The Meat Eating Vegan Part IV

For those of you that have been reading this blog for a long time, you are aware of my son Will's food allergies. They first appeared to us when he was 4-months old at which time we were told to never expose him to the allergens -- cow's milk, eggs, peanuts, tree-nuts, bananas and strawberries. An Epi-Pen, which we have never had to use, was prescribed even though the worst reaction we had seen was eczema. Still, Will carries the Epi with him in his backpack almost everywhere he goes—who knows if or what a reaction would be now... Annoying, like a skin rash.. Or scary and life-threatening with anaphylactic shock. Inevitably I fell into a pit of fear that -- for the past five years, has not only made me rather manic about everything Will does but has also led to an obsessive education in regards to food. I have to catch myself when talking about this situation and the state of what we eat and are doing to our food-supply... Here in the world-leading nation... GMOs or GEs -- Genetically modified anythings that, after years of research, I entirely blame Will's allergies on. I sound crazy, even though professionals are also saying it... Lord knows what my eyes look like as my blood pressure ignites. I can just hear the thoughts of the other parents -- Here she comes, that anti-nut activist and her non-egg, tupperware full of non-milk-fat chocolate chip cookies. WATCH OUT and don't even MENTION SHELF-LIFE!!!! As they run for cover....

Managing all of this has not been fun, as you can imagine. Cheese is a problem. As are cows and chickens. Will's sister, it seems, is not allergic to any foods at this point, and loves to eat just about anything you offer. (I became allergic to shellfish at 25.. as did my 30-something sister... although she might just be copying me. GET YOUR OWN ISSUES!) Even still, however, I am cautious -- reading the PLU codes on all veggies and fruit to make sure that, if not actually organic, at the very least conventionally grown. Corn syrup too, as you know is the devil. Totally modified. But you see what I mean. TOO MUCH INFO, thanks Ryan. We hear you -- which is why we are looking at our feet and backing away. By the way, and I am yelling at you now... If the number 8 is at the beginning of the PLU code it's been GENEROUSLY MODIFIED. If you eat it you might grow an ear on your shoulder and arms out of your cheek-bones. Food allergies and, AHEM, cancer are only the beginning. Thanks to the Monosato Company and the other human haters of the world. Webbed feet are no joke. And neither are tails on people.

But I know. He will grow out of it, hopefully. And it is only food we are talking about here. He's already lower on most of the allergens than in years past and has out-grown the bananas and strawberries. The others, however... The hard ones remain and we aren't "there-yet" on the scale of food challenges. In the beginning, out of efforts to remain normal...if there is such a thing in these circumstances, I started making food for Will. Baking. Cooking. Freezing. You name it. I started a website, Will's Kitchen, if you remember which we had a great time with... we made up and converted recipes... took pictures.. internetted... I made him a part of tasting and making all of the things that he could eat -- and he was trying most things. Honestly, he loved it. I gained 5-7 pounds. And then things changed. Was it the arrival of his baby sister? Was it the constant fear lingering above my eye-brows when I dropped him off at school? Was it my overbearing enthusiasm to get him to try new things (probably)? Who knows. But this very intelligent little boy decided to stop trying any and all new foods that I put in front of him. He even cut several things out of his diet that I thought he liked. Suddenly, he only wanted the same thing with very minor alternatives. I lost way more than 5-7 pounds. And this is where we have been since months before our last posting on Will's Kitchen—August 27th 2012.

(As lights go down on Will's Kitchen)

I've decided, however, to keep trying (cue the curtains and that guy with the microphone). Now that Will's sister is a little older and also seems to be interested in making things to eat it can be a family thing. Who knows what is up with Will -- is it food textures? Is it a real issue like Neophobia (I don't think so) or is he just stubborn and picky? His nutrition is something that can't be messed with, but thankfully all of the things he does eat are beyond healthy making him par to the healthiest child alive. But in looking at website stats the other day for Will's Kitchen, I noticed that people are reading it. People that might be in the same position as we are... People that we might be helping with our past food experiments or that might be gleaming with advice. So why stop? Maybe if I clang around in the kitchen for a while he'll want to join in and all of this "No" "Gross" "THAT IS DISGUSTING" can come to an end. In all honesty, as much as we hate the allergies, we are beyond used to them... Like the creepy guy that used to live next door.... that was standing there looking back at you every time I opened the blinds. (((shiver))). All we have to do is AVOID until we are told otherwise. We just want him to try. Just a little bit. Oh, but this time, as I move the treadmill into the kitchen for optimal multi-tasking, no way am I gaining any weight.

See You Nevah.

Spring always makes me happy. And while I know that the world is in it's usual upheaval of bullshit, when Springtime comes I tend to look the other way. I go outside and spend time with my family and I don't worry about the losers that hacked into my email account or the unbelievable amount of work that I have put upon myself. Instead I procrastinate. I love to procrastinate... and it's something that never usually happens when its nasty outside. Like today, for instance. I have a list longer than my incredibly attractive legs (if I do say so myself) of things that I have to do. I have a babysitter lined up so that my kids won't be completely ignored and my dog is lounging under the tree outside... loving the weather and all I want to do is call and cancel, not work. Play. Play. Play. I already did the dishes. I already did the laundry. The sky is blue, and while I suppose I will have to feed people at some point, there are hours upon hours ahead of me that I can COMPLETELY WASTE. And WHY NOT? Because HE can sit tight on his branding, right? She can live another day without business cards... They can just CALM DOWN about their wedding invitations and WHEW -- I can give myself a break on the enormous response to The Big Idea and all of the exciting STUFF that it is generating. RIGHT!??! RIGHT?!?! I can just GO outside, right now... Hope that I didn't send the boy to school without clothes on (again). There's a bistro set in the play-yard with my name written ALL OVER IT. Check me by THE BUBBLE MACHINE. AND -- The internet connection sucks balls out there.... BONUS. So why am I still here thinking about going out there... I'm NOT - I'm coming up with a bullshit title for this weird little conversation that I'm having with myself and I'm GOING. SO STICK IT.

Oddly, Reese Witherspoon brightens the day...

okay. OKAY. I get it, life. YOU AREN'T FAIR. If you were standing next to me screaming in my ear with Dorito breath and overly oily skin... I'd prefer it. Dragging nails down chalkboards, screeching forks on plates. Even the chilling (and albeit) disturbing feeling that I get when I ask the esthetician to attempt to file my nails -- only to end up yanking my hands away, curling up in a ball of pain and fear as if she just attempted to poke my eyes out. Especially the Taco Cheese Doritos. That. I would prefer that to any more fury.

But then, stepping back and looking at life from a totally narcissistic point of view (because this is all about me) the really important things come to light. Like hanging out with my kids and appreciating every moment of their awesomeness. Or, going to a ladies luncheon for the private school in my not-so-distant future, where the ladies that lunch booze it up like they are preparing to ship out in a few hours to haul in the next big catch. Or when celebrities like Reese Witherspoon, who like to think they can act, pull out the arrogance card and wave it around for all to see -- asking the state-trooper if he knew who she was as her husband is being arrested for driving drunk.Way to keep it on the down-low, Reese. We all know you want to compete, but the limelight is totally glaring elsewhere although we appreciate your efforts. Life, apparently, keeps going.

I think the next time I'm in such a pickle I might ask the same thing. While I tend to enjoy the ritual of self-importance, I am thoroughly amused by this urge to think one is bigger than life -- larger than national crises and, above all, tragedies that spill fear into daily life. HOWEVER, while reading between the tears of laughter, I am halted by confusion. Not only was her husband unable to maintain lane control while driving... but he was also driving a FORD FOCUS -- which she was RIDING IN. Rental or not, People. I implore. What is the real tragedy here? Indeed.

Wicked Unimportant.

Wicked. There, I said it.

Years ago, while living among the New Englanders, I swore that I wouldn't allow 'wicked', slang when referring to... well just about anything, but mostly a replacement for 'very'... to become a staple in my vocabulary. There really wasn't a reason for this. It's not that I don't like to use the word 'wicked'. It isn't that I frown upon other people using it.... I just simply decided in my whacked out head that 'wicked' wasn't for me. And, it hasn't been easy.... living this life of restraint. It didn't help that I married into a family that drops the word every other sentence, as do our best friends. Or, that I hear it in my own head when I'm talking to myself... inside. OR that I love Boston and Western Massachusetts accents almost as much as sleeping late or cuddling up with a giant bottle of housewife chardonnay. Or both. Wicked hot. Wicked dirty. Wicked smart. Wicked cold. Wicked icy. Wicked cool. Wicked fast. WICKED AWESOME. WICKED WEIRD.

In my travels, and having since placed myself on the eastern end of a sandbar, one would think that seclusion would have made things easier. AND I almost thought it possible to escape the melodrama that I created for myself by avoiding 'wicked'.. But then my son crushed all hopes and dreams of freedom by adopting the word and littering it throughout his expansive repertoire. The first time I heard it I whipped my head around so fast that I developed a wicked crick in my neck. "Mom. This floor is wicked slippery".  WHAT?!?! "Mom. Turn the volume up, it's wicked low." NO!!?!? "Mom. Jo smells wicked bad." WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!?!? When he says it, I literally have visions from the movie Something Wicked This Way Comes -- where an evil circus arrives in town and the villagers are played with like sock puppets. That is until Jason Robards gets wind of the wickedness and is all get over yourself Ray Bradbury.

And now everything is just wicked out of control. I suppose there isn't a way to escape, even after years of avoidance. If only I could find a way to embrace the word. Welcome it into my life and finally give up this obsession of never using it. Wicked annoying. There are just so many options of use, IT'S JUST SO WICKED. But it was never me. I wasn't from the deep of New England and so I set these massive rules for myself that barred the word... therefore avoiding the horrible tell-tales of being an outsider among the boys club. But now it's here. In my living room. Pointing at me and laughing as if I only knew one Pink Floyd song which I sang over and over again, claiming rights over the music group of which I know nothing about, until it became PROOF of what a poser one can be. Following the crowd to the inevitably wicked truth and making me realize how incredibly ridiculous I have been behaving.