Bravery · Food Allergy Family · Peanut Allergy · Wrestling with Reality

“The Talk” and how I broke the news to Mia about what living with a peanut allergy really means

Dear Joey,

Mia came home from school full of stories yesterday, as always. Yesterday’s tale was enough to make my stomach lurch, my mind spin, and my silent prayer of “ThankyouJesusthankyoujesusthankyoujesus” audible to all the host of heaven.

“Mommy, guess what? Today at school some kids told me to eat a muffin they promised didn’t have any peanuts in it. I told them no, but then they kept saying eat it, eat it! It doesn’t have peanuts! So you know what? I ate it. And it didn’t have any peanuts in it.”

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I’m pretty sure I looked horrified as she told me this story, because her excited smile turned timid in a flash, and she sheepishly nuzzled up to me as I thanked her for telling me the truth, told her I was happy the muffin didn’t have any peanuts, and admitted I was disappointed she broke the rule. I stroked her hair and reminded her that until she’s a little bit older and responsible enough to read and understand food labels, she may not accept food from anyone else at school.

And then, we had the talk: the one in which I tell her that other peanut allergy kids have died because they have mistakenly eaten peanuts they didn’t know were in a treat. I’m not sure we’ve really had that talk before.

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The language we use around here consists of things like Peanuts make you sick and Here’s your emergency medicine just in case, but you won’t need to use it because no one will have peanuts around you. Sure, she knows she gets hives, and she is aware in a cognitive sort of way that they could make her tummy ache, throw up, give her an itchy tongue or make it hard to breathe, but I can’t put my finger on a time we’ve told her they could actually make her stop breathing. For a preschooler who is only ever in an environment supervised by myself or teachers at a strict nut-free preschool, this was sufficient. We haven’t needed to tread farther down the road yet.

But she’s not in preschool anymore. She’s a Kindergartener who eats lunch in a cafeteria at a nut-free table around which peanut butter and jelly sandwiches surreptitiously swirl. She’s on her own out there, and until yesterday I trusted that she would fervently obey our rule to only eat the food I packed in her lunchbox. I was mistaken.

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Shaken by her story, the whole truth about why her allergy is so dangerous spilled out of me like a confession: peanuts might make her stop breathing, and could ultimately take her life away from her. I told her it has happened to other kids like her, kids who mistakenly ate snacks with peanuts hiding on the inside, which is why it’s so important for her to not take food from any other kids at school–no matter what.

Her eyes fell, and they looked steeled against this new difficult truth like dams struggling to hold against the pressure of the river behind it. She burrowed into my chest, and didn’t say a word.

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I don’t want her to be bogged down by fear, but what choice did I have? How long can she scamper into the schoolyard, wide eyed and trusting that all other kids will take her allergy seriously if she doesn’t know the whole truth herself? It’s the fear I live with every time I wave goodbye to her: that food from sources unknown will cross her lips and enter her body, setting off a series of events more terrifying than I really want to tell her. Sending her into a place where peanuts swirl around her, where she is relegated to the nut allergy table, where she feels marginalized and left out because of something that is completely, 100% not her fault breaks my heart. But she had to know, didn’t she?

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The truth is this: lots of kids have peanut allergies. Very few of them die from them. Those deaths are tragic and infuriating, and I pray our Mia continues to live a healthy, happy life without so much as an unexpected bout of hives causing her trouble. But I have to remind myself that kids can live lead a happy, normalish life even with a peanut allergy. I have to be courageous as I begin to relinquish responsibility for Mia’s well being, choosing hope as I ease the truth into her hands, even as I wish I could carry it for her forever.

We never stop praying that Jesus will heal her from this allergy. We know He can. We don’t know if He will this side of heaven, although Mia firmly believes He’s already healed her. I pray she’s right, and glory hallelujah the party we will throw to celebrate if it turns out she is–and it could be as early as this month (because another scratch test looms in the weeks ahead). But until then, we live in that in-between place, doing the best we can to protect her, train her, and empower her until the healing is done.

Love,

Scratch

 

Bravery · Comfort Food · Dinner · Growing and Changing

Home Is Where the Heart Is … and Classic Tuna Noodle Casserole

Above all else, guard your heart,
for everything you do flows from it.

Proverbs 4:23 (NIV)

Dear Joey,

After a couple weeks of onethingafterthenext busy, things slowed down a bit, and I feel like I’m sleeping better and catching my breath and able to be more in the moment instead of being so preoccupied with preparation: first for celebrating Addie’s birthday, and next for celebrating four of her friends’ birthdays, all within two short weeks. The clerks at Target probably have money riding on whether or not I’ll show up to grab that one last random thing I forgot (again) every single morning during the first two weeks of November. We literally  bounce our way through those first two weeks, fueled by all that sugar the neighbors so generously gave out to our children at the end of October, and then by cupcakes and pinatas and bounce houses and laughter. It’s fantastic. November is delightful madness, and even though it’s exhausting, it is fun.

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But it’s also a little…hard. Watching Addie navigate social gatherings is eye-opening for me because she watches from the shadows as the party swirls around her. As I watch her, it’s as if I’m seeing myself at her age because she is me–a blonde-haired, greenish blue eyed version of the very bashful little girl who I was. She doesn’t mean to be antisocial. She wants to break out of her shell, and I imagine she doesn’t really understand why it’s there in the first place. She wishes it were easy for her to join in with the other kids, I think, the ones for whom talking and laughing and joining in the fun comes naturally, but it doesn’t come easily, and she ends up very stressed out by it all.

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But her friends love her anyway, perhaps even because of those things. For some, she is a kindred spirit whose calm demeanor and quiet spirit speak safety to their own introverted selves. For others, she is a buried treasure, a challenge and a reward all in one cute little package. For others still, her laughter is a song in the soundtrack of life, and the album would be noticeably different without her around.

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At home, she’s strong-willed and passion-driven, all while being tender at heart and gentle in spirit. This kid is complicated, I tell you, and I’m exhausted trying to figure her out. But her timidness pushes me out of my own similar nature and toward bravery, and I have her to thank for where I am today: in a place where social situations don’t make me want to run and hide. When Addie’s bashfulness started showing up, that’s when I fully understood being brave is about doing hard things even though–and especially when–you are scared. I overcame a lot of my own timidity because of her. The past six years of my own life propelled me forward into a new sort of confidence, one I pray I can pass on to her. This came up not long ago while I was talking to a friend, a newer one who didn’t know me when I was a child. I admitted that by nature, I am a slow-to-warm sort of person, super introverted and, well, shy. Genuinely confused, she said, “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.” When I look back on myself as a child, I want to tell her to be brave and jump in and open herself up to the truth that people actually want to hear her voice. I want her to run wild with the truth that she is welcome and wanted, to be the girl in Proverbs 31:25 who is “clothed with strength and dignity, and […] laughs without fear of the future.

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Unencumbered laughter from a heart at rest is a beauty more breathtaking than much else, I think. That’s the beauty we see everyday from Addie here at home. For now, that’s as it should be, I think, because I would rather see her true self come alive only at home rather than not at all because if she cannot be free to be herself here–goofy and graceful, tender and fierce, loyal and loving and messy and imperfect–what does that say about our home? Home is where the heart is, right? Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe home is where the heart is most comfortable. Maybe home is where the heart is most fully alive. Maybe home is where the heart learns who it is, and whose it is, and finds a rhythm all its own and grows confident in dancing along with the beat. Where else can Addie’s heart possibly learn those things if not at home, where we guard and protect and encourage and grow that little girl, that sweet little piece of our own heart? Maybe home itself is a beating heart, fully alive, out of which everything else flows.

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Every once in awhile, Addie surprises us. When she’s comfortable enough, she lets go of her inhibitions and gets downright loud and silly. Most folks wouldn’t recognize her if they saw her dancing in the freedom of who she really is. But I hope, I hope, she will gain the confidence she needs to do so sooner than I did. I hope our similarities are only a passing resemblance, in that regard, and that she breaks through her own shell far before I ever did. But until then, I’m giving her space to be who she is in the safety of our home. But I’m also helping her do hard things by encouraging her with my smile and holding her hand for a little while, letting go of it a bit sooner each time. I whisper in her ear “You’ve done this before. You know how to do it, and you can do it,” as I send her on her way. She smiles at me, sometimes through tears, and does the hard things. And when she’s done, she comes flying back to me, beaming, with arms flung wide and says, “I remembered that when I am afraid, I can trust in God. And I did it.” We hug, I try not to cry, and I feel like we’ve both won.

Love,

Scratch

Classic Tuna Noodle Casserole (DF/GF/NF)

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This meal tastes like home to me because my mom made it so often when I was growing up, and every time I make it I feel a little more at ease with life. I made it again this week when the pantry was looking a little bare, but we still needed a come-together sort of meal to help us all slow down and really see each other after the busyness of the past few weeks. This non-dairy version uses mayonnaise for creaminess, and I thought that was a pretty good idea. It’s feels a little strange to add mayonnaise to a casserole, it  transforms this dish into a dinner our whole family loves so much that we rarely have much left over. The cool thing about this recipe is you don’t have to be dairy free to enjoy it. The ingredients are simple, the flavor good, and it’s very pantry-friendly. No milk in the fridge? No worries. Out of cheese, too? Don’t stress. Dig out your chicken broth, a little bit of butter and flour, and a scoop of humble mayonnaise. All will be well (which is sort of what comfort food like Tuna Noodle Casserole speaks to the soul anyway, right?). I hope one day my own children will cook it for their own children and remember pulling up their chairs at our table, scooping out a big helpings of this very humble dish, and pretending not to munch on the stray potato chip crumbles as they wait for everyone to be served.

Ingredients:
  • 4 T refined coconut oil (or Earth Balance, or Olive Oil, or…)
  • 3/4 cup chopped yellow onion
  • 1/4 cup brown rice flour (or use regular All Purpose Flour, for a non-GF version)
  • 2 cups chicken broth
  • 1/4 cup mayonnaise (not low fat!)
  • 1 teaspoon white vinegar
  • 1 teaspoon kosher salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
  • 1 pound brown rice noodles (we like Organic Brown Rice Fusilli from Trader Joe’s, or regular wheat noodles)
  • 2-7.5 oz cans albacore tuna, drained
  • 1 cup frozen peas
  • a few handfuls of plain salted potato chips (like Kettle Brand), for topping
Method:

First, boil the noodles according to package directions. Cook al dente so they don’t turn to mush in the oven.

Meanwhile, saute the onion in the coconut oil. (Remember: refined coconut oil doesn’t taste like coconut. Use a different neutral tasting oil if you prefer.) When the onions have softened, sprinkle in the flour, salt and pepper and and whisk to combine. (You’re essentially making a rue here.) Next, pour in the chicken broth a little at a time, whisking until smooth with each addition. It will be clumpy at first, but don’t despair. Keep whisking and it will smooth out. Once you’ve added all the chicken broth, cook the sauce until it begins to thicken. Then, add the mayonnaise and vinegar and whisk again until it is fully combined. Finally, add the tuna to the sauce, then toss in the peas and pasta and mix well. Pour the mixture into a greased 9 x 11 glass pan and top with crumbled potato chips. Bake at 375 degrees for 30 minutes or so, or until the chips have gotten even more crunchy than usual.