Wednesday, April 29, 2009

I told him it was a tattoo.


Yesterday was a big day for Noah. You couldn't tell by the way he was acting; for him, it was just another day, another trip to the doctor. (Incidentally, Noah's allergist is married to his pediatrician - both Drs. Broadbent.)

For those of you who don't know, Noah had a very serious reaction to peanut butter in November 2007. Let's just say we made TWO trips to the emergency room that day, capped off with a two day stay at Primary Children's Hospital.

About one month ago we took Noah to the allergist Dr. Broadbent and she performed a blood test. She wanted to gauge just HOW allergic Noah was to peanuts and tree nuts. Miracle of miracles, the blood test came back NEGATIVE for ALL peanut and tree nut allergies. I couldn't believe it. Everything that I had read said that the chances of outgrowing a food allergy, especially one that produced such severe reactions, was slim to none. Yet, Noah's blood work came back negative. Of course, blood work is NOT conclusive, so Dr. Broadbent asked us to come back in a month to perform a scratch test. (See picture.)

Noah wasn't too excited about the idea of someone writing on his back AND scratching him with something that he is potentially allergic to. He remembered the FIRST scratch test (and the blood work done last month) and was distrustful. He even told Dr. Broadbent that the lady poked him HERE (indicating to his arm) and that it hurt and he doesn't want another poke. But, he IS a two year old boy and can be bought (relatively cheaply). What was it that finally convinced Noah to lift up his shirt? Well, two things, really. First, I DID tell him that the doctor was going to give him a tattoo on his back. Judge all you want, but it worked. He wants a tattoo. And he's two years old. I will now wait for the parenting accolades to pour in. Thank you, thank you.

The second? Dr. Broadbent bribed him with a bouncy ball. But, of course, she mentioned "BB" BEFORE she had said treasure in hand. Not a good idea. Noah expects fast pay outs; none of this "you'll get it as soon as you (fill in the blank)." We've done that too many times and now he doesn't fall for it. Sometimes that kid is too smart for his own good. As Dr. Broadbent and I were discussing his allergies and any reactions he may have had during the past month, Noah kept interjecting with "and my bouncy ball? And my bouncy ball?" Each time stating the question less of as a means of determining WHERE his bouncy ball is, but more as a means of gently reminding Dr. Broadbent that she PROMISED him a ball and Noah was not about to forget. Noah continued reminding Dr. Broadbent about that accursed ball even after she got up to leave the room. She had only gotten as far as opening the door when Noah said, "Doctor, and my bouncy ball." I'm sure that Dr. Broadbent had far better things to do than give a kid a bouncy ball, but she promptly returned the the bouncy ball and the lesson learned that YOU DO NOT promise Noah something unless you are ready to pay up.

After Noah finally got his "treasure," it was time for the "tattoo." As you can see in the picture, there are ten lines drawn on his back, each one indicated the allergen tested. The first one is the control, the allergen next to the "1" is peanut, and the subsequent marks are for different tree nuts. I know that you can't really see the marks now, but if you look closely, to the right and above the "1" is a slight red mark. That is where the peanut allergen came back with a very, very trace reaction. So slight that the blister was smaller than the control blister. Even so, given Noah's serious reaction that put him in the hospital, Dr. Broadbent advised us to keep him away from peanuts and any foods that could have been contaminated by peanut protein. But, because there were no reactions to any of the tree nuts, we were free to slowly introduce Noah to foods that contain tree nut products: cookies, pastries, cereals, etc.

Given the strictly monitored diet Noah has been on, it was hard for me to finally give him his first treat with nuts. But, tonight I did it. I gave a small bite of a cookie with pralines. I sat him on his little chair and sat directly across from him as he took his first bite. I watched with anticipation as he chewed, examining his face for hives, any swelling of his lips or tongue. And nothing. Nothing after the first bite, nothing after the second bite. Nothing even after Noah said that he didn't want to eat any more cookie. NOTHING!!! And nothing has never felt so good.

Monday, April 27, 2009

I'm not a bleeding-heart; the debil made me do it!!

In some cases, it's NOT funny because it IS true. Take, for example this recent article from the Salt Lake Tribune. When I started this blog, I had every intention to make it light-hearted and fun, mostly about Noah and his antics. Then I read the article, Utah County Republicans reject 'Satanic' resolution. Now, while it offers me some relief that the resolution was overturned, I find that certain pieces of information provided by the article cause me some consternation. I can't believe that there are people who entertain some of the ideas so entertained by one Don Larsen of Springville, Utah. For example, Mr. Larsen "said Democrats get most of the votes cast by illegal immigrants and people in dysfunctional families." And then goes on to say that the Democrats aren't behind "anti-family" legislation (I'm assuming he's referring to abortion and gay-rights legislation), it's the devil - although he does give us Democrats credit for playing the leading part.

As I mentioned, the resolution was defeated by Mr. Larsen's fellow delegates. However, David Rodeback urged his peers to defeat this particular resolution because "it would do the [Republican party] more harm than good." Never mind that Larsen's "Resolution opposing the Hate America anti-Christian Open Borders cabal" is full of alarmist rhetoric and compares "the political mobilization of the alienated" to the anti-American movement of the Islamic jihad. Never mind that the resolution asserts that immigration "destroy[s] our heritage" and leaves us with "little hope for our children's future." It seems as though Mr. Rodeback was doing what he could to avoid the "appearance of evil." It's okay to THINK, just don't ACT or appear evil.

A win is a win, I suppose, but I am bitterly disappointed that Mr. Rodeback did nothing to deride the resolution as insulting, divisive and completely contrary to the American spirit of embracing cultural differences. Mr. Rodeback, the passage of the resolution is not what would have hurt the Republican party and pushed Latinos (or anyone who has a brain) further away from the GOP. The fact that someone from your party introduced something so ignorant and bigoted is what is pushing people away from your party. The fact that there are Republicans who fault not only the devil, but minorities, atheists and the poor for the state of our country, rather than taking the blame for actions by YOUR Republican president, pushes us away from your party. And because Republicans fail to distance themselves from people like Don Larsen (and Rush Limbaugh, and Mike Savage, and Ann Coulter) you can be sure that the ranks of the Republican party will continue to shrink.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Can I handle another one?


As previously promised, more on our adventures at the West Valley City Rec Center.

As you can probably imagine, Noah was elated to finally play at the pool. The last time we were at the rec center, Noah couldn't stop asking if we could "go there," pointing to the pool. Since then I've made a couple of good-intentioned promises to take him, but we never made it. Either I came home late from work or James was too tired, there was always something holding us back from going. But, since I escaped from work early last Tuesday, there was really no excuse not to go.

James, Noah, the girls and I spent most of our time in the kiddie pool. And the kiddie pool did not suffice for Dan and Les. They took swimming lessons last summer and were eager to SWIM (as opposed to standing in two feet of water). Dan asked me if she could play in the big pool and I told her that she could if she and Les went with James. So, off they went. Noah couldn't handle playing with his mama in the kiddie pool, not with his cousins and papa off playing somewhere else. He wanted to go to the big pool!! "I GO THERE! I GO THERE!" I kept trying to explain that the BIG pool is for BIG kids who know how to swim. But, how do you tell a two year old that "swimming" in the bathtub is NOT the same as swimming in a pool? You can't. There is no reasoning with a two year old, a child who has no concept of depth, of measurement.

I switched tactics and tried to distract him. He was having a great time on the "duckie slide," so I took him by the slippery little hand and walked with him over to the slide - which is perilously close to the big pool. Not a good move on mama's part. Noah must've thought we were walking to the big pool, the same pool I told him he could not play in because the second he spotted the pool, he took off RUNNING. Faster than I have ever seen him run in my life. He ran to that pool faster than he ran to the little plastic eggs filled with contraband sweetness. Faster than he runs to Lolo in the morning. Faster than he runs from me when I'm trying to put a diaper on his naked butt. Faster than Forest Gump.

I yelled at Noah to stop running "RIGHT NOW!" but he didn't want to have any part of it. He saw his chance to play in the big pool, with the big kids and he wasn't going to listen to his mama yelling at him. He didn't even hesitate. He didn't pause. He didn't look to see where he was jumping. He just jumped. He jumped into the pool. And then I screamed. I screamed his name and it sounded like someone ripped the heart out of my chest. Because that is what it felt like. And then I jumped in after him. (But not before taking the briefest moment to look at the numbers on the edge of the pool. If that pool was deeper than six feet, I would be of no help to Noah and would probably make any attempt to rescue him more difficult. It was four feet deep.)

I jumped in and grabbed my baby. I hoisted him out of the water so that he could breathe. I looked him straight in the eyes to make sure that he could see me, so he wouldn't panic, so that he would know that his mama had him. I asked if he was okay, he nodded and James took him from me. By this time three or four lifeguards had come to make sure that we were okay (which we were). Noah wasn't phased by any of it. He wasn't crying. He wasn't scared. He didn't care that I felt like someone had stomped all over my guts. He just wanted to play in the pool.

Once I got out of the pool, James and I took Noah aside and tried to explain as best we could to a two year old that what he had done was dangerous, that he could've been seriously hurt. Noah nodded his head and looked at us solemnly, as if he understood every single word we were saying. But James and I have this terrible habit that my parents hate. We talk to Noah like he's much older than he really is. And most of the time (we think) he understands us. This was not one of those times.

Not two minutes after he jumped into the big pool, not ten seconds after we finished talking to Noah about the dangers of just jumping into the pool, not five seconds after we stood up to take him back to the kiddie pool, where the water is a foot deep, Noah did it again. Again he jumped into the pool. This time it was the "deep end" of the kiddie pool, but the water is still deep enough to swallow my son whole. Thankfully, James was close behind Noah - I don't think his feet even hit the bottom of the pool before James plucked him out of the water.

And like the first time he jumped in, Noah wasn't scared - he just wanted to swim.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

You Speekee Engrish?

Yes, friends and family, spring has finally sprung in the Beehive State. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and it is GLORIOUS. I know all this not because I saw the weather report on my MSN.com home page, or because I enjoyed the warmth on my way to the gym. No. I actually WENT OUTSIDE and enjoyed the spring weather. Thank you, James - er - I mean Mr. Maughan, for inviting me to accompany you and 30 of your best French 2 students to a wonderful lunch at La Caille. The food was a distant second to the beauty of the grounds. I saw peacocks/hens, roosters, rabbits. I didn't wear a jacket. I felt the warm sun on my bare arms. And it sure beat sitting in my windowless office.

Being outside put me in such a good mood, in an intoxicating mood. That's the only way I could've done what I did next. I must've been drunk. I wanted to do something fun for Noah, do something together as a family, something that we couldn't do during the winter. Well, what could be better than going swimming? Noah loves being in the water. James loves being in the water. It's warm and swimming is a warm weather activity.

Now, for all you readers (all two of you) who know me (and you should), you should know that I HATE WATER. Hate it. Hot tubs were doable, until I read an article about how DIRTY they are. Ick. Now I stick to showers and the occasional bath. Those I can handle. Pools? No, thank you. Seriously. Don't mention "pool" or "lake" or "boating" unless you want to watch me turn pale and start to hyperventilate. It's not pretty.

Anyhoo... I called James and asked him if he wanted to go to the Rec Center to play in the pool. I think he must've been confused because his wife would never, NEVER call him and ask if he wants to go to the pool. EVER. After a brief pause he answered with a hesitant, "sure." He couldn't believe his ears. And he wasn't about to say no.

After buying Noah a cute swimming outfit (trunks and a rash guard), we drove to the Rec Center to hit the pool. And it was FUN. Well, mostly fun. More on that in a separate post.

James, Noah, Dan-Dan, Les and I were playing in the kiddie pool when James gave up on us and hit the indoor slide. A monsterous, twisting, turning slide. With rushing water. And a lifeguard who stands vigilantly at the other end of the pool. First James goes down. Then Dan-Dan. Then Les. They all go down while I watch. And I'm not going to lie. It looked fun. Well, more fun than standing in a foot of water. So, I decide to try it. I asked Dan and Les to come with me (because I want my cousins to witness the monster slide eating me alive so that it will teach them that water is not fun, that it is dangerous and something that should be feared. I don't want to be the only one in the family with this irrational fear of water!). As we are heading up the stairs to get to the top of the slide, a lifeguard comes rushing up behind me and yells to the guard on duty at the top of slide, "HEY, DO YOU SPEAK SPANISH?" The guard at the top of the tower yells back, "NO! JUST BECAUSE I'M MEXICAN DOESN'T MEAN I SPEAK SPANISH!" Okay, fair enough. I'm Filipina and can't speak Tagalog (swear words and threatening to spank Noah doesn't count).

Finally, we make it to the top. I'm standing there, watching the water rush onto the slide, down the slide, along the various curves and twists of the slide and into the pool at the bottom. What have I gotten myself into? Can I do this? Do I WANT to do this? I can't chicken out now and do the walk of shame down the stairs - that would just be embarassing. Five year olds go down this slide - I should be able to!!! To allay my fears and concerns, I start asking the guard basic questions about the slide and the pool. She didn't hear me. I know that she HEARD words coming out of my mouth, but she didn't HEAR the questions I was asking. How do I know this? Because of her answer: "WOW!!! Do you speak Spanish because one of the lifeguards was just asking me if I speak Spanish, which I don't because I'm only HALF Mexican. Someone got hurt and she only speaks Spanish and they need someone to translate, but I can't because I don't speak Spanish. People look at me and just assume that I speak Spanish beause I'm brown, but I don't. Some people also assume that I am Asian because I'm half white. Do you speak Spanish because your English is perfect and I'm really surprised." Uhhh... WHAT?

Monday, April 20, 2009

Why you don't go chasing balls in bowling alleys

James and I took Noah bowling Saturday night with a friend from high school, Alicia, and her husband Tom. Prior to Saturday night, Noah's exposure to bowling had been misleading. To Noah, bowling was setting up foam pins at one end of the living room on a red plastic mat, and hurling a little red ball at the aforementioned foam pins. To Noah, bowling means you THROW the ball (think over-hand, much like throwing a baseball) at the pins, run after the ball and knock all the pins down with your body. Then you giggle and squeal as mama sets the pins up again.

The bowling we exposed Noah to on Saturday was NOT the game he had in mind. He didn't understand why it was so loud, why he couldn't touch the balls, and that he is NOT supposed to run after the ball after Mama throws it down the lane. To be fair, it IS cruel to take a two year old boy who loves throwing balls to a place that is TEEMING with balls of all different colors and telling him, "look but don't touch because if you touch, your cute little piggies will be smashed to bits."

James and I did our best to entertain Noah while the adults bowled. We asked for, and received, a ramp so that Noah could play; that lasted for about four frames. By the fifth, Noah was done and wanted to hold and throw the ball. When it became apparent that he wasn't going to get his way, he took to just standing and watching. Or so I thought.

I did my best impression of a "bowler" and hurled my ball down the lane. As soon as I let go, Noah ran after the ball. Full speed, down a very slippery lane. I took off after him and we got about half way down the lane when he slipped. Then I slipped. Apparently grace runs in the family because his very awkward running and subsequent fall looked exactly like mine. Gangly arms and legs flailing (that was the running part) and large feet flying up into the air as we landed hard on our non-existent bums. Thankfully for Noah he had a diaper on. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the cat-like reflexes that I have and he hit the back of his head on the floor. I caught myself with my forearm.

After James and our friends processed all that happened (the synchronized running and falling happened so fast), James met me and Noah at the top of the lane (because there was NO WAY he was going to slip and fall like Noah and I just did) and took a hurt and crying Noah from me. I don't think James told Noah that running after the ball isn't a part of bowling; I don't think that he had to.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Biker babe




Yes, that's me on a motorcycle. Okay, not a real motorcycle, but close enough. I'm not daring enough to go on anything larger. Well, not in a dress and peep-toe stilettos. I am, after all, a lady. A squealing, giggling, dress-and-stiletto-wearing lady. Who stole a motorcycle from a ten year old boy. Or is he 11?

Blue Steel? Ferrari? Magnum?

Yes, I know that these are old pictures, but I just pilfered them from Vangie's Facebook page. So, they are new to me. If they are new to me, they may be new to you.
Look at Noah's grin. Wonder where he got that from. And Juris's nose? Looks just like Lola's!

Don't let these two toddlers fool you. They are NOT tired. They are NOT taking a rest. They are letting Lola think that they are done jumping on her couch so she will put the cushions back on, and once the cushions are in their rightful place, they will rip them back off and continue jumping on the cushionless couch. It's their favorite game.


He has that guilty look on his face because he was just caught opening presents. Thanks, Tina.


Saturday, April 11, 2009

It's a bunny eat bunny world out there, son.

James, Tina and I took Noah to the 25th annual PABAU Easter Egg Hunt. (Wow, I feel old. The Dizon clan participated in the earliest egg hunts.) Noah made off with a pretty good stash.




And, I assure you, that is NOT my butt crack you are seeing. It's my, uhhh... back. Trust me, if that was crack peeking through, you would've heard James AND Tina AND Peejay making fun. (And for my birthday, you can all get me belts. Cute ones.)

Noah's introduction to the cruelty of egg hunts around the 2:00 mark. Brace yourself.

Remorse?

James and I have been trying to potty train Noah. He does fairly well on most days, but I think he is tiring of the "treats" we are giving him. We started with Starburst gummies with a juicy center; too messy. We moved on to organic fruit snacks; yummy, but Noah wasn't terribly excited about them. Tonight, chocolate bunnies.


No, thank you, son. We'll pass on the chocolately bunny bum.

Hi, I'm New

Hi, family and friends. Welcome to Noah's new blog. We found that his other website just didn't suffice, so we have moved his page here. :) I hope you enjoy, and I promise that we will do our best to keep up.