Celiac Awareness Month: What's for dinner?

Eating gluten-free isn’t easy. It forces you to do research on what is safe to eat and isn't. It forces you to research menus online before hitting a restaurant. It forces you to cook. It forces you to be healthier and get creative.

Since my son’s Celiac diagnosis two weeks ago, we have been out to a restaurant as a family only once. This is a big change for us. While I love to cook, I work full-time and therefore have limited time to cook on weeknights.  A couple of nights a week, we'd opt for pizza or go out to eat on a whim. 

Overly indulgent, I typically make two meals a night –  sometimes three meals – because the kids don’t fancy quinoa; and my husband and I don’t like eating hot dogs and Mac N Cheese. When I have had a particularly stressful day at work, going to a restaurant and being served is an enormous treat. Impulsively deciding to go out to dinner on a random weeknight is something that we have had to curb as we discover which restaurants (that we actually like) have options that The Boy can eat.

The website and accompanying app Find Me Gluten Free has been helpful when trying to identify restaurants that offers gluten free options although it is not ideal. Often chain restaurants are listed or placed listed as offering gluten free however as a pick kid who likes pancakes, pizza, and cheese burgers, the menu items at this restaurants are not the right first. If he were a 30 year old yuppy, they would be perfect.

Instead of going out to eat as much as we have, I have opted to make some of the foods that they would typically order at a restaurant, like chicken fingers and french fries, at home using gluten-free ingredients. I've also tried baking using GF ingredients, which wasn't too difficult. Thankfully there are lots of GF options and I have been able to buy a lot of transitional food items that the boys like to eat, things like donuts and waffles. So far, no one has noticed anything.

This is often not gluten free or Celiac friendly

One major issue is that GF foods are expensive, although I have read that you can save by buying things online and making things from scratch is even cheaper. Realistically thought this is not going to happen. I am going to get my food items where I typically get them and I frequent stores like Whole Foods Market more frequently. It is all a journey and it is all a part of the process.

Gluten-free day two for me? So far. So good.

Celiac Awareness Month: Trending: with Celiac, gluten, and a toddler

It is Celiac Awareness Month. Celiac Awareness Month is an event held throughout the United States each May and is supported by the National Foundation for Celiac Awareness (and other relevant organizations) and for this reason I share my journey to learning about Celiac Disease.

It has been two and a half years since I wrote a blog entry. It feels like both a very long and short time. Today is May 1. The date is significant because it marks the beginning of Celiac Awareness Month.  You will not see the word “Celiac” previously in this blog because it was not even a blip on my radar before two weeks ago.

Besides watching Elizabeth Hasseleback, controversial and former co-host of The View, confidently refuse certain baked goods on air, I never knew of anyone who had this condition. What I know is that gluten has become a buzz word during the last few years. I have a few friends and family members who have chosen to go gluten-free for “health reasons” or as a new dieting regime.  Admittedly, I didn't take this seemingly odd preference all that seriously except to revel in how annoying it was to eat with them. Sorry guys.

It was two weeks ago when my youngest son, who just turned three, was diagnosed with Celiac Disease. He has been sick for a while.  My family and I did not know what was causing his incessant diarrhea and related symptoms. I was at my wits-end trying to find out what going on. Why did he have a bowel movement after eating and drinking anything – sometimes up to 10 times a day? Why was he always getting stomach bugs? What was going on with my sweet little boy?

My baby

After surmising that food allergies may be to blame, I took him to an allergist. Tests did confirm a couple of allergies, including one to apples and to dust mites. The allergist also tested him for milk and wheat allergies, which came back normal. I took him off apples and apple products (which are in everything by the way) but to my chagrin, there was no improvement.

Still not knowing what to do but knowing that I needed to do something, I decided to eliminate ­­dairy because some internet “experts” opined that dairy is linked to ear infections. My son has had many ear infections, requiring tubes along with the gastrointestinal issues. I figured ... maybe.  Again, not much seemed to change.

Our once voracious eater was no longer interested in eating anything. He would play at the dinner table with his beloved Thomas the Train engines rather than eat. It was his older, skinny brother whose dining habits worried us, not Mr. Boy. Mr. Boy was a tank.  His dad referred to him as

Bam Bam. But Bam Bam was starting to lose weight.  He was often tired and his constant movements resulted in brutal diaper rashes that would cause him to scream out in pain while being changed.

Nothing helped. We were at a loss. Me. His dad. His Nana. His daycare provider.

When he turned three earlier this month, I took him for his annual exam and brought up the issue once again. Our pediatrician said that he had Toddler’s Diarrhea, which may have been causing the issues. She asked about his diet and I began to list his favorite foods: waffles, pancakes, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and it dawned on me – gluten. Damn-it. Gluten, that trendy little bugger. It was one of those "come to whomever" moments. How could I have not thought of this earlier!?  I should have known.

Immediately, I stopped the medical student who was training with our pediatrician and excitedly shared my revelation. I asked her to tell the doctor the connection I made. The doctor came back into the exam room and said that she had the very same suspicion, but thought it was unlikely. She would run some tests.  A few days later, the blood tests were in … Celiac Disease.

While in a daze, I wrote down what the doctor was telling me on the phone - "Celiac", "gluten", "small intestine", "endoscopy" ... "Children's Hospital" - while The Boy ate something that may or may not have had gluten in it in the kitchen with the rest of the family.

She explained that she was going to schedule an appointment with the Chief of Celiac at Boston Children’s Hospital and less than a week later (this past Tuesday), we had our appointment.The specialist confirmed that Celiac is to blame for many of my son’s health issues and in order to confirm the diagnosis, he would need to do a biopsy.

This surgery will happen in the next week or two and then we will forge full-speed ahead into a gluten-free lifestyle – for The Boy and likely for the rest of the family as well.

We have already started him on a GF diet, although we were advised to keep some gluten in his diet, so that the endoscopy can do what it needs to do and confirm the disease. It is so counter-intuitive to knowingly give a child, your baby; your baby who has been suffering for so long, something that we know is hurting him. But … doctor’s orders.

As soon as I learned of my son's Celiac, I did what people do I started researching the topic online. I came across a tweet from the National Association for Celiac Awareness and that in acknowledgement of Celiac Awareness Month, they were looking for folks who want to blog about their experience, so here I am, two and a half years later.  Ready to embark on yet another journey.

California - Ten Years Later

Los Angeles has not changed much since I lived here ten years ago. I have have changed a lot since my (now) husband and I moved back east a decade ago. The Angelinos seem younger now - many of them were just kids when I, too, considered this city my new home. While it has been a lifetime ago when 90025 was my zip code, it feels like just yesterday.

I have visited Los Angeles only once since moving back. During this visit, my husband and I brought our son who was just over a year at the time. We spent Christmas on the westside with our family and friends. Like now, it was so great to be back. It has been less than three years since we moved, so we still felt relevant. We were newlyweds and new parents. It was fun taking our kid to the Santa Monica Pier on Christmas eve morning to ride the caraosel and hanging out on Christmas night drinking wine by the fire pit.

Add six more years to the equation, another kid, almost ten years of marriage, and we enter Los Angeles county early this week. We made the long anticipated trip back to our California, our westside, our Santa Monica and West Los Angeles.

My husband and I still *feel* like we live hear even though we know we are just "playing house" with the past. We rented an AirBNB and are staying in a cute flat in one our old haunts. Our kids are older now - only one left in diapers - and they are soaking *it* all in. Well, we are trying to *make* them fall in love with this place where mommy and daddy fell in love and began our lives together. In reality, they are more mesmerized by their gadgets and the fact they get to eat pancakes everyday.

Day three and we have barely left Santa Monica. With confidence, we traipse the kids around town showing them exciting landmarks like our old apartment, our old Ralph's grocery store, our favorite coffees shops and bars; you know, things that little boys love to explore when they are 3,000 miles from home.

Not much has changed. Santa Monica Place is new. There are more fancy vehicles parked in enclosed car dealerships. If possible, LA is even more health conscious than before with an superfluous amount of juice shops and pressed juice options adorning menus. Especially in Santa Monica there seems to be more people riding bikes. Billboards still adorn the streets promoting films and television programs. And, Angelinos wearing shorts and T-shirts walking alongside folks wearing jeans and puffy coats still pass by one another each comfortably temperate in the southern California sun.

While LA has not changed, we have changed a lot. Gone are the relatively care free days when our to-do lists included items like find a new brunch spot and bar. Traveling with young children require that we consistently wondering about things like when did we apply sunblock and which restaurants offer gluten-free options for our little Celiac?


Style and fashion have not changed much, but my fashion and style has reverted to east coast cool - lots of black, boots, sweaters. Our here I stick out like a sore thumb with folks hanging in their yoga pants, fashion sneakers, and white tops. Leaving Boston after the epic winter we have been having I do not think flip flops even floated into my consciousness - for me or for my kids. My husband is another story - he is a Californian at heart and brings his California cool everywhere even the frozen tundra of winter in Boston early 2015.

Regardless of the trends or the forecast, it is so great to be back - to be back home - or where we once called home and to be back in this perfectly odd city with our kids. It truly feels like we never left. This place will forever be our place and this is rad.

The Tiger

As a child, I remember watching The Tiger venture into the water, never the ocean; only the safety and confinement of the pool.

The pool was dirty, cold and unopened. The vinyl lining had caved in and crumbled into the sand and water stirred together for more than 10 years.

The Tiger couldn't swim. Parents from his country scared their young away from the cold sea for their own good. Most young never learned to swim. 

The Tiger would venture into the pool with trepidation and flirtation. He liked it. And, he feared it. He respected the depth that called him.

Looking for home, he followed his emaciated soul into that which was below the crumbled lining. 

Celiac Awareness Month Heros

The National Foundation for Celiac Awareness (nfca) is featuring gluten-free bloggers in the final week of NFCA's Heroes Within Us campaign.  Check out these gluten-free bloggers and learn something new about Celiac Disease and gluten related diseases and sensitivities. campaign.www.CeliacCentral.org/awarenessmonth

Pine Street

Fleeting it may be
the moment is now
to notice
to embrace
to listen
to believe
to stop
to play

In that space between that which defines the dailiness of our days, I am want to remind myself that this is *it*.

This is the "ever after", the "someday", the "if only".

Time to plant flowers and leave dishes.
Bake bread and ignore laundry.
Build tents out of blankets and make a sleep-over with my family.

The dream exists. It is here between me and you and them and us.

Write now.
Paint now.
Absorb now.

That which we pine for is here.
It will never be perfect.
Weeds will always need tending.
Paint will need to be peeled.
Baby clothes need to be rotated.
Dinner to be made.
Laundry to be folded.

The key, it seems, is to carve out space within our reality and challenge ourselves to enjoy it ...

the bubbling water, the stained, yet, clean t-shirts, the rocks and sand that artfully litter the backyard, and the strewn about DVDs with mismatched cases.

This is what I will yearn for now. 10 years from now, 10 days from now, 10 minutes from now. I yearn now.

My kid is creepy

Houses creak. House's crack. House's hopefully don't crack open.

One son is asleep (he is easy) and the other is awake (he used to be easy). I know the boy is awake, but I am not sure if he is in his bed or if he is roaming around upstairs. I went downstairs to write a blog entry, only to realize that the laptop was upstairs and I would need to pass his room in order to get it. I knew that it was going be risky, but I am a grown-up. I am the parent. Besides, I do not want to watch re-runs tonight and I am too lazy to walk 500 ft. to get the cell phone out of my car. So, I decide it worth the risk.

If the boy sees the computer he will come out of bed and inquiring "COMPUTER!?" wanting to play on it. Confidently, yet quietly, I walk pass his open door, pick up the computer, place it under my arm - like a book - and walk downstairs. Success.

I boot up the goods and begin to write. I hear him at the top of the stairs. I can feel his presence. I can almost hear his thumb in his mouth and his blanket in his arms. I called to the top of the stairs "Bedtime ... time to go back to bed!". I did not hear the pattering of footsteps or a frantic "Noooo!" coming from the stairwell, so I knew I needed to get up and help him to bed.

After a short pep talk about all the fun things ahead of us tomorrow (the splash pad and lunch with friends), I explained that he would need to stay in bed or I would take away his blanket. I said good-night and went back downstairs attempting to continue where I left off.

I heard a noise at the top of the stairs again. I was startled because sometimes when I am writing or watching television downstairs with my back to the door, I do not hear the boy come into the room (he *is* only 30 lbs and less than 3 ft tall, so it can happen) and when I do see him, in the corner of my eye, standing behind me smiling silently with his blanket in hand, I yelp. So, I yelled upstairs, "OK, I need to take away your blanket! Go back to bed!". I did not hear any footsteps, so I yelled up, again, and no word. That was it, I was going to go upstairs and put him back to bed again and possibly take away his blanket! I got up off the couch and looked at the top of the stairs. No one was there. I called his name. No answer. He was never there. Creepy.

I went back to work and got a couple of paragraphs in when I heard it again. I yelled "What are you doing up? Go back to bed!". I did not hear anything. Quickly and without grace, I hurriedly tried to put the laptop down on the couch and run upstairs while yelling both boys names and pleading "That's it; I am taking your blanket away!". I am very much hoping that I see the boy at the top of the stairs and not a ghost or something.

I see the boy at the top of the darkened stairs with his blanket in his arms and his thumb in his mouth. I call his name. He says nothing. I call again. He says nothing. He walks slowly down the stairs toward me. Not answering me. When he reaches me, I bend down to look at him (maybe he is sleep walking? maybe he is possessed?). My heart is racing. I look into his eyes and he smiles. He is fine. Asshole.

I put him back to bed again. I go downstairs again. I try to write again. I hear the noise again. I feel the presence again. I look upstairs and see no one. Curious, I tiptoe upstairs and peak behind the bars of the railing and hoping to see the boy walking around upstairs. Instead I see the boy fighting sleep. Freaky.

To Potty or Not To Potty

My eldest son is battling and battling hard. His opponent? The Potty. After months of encouraging the boy to pee in the potty with no luck, he finally got there. He was a peeing champ, getting up and going to the bathroom all on his own, like a big boy. Mom and Dad were so proud. We thought that the day would never come. However,the toilet training process was not over.

While the boy mastered peeing in the potty, moving onto the next stage: going No. 2 in the potty was a whole different story. He would not go there. Period. We tried it all - we sat with him, rubbed his back, read to him, bought Gummy Bears as a reward, offered to buy him any toy or game he wanted; nothing worked.
After consultation with the Pediatrician, we provided him the "OK" to continue to go No. 2 in his Pull Ups, but there were restrictions. We were not going to let him rule the roost ... completely.

His part of the deal dictated the he go upstairs to the bathroom, put his Pull Up on, turn the fan on, and come get us when he was finished. The Doctor said that he would find these steps to be too laborious a process and decide to do it our way - the easy way. He liked the set-up and would not budge.

My husband and I decided this was the end of the game, something needed to happen. He would soon be four, starting preschool, and we needed to help him get over the hump. We stopped buying Pull Ups. He stopped going No. 2. He is a Leo. It was three days and nights of him jumping around like a chimpanzee, trying to repress his bodily functions. We consulted our Doctor again and she said that we can't go back; we must follow through. No more Pull Ups. Finally, he went. We were all so proud. We bought him presents and treats and were thrilled. He did it! We all did it! Sigh.

The joy did not last for long when he resorted his old tricks of holding *it* in. Then, it happened: the stomach bug. Three days and nights, 3-5 pairs of underwear a day. In his pants. Still, he would not go near The Potty. Five days later, the stomach bug has seemed to its course and we are grateful. However, he still going in his pants. This is not to say that there has been no successes.

He has gone in the potty 3 -4 times in the last two weeks. The rest of the time, we have not been so fortunate. He will get there. I know it. I am patient. I try to be patient. My husband is not patient. I don't know how the boy feels. He says he is scared. He does not tell me exactly what about going No. 2 in the potty scares him, but, clearly something does. I know that he will move forward and get to where needs to be. He is still three years old and has a lifetime of pooping in the potty (or so we hope).

If Juno can do it, so can I

Jennifer Garner seems like a really nice person.

It is almost ten o'clock on this Thursday evening and I am catching the final moments of Juno. Juno just had the baby. Jennifer Garner's character is holding the baby. Now, it is summer; Michael Cera's character and Juno are playing the guitar, singing to each other, and the movie is about to end.

I remember the first - and only - time I saw Juno. It was late summer 2008 and I was at least eight months pregnant. My husband wouldn't see the film with me - and actually still has not seen it - so I went with friends. I thought it would have interesting to see it together - you know, two soon-to-be first-time parents and all, but he thought it was just another chick flick, indy film or maybe it was just not his thang. Nevertheless, I saw the movie and loved it. And, now I sit on my bed wondering. Wondering what? Why was my husband such an ass-hole about seeing this perfectly sweet movie with me? What did Juno ever do to him? Will I ever be friends with Jennifer Gardner? Is she really as lovely as she seems in "real" life as she seems in interviews with ENews Daily? Am *I* pregnant?

It is difficult not to realize one is pregnant - especially if you are well into your third trimester- but apparently women do it all the time according to Discovery Health's " famed show "I didn't know I was pregnant." I am barely pregnant - if at all - and I am feeling phantom kicks already. I can't imagine being so out of touch with my body (or psyche) that it is not until I am in labor before I realize I am pregnant. But then again, everyone deals in their own way. We are ready, when we are ready.

My husband has been out of work for over a year and a half. Unemployment insurance has ended. And I work for an nonprofit university - where as you probably know, staff are paid really well. Not. So, I thought this was the perfect time to have another baby. Timing is everything.

Even though the stars might not be lined up well in terms of my family's financial security at the moment, I know that *we* will be OK. I also know that in the future, I will not regret owning a house or having a new car, but will deeply regret not having had another child.

Plus I am old. According to the U.S. health care establishment, a mother is considered of "advanced maternal age" by age 35. I just turned 35 years old. I feel young. I look young - ish (on most days). But I will be considered of "high-risk" - due to my advanced age - during my next pregnancy. Fuck that shit, man. Advanced maternal age, my ass. Well, my eggs, actually.

Being the 'by the books' kind of woman I tend to be, I will respect the guidance of our nation's well-intended health care establishment and abide by this suggestion - as much as I can. They say, have all of your kids before age 35 and I say I will try my best to have had my kids before I turn 36. Close enough.

In the childbirth preparation class I took during my first pregnancy, there was only one woman - out of at least 20 couples - who was in her twenties. Most of us were in our mid to late-thirties. Scientifically speaking it is optimal for women to have kids early in their lifetime, like Juno did, but growing numbers of us are just not ready then. Sometimes we are still not ready in our thirties - or forties - or ever.

Life is hard - for us all. Juno had to deal with being a pregnant high-school student and giving a baby up for adoption. She also had the whole rest of her life to look forward to and to live. She did what she had to do. Like many families, mine is suffering the consequences of the injured American economy, but I will let not let this phase in our history deter my intention to have another child. It is my right to have or not to have a child; and I will continue to respect and protect it.

I am grateful Juno had Michel Cera's character and that I have my movie-snob of a husband and beautiful like boy to offer guidance along the way. I have my whole life to look forward to and, I figure, if Juno could do it, so can I.

P.S. I still wonder if I will ever be friends with Jennifer Garner?

Wiggly Waffle

Middle-aged men, clad in colorful jumpers and Australian accents are jumping, dancing, and singing through my television set, transfixing my son at 6:00am. Who are these uniformed men and why do they have so much energy and why do they have so much power over my "almost two" years old boy? The Wiggles, of course.

Awaking from a full night's (if we are lucky) sleep, the boy will sometimes call for "Mama" or "Dada", but more likely, he will shout for "Banana", "Blue-berry", or his favorite"Wiggly Waffle." Wiggly Waffles are a perfect blend of his love for food and television.

My son is addicted to TV. Well, I embellish. He is not "addicted" but has a very real devotion to certain programs and characters, like Elmo and The Wiggles. Before having a baby, I thought that I would be one of "those" moms. You know the type. They breastfeed for at least 12 months, make their own organic baby food, and do not introduce TV watching to their kids until the American Pediatric Association's recommended second year of life - and then only with a strict two hour a day limit and content, of course.

My upstairs neighbor, a perfectly lovely woman, with two beautiful children, and does not work outside the home. Her youngest shares the same birth - day & year as my son. In fact my son is two hours older than her son. One afternoon, in an effort to be validated (my husband's least favorite word) by the fact that my less than one year old - at the time - liked watching certain children programs, a lot - I asked if her son does as well. Politely, and with genuine humility - she said something like ... "We try keep him away from the television. When my daughter watches TV, I take him in the other room". I was aghast.

A weakness of mine throughout my lifetime has been comparing myself to others. Friendly, non-athletic competition, has always motivated and inspired me. Spending more time preparing for an exam or completing a report for work early are types of silly things that have made me feel superior in someway. Sometimes such comparison, depresses me rather than comforts me, as it should. Inevitably thoughts like, How do they own a house in this fancy-dancey community? Or, How does she look like *that* after just having a baby? And, bingo, I start to feel badly about myself. Not healthy. Not productive. Yet, irresistible.

It is easy to compare oneself to the standard that which you think is paramount. As easy as it to try to keep up with neightbor or the uber-by-the-book parents, I try to focus on what is important. I love my son more than the day is long and would do anything for his unwaivering happiness and well-being - and, sometimes, that involves indulging a ounce or two of The Wiggly Waffle on a Saturday morning while the rest of the house sleeps.