Allergy Update (Plus Bonus Heart Murmur Discussion!)

Got in to see the allergist today. He was super nice and we definitely felt confident in his opinion. Unfortunately, we're in kind of nebulous territory as far as The Boy's allergies are concerned, so that opinion was less hard-lined than we might have liked.

What I had really wanted was a scratch test of all likely allergens (despite the fact that The Boy was decidedly uncooperative - he's had one surprise immunization too many and now starts screaming as soon as the car stops outside any unknown "appointment"), a clear sense of how severe his peanut allergy is, and an easy-to-read scale of possible reaction symptoms with a "you are here" arrow when it's time to pull out the ol' epi-pen. I want to know *exactly* what I'm dealing with and I want a "no-fly" list at the ready anytime I'm faced with an ingredient list, a fur- or feather-bearing creature, or a microcosmic portion of the outdoors.

I got none of the above. Given our description of the peanut-related episodes, the allergist said we will proceed under the assumption that he *is* allergic, and no test is going to give us a real indication of the severity that would alter how we choose to manage that assumption. We could get a blood test, but it wouldn't do much more than provide us with a baseline as to how likely it is that reactions are due to allergies. Basically it's like administering a pregnancy test in your first trimester - you already know you're pregnant, and the pink line isn't gonna tell you a whole lot about *how* pregnant you are.

The scratch test was out given The Boy's current mild cold and his eczema - apparently kids with skin conditions are known for giving false positives, so a scratch test wouldn't necessarily be worth it.

Our sense is that The Boy has a relatively mild allergy, for which we are thankful; our allergist said that he wasn't of a strong opinion for or against further testing (an indication of his own level of comfort with the knowledge - or lack of it - we have right now), so we decided to wait.

We do have an action plan now, which basically tells us that anything more than mild eye watering requires speedy administration of an injection plus a quick call to 911. But armed with little more than a list of symptoms and an admonition to err on the side of caution (read: don't hesitate to stick a needle into your kid), we're not much further ahead than we were before.

Oh, and there was this post-stethescope comment: "Hmmm. Has anyone ever said anything to you about a heart murmur before?"

Sigh. Apparently it's probably nothing, and if it is something, it's very minor and almost surely benign, but it's something we're supposed to bring up with The Boy's doctor next time we bring him in. The Boy has a bit of a history of "hmmm's" turning into something a bit more major (a suspected ear infection ended up being double pneumonia and asthma, for instance), so my own heart is not entirely at ease on this point.

But it's not all bad. I'm glad he was looked at by someone who definitely knows his stuff, and we're reassured that there isn't cause for panic, just awareness and vigilance. Plus we also got some tips about The Boy's asthma regimen, so we'll just call that the silver lining, shall we?

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Weekend Recovery

Phew! Third busy weekend in a row! Every week I vow to spend at least 4 hours reading yet it never seems to happen.

This past weekend wasn't quite as driving-intensive as the previous two, but we did get our share of Jetta-bonding-time when we picked up the kids in Duluth. We had high hopes of hanging out around the harbour, but some cold, rainy weather thwarted our plans. We *did* get to eat at Sammy's Pizza, though. Good times.

Then home to a marathon cleaning session to get our house showroom ready for yesterday's showings. It sounds as though there are interested applicants, which is good, as this level of cleanliness is likely unsustainable.

Yesterday was church and then we headed over to Como Town which is basically like Tinkertown except a) the roller coaster banks so that riders don't rattle their bones around each corner and b) the play structure is open-air under some trees rather than a spaceship connected of heatstroke-inducing plastic tubes from which it is impossible to retrieve lost, crying children (not that that has ever happened to me).

Tigyr, Tigyr, burning bright
(She's a monkey, if you can't tell)

Fire brigade

Putting out the fire

[insert clever caption about a monkey on monkey bars here]

Dino-rider

You spin me right 'round baby, right 'round

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This 'n' That

Is it okay if I don't talk about the funeral? It was sad...and good...and hard. I'm just not up to blogging about it. But I will say that my opinion about double funeral plots has changed. I used to think it was macabre - going to visit the grave of one's spouse and being gruesomely reminded of where one (or, at least, one's body) will eventually end up. Now I think it must be very comforting to have such a visual reminder that this, too, shall pass.

I'm pretty much considering this week "recovery week." Being in Canada two weekends in a row was fairly stressful in terms of the home front, and I just got the fantastic treat at work of an ongoing, time-sensitive (i.e. daily *and* weekly *and* monthly deadlines) project that is voraciously eating up the time I used to spend working on - and worrying about - my other projects. There's the move looming and I have yet to pack a box (or call a moving company, for that matter). Basically I find myself in need of a personal assistant but with no Pepper Potts in sight, so I've decided to simply give up.

It does help that my children are not on the premises. They are on a week-long field trip with The Husband's parents, so we are going out every night in an effort to make up for 10 months' worth of sporadic and under-developed childcare. Last night was Tejas and Iron Man...mmm...and I mean Robert Downey Jr., not the guacamole. Tonight we're going to try an Indian place that looks awesome and then maybe trundle our curry-filled bellies over to see another movie.

Finally, to make you smile:

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Garage Sales, Gifts, and Grace

My Grandmother Peitasch was known for having garage sales. This might seem fairly normal, particularly among the Steinbach crowd. But she put together a garage sale Every. Single. Year. It was an amazing accomplishment for a woman who eschewed material possessions and who scorned spending massive amounts of money for herself. Somehow she managed to fill those tables in her garage with items that others might enjoy.

What brought many people was her fabled sommer borscht "packages." Every year, she would combine fresh garden greens, dill, parsley and green onions into saran-wrapped individual packets perfect for busy soup-makers on the go. Folks would come from miles around to load up on these packages and also to pick up some of her carefully-packaged seeds gleaned from her notable garden.

One year, Grandma asked me if I would come and sit at her garage sale for an hour. She had an appointment scheduled, and wanted someone to watch over things for her while she was away. So I did, and most gladly. We got in a nice visit and she fed me some lunch.

Then she offered me $10 for my time. I laughed and said, "Oh Grandma, you don't need to pay me; I was happy to do it and you even fed me while I was here."

She got very serious. She told me a story of when she had once similarly turned down an offer of thankfulness, and repeated to me the admonishment she had received at the time:

"When someone gives you a gift, you smile, and say, 'Thank you.'"

Those words have stayed with me ever since. I find it tremendously hard to accept anything, be it a tangible gift or an intangible compliment or word of affirmation. Yet my grandma taught me that day that the giving of a gift is as much for the giver's sake as it is for the receiver.

To reject a gift, no matter how much one feels one does not deserve it/need it/want to put the giver out, is to harm the giver. It says, "I care more about my own sense of equilibrium and my own control of my world than your desire to bring into it a small bit of the personal joy into your world."

She also taught me many other things about giving. I most often saw her on the giving end, with her door always open for anyone to drop by. I never left her house without something in hand, either for me or for my kids.

My grandma passed away this morning. She had been ill, but not in a way that made us think her passing was imminent. It's been a tough day, tougher I'm sure for those who are actually there to care for my grandpa and to make arrangements. We'll be heading back to Canada tomorrow in order to attend the funeral. And I'm sure I'll remember many more things about her as we drive.

It's a sad day.

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Piscatur Non Solum Piscator*

Some fishin' pics for you:

Goofing off

Chillin' while he waits for the fish to bite

The kids did the catching, but left the wrangling to the experts.

This looks like it would be fun. It was not.

Always the snuggling. Even on a boat in the middle of a lake.

* (Hi Bill!)

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You Can Take The Girl Out of The Prairie...

It all started last Tuesday with Canada Day. I almost need some air quotes around it - "Canada Day" (there, that's more like it). Resplendent in my "The Eh Team" t-shirt with maple leaf emblazoned across my chest, I headed off to work and...had a regular day. Canadian holidays are always tough - I know that most of the folks I hold near and dear are frolicking the day away while I toil the same as I do every other day among people oblivious to its importance.

Well, it wasn't entirely regular. I got to listen to CBC (for some reason, my computer at work has a love-hate relationship with that jewel of Canadian content, and successful connection is mystifyingly sporadic) and it was fabulous. Best of all was Eric Friesen reminiscing about being a little Mennonite boy in Altona and playing the Mennonite Concerto. I'm not ashamed to admit I surreptitiously wiped a few tears over that one.

But that was about it. For me, the for reals Canada Day started on Thursday evening, when I got my passport back from the Canadian border guard and we drove back into the north country. It was So. Good. to be back on Canadian soil. I only realize when I'm in Canada what a struggle it is to live in America. The tension of always feeling like an outsider, feeling like things are the same but different - it all disappears when I see that flat horizon.

And I realize how much I miss the prairie. Minneapolis may not be mountainous, but it certainly has its fair share of hills. I miss so much that landscape that stretches as far as the eye can see. I miss the canola fields, the broad expanse of sky, and that last edge of the sun slipping below the horizon.

You know where you stand on the prairie - quite literally. There's nothing around the next corner, or hidden over the next hill, to take you by surprise. The prairie makes no sudden movements, and although its very desolation can be perilous (see: Margaret Atwood, Survival), you can usually see trouble coming 10 miles away.

It was a good weekend, catching up with some (but always too few) folks. And catching fish - we took the kids fishing for the first time and the wanna-be Captain Highliners actually caught something, much to their parents' chagrin, who intentionally chose a lake known to have some of the poorest fishing around.

Sigh. It was so tough to get back in that car yesterday. Not so much that I dreaded 8 cramped hours with ornery, not-so-sweet-smelling children (that's pretty much par for the course already), but because Going Home becomes more bittersweet each time. It feels so effortless to slip back into the familiar, and somehow all the more wrenching to pull myself out of it.

But for now, Going Home (with all the accompanying difficulties) still beats sticking around here, so I'll continue to return frequently to the prairie and refill my oft-depleted reserves of wide horizons, sweeping skies, and warm embraces.

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