time outs and maybe takes away the TV or DS for a short period of time. Atomic Mom comes in like a bomb designed to destroy whole realms of fun – canceled play dates; repossessed electronics; an end to whatever favorite activity is lined up in the near future. She’s like the Terminator of discipline, only scarier. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Christina Surretsky, Family
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