Silly Yak

This is the white board that sits at the barricade, guarded by sheriffs, that blocks the road that used to lead home.

It is not easy to find information on the Rio Grande flood on residents of Vega Verde Rd of Val Verde County.

Two weeks ago the flooding on our road got so bad that we had to leave. It’s hard to know now where to begin when I think about that day. Within a couple of hours (from the time I left for work until my lunch break) yards and homes were covered with water. Days later flooded septic tanks created a wasteland of raw sewage. People said it was going to get worse. And it did. For two weeks now we have been living at the Ramada. The word? We’ll be here for a while.

Officials have visited the road that housed an approximated 250, now displaced, residents. It’s no one wonder when you consider the water level has risen well over 25 feet. Officials have made statements as to the disgusting and unlivable conditions of the flooded area. However, no one is willing to do anything about those of us that now have no homes. People are paying out of pocket, and depleting their bank accounts, because of a man made flood. There has been word that help is on it’s way. Yet, none has presented itself.

Empty houses sit on a deserted road, waiting for the next official to come through for a photo opportunity.

This wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for my son. Usually my morning hours are spent cooking food, gluten-free food. It’s hard to cook food for a kid with Celiac Disease when the only thing available is a refrigerator my toddler wouldn’t fit in and a microwave. Try storing anything besides rice crackers and cheese sticks in a hotel room. I’m calling it “gluten-free diet: the evacuee edition”.

Today I found a miracle in the frozen food section. This miracle came in the form of Amy’s gluten-free frozen kid’s meal. Richie and I were at the only store that has gluten-free food (and by food I mean rice crackers and cookies) to get him cookies when, by some happy accident, I found Amy’s gluten-free frozen meals. I asked Richie if he would eat it, he said yes, and I skipped merrily to the register. Unfortunately there is no freezer in the hotel room, so I only got one meal. Fortunately, Richie loves Amy’s gluten-free ziti!!! My kid ate his first real meal in two weeks. It was a good day.

Tomorrow Richie is spending the day with his grandma while I look for a new pre-school for him. I spent hours talking with the director and co-director of his current pre-school before he started attending. I wanted to make sure they understood what it meant to have my Silly Yak at their pre-school, and I wanted to answer any questions they had. This took hours, but I left satisfied and they seemed to grasp the idea that gluten is poison to my kid. However, they let him do a “food craft” with graham crackers. Having my child poisoned makes me very angry. I am going to spend my lunch break tomorrow interviewing the director of my last hope.

Four pounds of sanity…gone

I have been as negligent of my blog as I have of good eating habits. From Tuesday to Thursday (last week) I dropped four pounds. On my size-one frame this doesn’t show, but I feel it. I feel drained of everything. Maybe I’ve lost four pounds of sanity.

If it pleases the court, I present people’s evidence exhibits one through four:

The Rio Grande flooded due to…unknown reasons. Some thing may or may not have flooded and/or broken somewhere in Mexico at some point and then flooded some lake or other body of water in Texas that was connected to the Rio Grande which then flooded. When the Rio Grande flooded it invaded the homes of the residents of South Texas. I happen to be one of those residents.

Blueberry

My alarm clock and I have never been more familiar with one another (or greater enemies) than we are now. I have one of those alarm clocks that gets progressively louder the longer you try to sleep through it. I’ve either imagined, due to my current depravity of sleep, smashing my alarm clock or it actually does have a ding. Or two. Trying to sync mine and Richie’s schedules (yes, we have separate ones these days) has been no fun.

I have found several more reasons to add to the list of “Reasons Why I Want To Be A Stay-At-Home Mom”. Most of them have to do with my aforementioned intimacy with a certain electronic device that will not be named. Then there is the fact that I am getting up oh so very early to make a days worth of meals for my Silly Yak. That one can also go on the list of reasons I hate Celiac Disease. I love cooking…I just don’t like doing three meals in an hour. And at five o’clock in the morning no less. No should have to wake up to roaring beacons of light that read 4:45. No one.

Richie has finished his first week of pre-school. In my head I hear thunderous applause (sleep depravity can be fun!). He cries every morning when I drop him off and runs to be at the end of the day when I startle him by actually returning to pick him up. It’s sad and a more than a little amusing to see the look on his face when I pick him up. If you have ever had to take your toddler to daycare, you know what I mean. Still, I see through Richie’s dramatics; I know he has fun. He has become close with the director/pastor already – and vice versa. It reminds me of my early days in Sunday school. Jackpot!

It is now Friday night at 9:40 p.m. and all I want to do is wait for the sweet, blaring of the dryer to signal it’s done. Then I can fit my clean sheets over my mattress, hop in bed and think about picking up Mortal Fear, before I am lost in sleep.

Malaise

My first inclination is to explain that, as a parent, things are getting harder. But, no, it’s not that. Each stage of the game is offering its own very unique challenges.

Enter Richie stage right. Cue morning sickness, vasovagal syncope episodes (nerve pinch leading to unconsciousness), and labor at 18 weeks. I found out that I was having a boy at the same appointment that I was ordered to bed rest. After 10 weeks of medications designed to delay preemie babies, Richie’s heart had dealt with enough and he demanded entrance via fetal distress.
Richie was teeny tiny with no ears, underdeveloped respiratory and digestive systems, and couldn’t keep warm. The wonderful (just kidding, terrible) ob doc that cut into me also managed to cut Richie’s toe with his not-so-skillful scalpel. Welcome to Hell outside the womb.
The hospital sent us home after three days. Richie proceeded to lose weight and forget to breathe. Somehow, we survived. “Somehow” came in the form of a home nurse not affiliated with Satan’s hospital or doctors.

At two weeks old Richie achieved the preemie standard of coming down with RSV. I didn’t sleep for more than a month while we fought that battle. I didn’t think it could get worse than that…

At three months old Richie cut teeth one and two. After consulting with his pediatrician, I was given the green light on carrots and organic wheat teething biscuits, with strict instructions to make sure he didn’t bit off a hunk of either. Within a month I was taking Richie to his pediatrician everyday as he was having diarrhea that was so acidic it made his skin bleed, vomiting twice an hour or more, and eating everything he could accompanied by weight loss. For eight months I was with Richie at his pediatricians office, at least once a week. Doctor know-it-all repeatedly informed me that breastfed babies don’t have digestional problems and that Richie was simply small due to being a preemie. When Richie was eleven months old I decided that perhaps I needed to take a break, for Richie’s sake as much as my own. I scheduled Richie’s one year check-up with hope that I just wasn’t seeing improvement because of having him weighed/evaluated constantly. To make a short story even shorter, it was the same old tune at Richie’s one year check-up. Needless to say, we never saw that doctor again.
I got Richie on the waiting list to see another pediatrician. At the first appointment with the new pediatrician we got a referral to a specialist. (I began doctor worship at that point!) At Richie’s first appointment with the specialist, he took one look at Richie and saw all the indications of Celiac Disease that I now know are highly recognizable signs. When I mentioned the town I was referred from, the specialist rolled his eyes and breathed a heavy, knowing sigh. At that appointment, we scheduled a biopsy. The day of Richie’s GI biopsy (May 2007), we left with a diagnosis of Celiac Disease and started the gluten-free diet the same day. Life was never the same -in a good way.

I admire my 2 year old who eats whatever experimental gluten-free food I put on his plate, displaying the palate (or indifference towards food) of a 17 year old vacuum, er teenage boy. Currently he munches organic turkey mixed with organic spinach and grilled into toddler sized patties. How many toddlers do you know that would go for that? Trust me, I am fully aware that I am a lucky mom. Seriously, my kid is my hero.

On Wednesday (09/03), Richie and I went for a tricycle ride/walk. We live in a beautiful area with beautiful weather (at least for that day). As the sun was setting, Richie and I were heading back home when Richie pointed out a butterfly to me. One downfall to butterfly infestations is a whole lot of dead butterflies. Everywhere. Richie squatted down next to one such fallen butterfly and proceeded to ask me question after question as to why the butterfly was broken and unable to fly. There is no way to explain anything so absolute as death to a toddler.

I’ve already considered this dilemna, long before the butterfly. Richie’s great-grandfather has cancer and won’t be with us much longer.

He’s been part of Richie’s life for the entirety of it, and I had hoped that time would include many more years to come. Unfortunately this sort of thing happens. Richie already can not understand why Papa doesn’t feel good. Richie’s only comprehension of sick is his recollection of being hospitalized in February with severe dehydration. He asks his Papa if he needs medicine. Papa starts crying and leaves the room. Even now, when Papa is just gone for radiation, Richie cries for him. He can’t understand someone he loves, and that he’s used to seeing everyday, just disappearing. There is no amount of explaining when you’re two that can make something so wrong, seem right. Right now things are black and white for him, but as he gets older he’ll notice all the shades of gray.

It took me sixteen years to experience much of what my toddler has already gone through. Between the things I’ve already mentioned, plus having an absent father, throw in a couple sprained legs and sprinkle some more minor events on top…I may be looking at a very strong person in the making (or maybe I should start saving for therapy now)… To top it all off, I was woken up at 1:00 this morning by the sound of toddler tears and a repeated chorus of “It hurts! It hurts”. Richie had fallen out of bed.

My kid can’t catch a break.

Futurist

I’ve started many blogs. Many. I usually find this narcissistic internet phenomena at times of overwhelming sadness. This time is no different. But I try not to focus on the negative. Maybe that’s why I return to this outlet again and again.

And again.

• Angsty teen years. Blogs one and two.
• Marriage at 17. Blog three.
• Divorced from drunk husband with cruel set of military trained hands. Blogs four, five, six and seven.
• New beginnings with new military man. Blog eight.
• Military man deploys and I begin my trek as solo mom to preemie with Celiac Disease. Still blog eight.
• Military man decides I’m so good at being a solo mom we should keep it that way. Ha! No time to blog.
  
• Me v. my heart Round 3 [I forgot to include that this is the story of a masochist]/my preemie with CD is now my toddler with CD/I’m finally going back to school/everything else life is throwing my way [Did I mention that the people around me won't stop dying and that my body likes to bleed?]. Welcome to my current account of things.

But I try not to focus on the negative.
I’m not always successful.