My Husband the Fairy

Awoke this morning to a perfectly clean living room and kitchen. The truly eye-popping portion of the deal is that Seymour, our resident good fairy, was not a contributor to either mess. Perhaps he has started keeping track of my, erm, personal schedule and knows that the next week needs to be extra sugar coated if he is to survive it.

He has also started telling Iz that another name for boogers is "nose poop," in the hope that she'll stop with the excavating.

Leelo seems to be doing better this A.M. Good speech therapy session this morning with his beloved Teacher A. Still no call back from Dr. G, though. Someone must have lost the message, methinks. Now that it is morning and my house is clean I am feeling less condemnatory and know that they would never knowingly overlook a call back to a sick child.

There's A Party In My Pants

Leelo took a different bad turn this afternoon. (If you are eating lentil soup or have a touchy stomach, stop reading now.) The worst case of the trots, ever. We're talking eight diapers in one afternoon. Pure liquid with no pretensions of cohesion. The weird thing was that it smelled exactly like breast-fed baby diapers, which is a bit loopy, don't you think?

It stuck me as odd enough to call Dr. G's office (traditional pediatricians) to see if they thought it was an issue of concern. They told me the nurse or doctor would call me back. Strangely, neither did. I suspect that they've blackballed me, or think I'm a deranged Munchausen-by-Proxy mom. WTF.

All good parents know that you're supposed to give your kids PediaLyte in this situation so they don't get dehydrated--unless your kid's on some kind of crazy restrictive diet that doesn't allow artificial colorings or sugar. So as the clock hit 4:55 and I still hadn't heard from Dr. G, I put in a desperate phone call to Dr. P, our DAN! doctor. His receptionist took my name and number, and told me that the doctor was out and would be back in the morning. Sighing, I told her that I'd figure out something.

But lo and behold, 20 minutes later Dr. P himself called with a long, detailed ration of advice after he'd asked me many, many questions:

-Take the boy off all supplements and meds
-Get him to drink lots of water
-Give him Lactobaccilus (pro-biotic) 3x/day to thicken up his output and help his gut heal
-Feed him clear vegetable or chicken broth to replace his electrolytes
-If he can keep it down, feed him overcooked rice or overcooked steamed vegetables

This to continue for about 48 hours, until he shows signs of significant recovery. Not so sure how this will work for Leelo, as he won't eat rice or steamed veggies, and that first sip of vegetable broth made him gag and retch and cry.

But I am certainly grateful to Dr. P. This is the second time he's called me back within an hour after his staff told me that he wasn't available. He also said that he'd fit us in tomorrow if we needed to see him, even though he's already overbooked. He is my new hero.

Two Kinds of Bad

Bad morning for Leelo. He did not want to wake up. Barfing all day Tuesday and not ingesting anything except his special pancakes and water yesterday means a weak, grumpy boy who did not want to wake up this morning, and who protested so vehemently upon Therapist F's arrival that I had to whip up another batch of miracle pancakes in order to gain egress from the house. Second or third time this week that Iz has been late to school because of her brother's hijinks.

Oh, blessed Thursday morning bad moms coffee group. It is comforting just to be in the presence of Ep and JP and Badger (industriously working on her paper in the corner, but extending invisible tentacles of solidarity nonetheless). Jo, alas, was home nursemaiding poor dear sick Eliz. We talked about holiday and mothering twaddle, but who cares! It was conversation with other adults. Or rather, adults were forced to listen to me all hopped up on coffee and having a conversation with myself.

In Which I Am A Naked, Cheese-Loving Cheapskate

I hereby pronounce this Christmas to be the one in which gifts from us will be modest and/or home made but not lame. This means I will probably be desperately scrounging around Bharat Bazaar for last-minute gifts on Dec. 19 or 20. (We leave for Seattle Dec. 21.)

I have already informed my sister-in-law. If she, with characteristic generosity, chooses to drop half of Toys-R-Us on my kids again this year, that is her decision but I do not feel obligated to reciprocate.

Since I can think of nothing else to write, here is my list of current favorite cheeses. Yes, I heart cheese in a big way. Any one is guaranteed to make you swoon, unless of course you're lactose or sulfite intolerant. I am not going to bother with the various true softness/hardness grades.

Cow
Reblochon (soft)
Epoisses (soft)
Emmi Cave-Aged Gruyere (hard)

Goat
Laura Chenel Cabecou (soft)
Redwood Hill Farm Crottin (Hmm. Soft in the middle?)
Cypress Grove Midnight Moon (hard)

Sheep
Truffled Pecorino (hard)
Romao Queso al Romero (hard)
Petit Basque (hard)

Blue
Roquefort (Papillon or Societe? I can't make up my mind!)
Fourme D'Ambert

Oh wait, now: Seymour just waved a funny picture at me. It is a polaroid of me, nekkid, in front of a piece of lovely batik cloth that I am holding up. I am in our tiny room at a brothel/hotel in Mopti, Mali, and am standing in front of an iron bed/frame that was bent down in the middle to make it fit in the room. I think the rate was $6 per night. Not sure what the hourly rate was. Damn, check me out! I don't think I used to love cheese so much back then.

Your Next Reading Assignment

Read the comments from Rambling Rhodes' entry Why Shouldn't Consumers Consume? and you will know why I worship and fear Josh Norton.

More Barf!

Now Leelo's got the barf bug. Twice in the kitchen (easy to clean), once right between the cushions and into the mattress of our fold-out couch (a hellaciously nasty bitch to clean).

That last sprayer doused the autism book I was re-reading, Treating Autism: Parent Stories of Hope and Success. Which was good, because the parents' stories list so many different treatments and approaches and options we haven't even considered that my head was starting to disengage from my neck. Totally overwhelming. And everyone is traveling all over the county for all these treatments. Why haven't we tried Transfer Factor? Using milk from a breast milk donor center? Relationship therapy? At least ten assuredly critical supplements that I haven't even heard of? Easier to just throw up one's hands, then blog.

Andil the loverly QA lady was here today, and had nice things to say about Leelo's progress despite all the November vacations and illnesses. Specifically, he is ready to us the pronoun "me" when pointing to photos of himself, rather than "Leelo." We don't want him to talk like Elmo the muppet, is the idea. She also questioned my hesitation about joining Parents Helping Parents, but I was honest with her: Lady, I don't have the time right now, and if the parents are anything like the ones in that book, they'll make me feel like a major fuck-up. No thank you.

I Want to Have Sex With Margaret Cho's Brain

Fiendishly smart, belligerent, and unapologetic. Oooh, baby, you know what I need. Read this. Then read today's entry.

If It's Not Victorian or Edwardian, It's CRAP!

I've been working on this for three days. It's not going to get better, so I'm just going to cut it loose. I've got shit to do.

My mom was one of those Canadians who figured that, since the Queen's image was on her money, she was practically a resident of England. This is probably why I was handed so many British (mostly Victorian or Edwardian) books during my formative years.

I blame all those British authors for my inability to write a non-convoluted sentence. Well, them and the AP system, which--if you bluff/score high enough on their exam--exempts you from university writing courses.

I was a lazy, sloppy writer by the time I got to grad school, and a trial to my patient advisor. Strong, spare writing was a particularly favored topic of his, and every few weeks he would beg me to read Joseph Williams' Style: Towards Clarity and Grace. I did read it, and I did try, but I just couldn't shake those adverbs and run-on sentences. It's not in me to work that hard, or avoid readings from that era even though they reinforce my bad habits.

And the bad habits continue. I continue to circle back to books from or about England even when making a conscious effort not to do so. Right now I'm slogging through three such books.

Ep has successfully derailed me with another story about people who hack up other people, and the people who try to catch them. This one is Patricia Cornwell's Portrait of a Killer: Jack the Ripper Case Closed. Unbelievable that a mere 120 years ago, murder investigations discounted physical evidence in favor of witness accounts, the little physical evidence that was gathered was not subjected to microscopy even though it had been available for 200 years, and few knew that germs were the cause of infections despite Pasteur's discovery 20 years earlier. Here is the image that will be stuck in my head the longest: proud surgeons displaying their superiority and dedication through the stiff foulness of their constantly blood-soaked and never-washed surgical garb. Won't even go into the fucked-upedness of just being a woman during this time.

What I am supposed to be reading (besides all the generously loaned books from Jo) is The Code of the Woosters, a book I've meant to take on for just about ever. I put off many a famous series for as long as possible, knowing how delicious they will when I eventually cave in (e.g., I read LOTR for the first time this year). Wodehouse's language is so lovely and comforting and familiar, like relaxing into a giant feather bed after a long hot bath. I am just waiting for the opportunity to address someone as "my gay young tapeworm."

The third book I am reading to Iz, and is of course A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. It is a long-standing favorite of mine, and so beautifully melodramatic. I am hoping that Iz finds much to admire in the kind, sympathetic, polite, intelligent, fiercely loyal, imaginative, and book-loving Sara. She is certainly taken by the idea of dolls having secret lives, keeps asking me what her dolls do when she is at school, and loves pretending that she is my walking/talking Emily doll.

The language and images from these three books are intermingling in my head, superimposed with my worries about what sorts of fanciness we'll be engaged in during our Christmas vacation at Seymour's folks' house. (They are lovely, wonderful, and kind, but favor strangely formal group outings that don't always allow for the exuberance of small children.) That is probably why the following lines popped into my head and won't leave:

If you subject me to a luncheon,
I may have to bring my truncheon.

Well Now

Apparently, Leelo has decided that since I left him with not one but two therapists today despite howling tantrums, I am a heartless bitch and inferior to kind sweet Daddy. He asked for "Daddy" all day today, and when said person arrived home, Leelo turned to me and said "Bye, Bye, Mommy." I've been dismissed. Ungrateful little poophead.

Leelo Today

It is official. I am Leelo's "lovey." He's in a phase where he won't go to sleep unless he's in my bed, and I am there with him. Last night I spent an hour slingshotting him back into his own bed, finally gave up, let him dash into my bed, and then was forcibly extracted from the office by a little boy sobbing and tugging on my hand while wailing "Mommy in the bed! Get in the bed!" I was so tired that I fell asleep with him, with my bra still on. Those of you who favor underwire know how unpleasant it can be to wake up with those twin C's of agony boring into your rib cage.

He had also started a new stereotypic behavior that is driving us nuts: grinding his teeth. There is not much to do about this, according to Seymour's dad the ex-dentist. The only aid is a mouth guard, and Leelo sure as bejesus isn't going to tolerate one of those. If we catch him at it, we grab his jaw firmly and say "No grind!" but who knows if it's registering. He seems to grind more after I let him grab and squeeze my elbow (his primary stereotypic behavior), so I'm trying to only let him do the elbow thing when he's falling asleep, and remove my arm instantly if he grinds his teeth (also, he has to say "I want Mommy's elbow" very clearly to get the elbow in the first place).

We added Selenium to his supplement regimen on Saturday night. He seems okay with it, no reactions so far. We are now officially a month past when we were to begin heavy metals chelation, and so are going to start adding supplements every five instead of every seven days. The remaining additions: Ascorbic Acid (Vitamin C), Cod Liver Oil (yum), Glutathione Cream, DMG, and Nutribiotic (anti-yeast).

Speaking of yeast, I recently read the Autism Research Institute's pamphlet on Candida/Yeast-derived autism. As with everything one reads about autism (I find), it immediately struck me that this may be what's primarily wrong with our boy. It is a much-documented scenario: constant ear infections necessitating multiple and continuous barrages of antibiotics that decimate the natural biota of the intestine, leaving it open to colonization by yeasties. The yeast then converts any and all sugars to fermented byproducts, resulting in a little boy who acts like he's drunk all of the time. And just how much do you think you would learn if you were constantly inebriated? Not bloody much.

We are doing most of the things recommended in an anti-yeast diet, but the hard-core, listed-as-truly-effective regimen eliminates almost all sugar and carbohydrates and that would mean disaster for us. We wouldn't be able to give him any of his supplements as they are either in sweetened suspensions or need to be mixed with rice milk, and Leelo would never eat only the recommended meat and non-starchy vegetables--we tried giving him some roasted turkey breast meat at Thanksgiving and he didn't just not eat it, he picked it off his tray and threw it across the room. (Iz says he must have been reincarnated from a vegetarian.)

I need to do more research and talk to more experts, like most things re: Leelo. Sigh sigh sigh and sigh again.

He had a major fuss this morning when I left on my aborted mission to take Iz to school, but after a session in the Magic Swing of Calmness, Therapist L was able to get him to put in a good three hours. Then after his session he did some great imitative play: Iz took two open packing boxes, sat in one, and put the other on top of herself and declared that she was a package that needed to be opened. Leelo then took the one box, put it on top of his head, and sat in the other box patiently. When we "opened" his package and said "There's Leelo!", he was delighted. He initiated this completely on his own, after watching his sister. That is some heartening behavior.

Please No More Creeping Ick

Dreams of finally--after weeks and weeks of scheduling irregularities--having a morning to myself were extinguished with vomit today.

Poor Iz. She's such an odd combination of stoicism/drama queen that it's hard to know when she's really not well. I hope that it was just orange juice on an empty stomach that triggered her defilement of the schoolroom, and that she'll be good to go for this afternoon's playgroup (where we will celebrate December 1st by watching Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer).

I've been feeling barfy for a good few days (probably the aftermath of Thanksgiving overindulgence) and hope that this latest bug will realize that it wouldn't be fair to attack--we were already a sick house for more than a month and need to lie fallow for now.