Biker Chick

On one of our many doctor visits, Little Banana got tired of Little One reading to her.  So she hit Little One and pushed the book out of Her hands. 
"No thank you, Banana! I am going to give you some space." Little One picked up Her book and walked to another chair. 
"Wow," the doctor remarked. "She didn't even hit her back! She handled that like a grown-up."
I was surprised by the comment.  I wouldn't have noticed, really.  I wouldn't have expected anything else from Little One.  If She had hit back, now that would have caught my attention!
But it was a reminder of what we have noticed with Little One in recent times. 
She is very grown up; She does deal with the littler ones, especially the bananas, with a patience and kindness that is maybe beyond Her years. 
Not always, to be precise about it, but the great majority of the time.  She shares, She gives, She takes care. She helps Banana with her shoes.  She coos and sings to Baby Banana.  She lets it go when Her hair gets pulled, Her drawing gets torn, Her tower crashed.  She lets it go when She sees Her shoes on other little feet, Her special toy in other little arms. 
She is all over helping me out, fetching diapers and burp cloths and cleaning up messes She didn't make without being asked. 
Not always. But often enough that I would call it the norm. 
J and I talked it over, not too long after these current Bananas joined us.  We had thought of waiting for Her birthday.  But instead, one day when She finished Her math practice and the others were sleeping, we led Her into the garage. 
"Little One," I explained, "Daddy and I have noticed that with your sister, and with the kids who come and stay with us, you have been very patient. You have been very good at sharing, and doing a lot of helping."
Little One blushed and nodded.  "Thanks mom."
"Well.  It is very grown-up to share things and to help without being asked."
"I guess so, mom."
"So, Daddy and I think that since you are such a grown-up girl, you should probably have a big girl bike." 
We pulled a sheet to reveal a brand new, two-wheel pink and purple bike with training wheels, and She lit up like a neon light. 
"OH. WOW!" 

Normally this is the kind of thing I pick up at a thrift store.  But this time, we decided to go for the whole shiny-new shebang.  Truly, I think She's earned it. 
J took Her out right away, and She had the hang of it in no time. 

Now She loves to ride whenever She can get an adult to take Her out.  She calls it Her Big-girl bike. 

We would have gotten Her a bike anyways.   It's time. 
But it's nice to have had a way to show our appreciation for Her good decisions, and nice to have a way to reward those choices. It makes it sort of a double-gift for Her; a bike and tangible evidence that Her parents don't take Her for granted. 
And it's a double gift for us, too.  Pride that She is big enough to ride this bike, at seeing Her push the pedals and wobble around corners.  And pride that it's not just Her lengthening legs that make Her such a big girl, but Her widening heart. 

Visitation Day

Today we all packed up and went to the child center for the Bananas to have their weekly visit with their parents.  As usual, Little Banana went in like a lamb and came out like a holy terror. 
She came right to me for a big hug.  Then pushed me away hard and gave me the look.  Uh oh.  I know that look.  On the way to the car she stomped and hollered, "NO! NO NO NONONONO NO!" even though she wasn't actually saying no to anything particular. 
She was so wound up, and the weather was so wet and icky, I decided to take them to the mall play area to let off some steam.  They all ran amok and had a great time sliding and climbing.  Until Banana took up a seat at the top of a slide, and refused to budge.  The line of children behind her piled up.  She sat there, backwards on her perch, staring them all down. 
I began walking over to encourage her to slide, just in time to watch her suddenly pop the kid behind her right in the eye.  What do you know?  Girl has a pretty decent right hook! She nearly knocked him off the steps. But he rallied and slapped her back.  She looked utterly victimized and began to wail piteously.  (Which did not, I'm afraid, save her from time-out.) 
I took that as our cue to exit for lunch.  After all our headway on her eating issues, today of course she slid right back to square one.  She played with her food and made a huge mess. She crammed her entire sandwich into her mouth, then stared at me with steely eyes and steadfastly refused to chew.  We sat there waiting for her. Forever.  She threw a fit in the bathroom when she had to be changed.  She insisted on putting on the straps in the stroller, then began to fuss because they were on.  Little One knelt down to console her, cooing and asking how She could help.  Banana kicked Her in the face. 
Back home, after a long nap, I picked Banana up and- like she used to in her first week with us- she went rigid and leaned as far from me as possible.  "Get off me," she chanted as I changed her diaper.  She went to play with the Littles while I fixed dinner; pushed and hit, grabbed toys and screamed "MINE!" whenever either of them touched anything.  She took a red crayon and scribbled all over the art table.  She swiped Little One's lovie and ran and hid it in the living room.  Finally I called everyone to dinner.  She didn't come.  The Littles washed up and sat waiting in their chairs.  Banana ignored my calls. "Ok, Banana.  If you can't hear me I will come and bring you to the table!" I started to walk over to her.  At that, she came running into the kitchen, pell-mell, right into my shins.  Sobbing the whole way. 
She practically never cries.  She whines.  She whimpers.  But she doesn't cry.  This time, she was all-out tears and heaving sobs crying.  I knelt down, held her at arms length and looked straight into her face.  "What's wrong?  Why are you crying honey?"
She just shook her head.  I don't think she has the words for such a big question.  Maybe no one would.  Or maybe she just stubbed her toe, I don't know.  She can't tell me these things. So I just went with intuition. 
"It has been a hard day, hasn't it Banana?"
She nodded. 
"It's ok to be upset.  I see that you are feeling upset.  You look sad and mad."
She wailed.
"I want you to know that it's ok.  You are ok.  We love you and we don't want you to feel sad.  I'm right here and I will take care of you."
She stopped crying suddenly and just stood there, staring at me.  Her arms went up- ...down.  Up- ...down. 
"If you need hugs, I have plenty for you."
She seemed to fly into my chest, crying again, clutching my neck.  I picked her up and held her a long time. She quieted, she went limp.  Finally she lifted her head and looked at me and smiled. 
"Silly!" She said.  (Which I've learned over time is Banana language for "I like you". )
So I smiled too and we ate a dinner with few problems.  
Afterwards I was cleaning up and she looked at me again with tears in her eyes.  This time she reached for me and said, "Mama.  Mama mama! I want you.  Mama."   She calls me that. 
I scooped her up and she held on so tight.  In the kitchen Pandora was playing Jazz standards. 
I held her close and we danced as Sinatra sang to us-
"you're nobody till somebody loves you! So find yourself somebody to love"
She had her head on my shoulder, her cheek pressed to mine. Every time I slowed down or began to let go, she gripped me tighter.  This little thing who took weeks just to be comfortable in quick hugs or a story time cuddle, wrapped herself around me like a band-aid and melted into my arms. 
We danced three songs.  In the glass of the window over the sink, I caught glimpses of her smiling. 

Five-O-Saurus

When I asked Little One what kind of birthday party She'd like to have, She said:
"Well. It could be princesses.  All my friends have princess parties."  
"Hmm," I carefully hid my horror,  "That's one idea.  But you don't have to have the same party as everyone else.  Let's come up with another idea, just for fun.  What's something YOU like?"
Little One brightened right up.  
"I know, Mom! I know! How about a- DINOsaur party!!! I LOVE dinosaurs!"
Yes.  How about that.  Dinosaurs I can work with.
I decided to go with the marsh building at the aquarium.  Getting to pet and tour reptiles and an aviary seemed like the closest we could get to real dinosaurs (and I did not have to clean up).
We went to visit one of our favorite local oddities, a war plane museum which randomly has some giant dinosaur models out front, to get a photo for invitations. 

Then Little One and I had craft time; I punched the holes and She tied a toy onto each one. While we were at it, She picked out some paper She liked at the craft store and we fashioned party hats with dinosaur spikes down the back. 

 We scouted for dinosaurs everywhere we went.  Each time we ran an errand the Littles were on high alert for dinos, and before we knew it we had all the makings of buckets of prehistoric party favors.

 

 At a dollar store we found some little wooden cutouts of brontosauruses.  We brought them home and I drilled holes in the top and sanded them down.  I threw in some markers and lacing yarn, so that guests could decorate their own necklace name-tag.

 

 We had a few other craft projects to keep little dino-partyers busy

 

 For decorations, Little One insisted we needed a big volcano.  So I scavenged an unused foam posterboard from the garage.  I cut it out and peeled away parts of the backing paper to add texture, 

Then we painted it with leftover furniture paint, and added red and orange tissue paper and a glittered, red-painted 5 made from leftover posterboard scraps.  

Then Little One helped me use the rest of the craft paper to make a birthday banner.  

My mom took the T-Shirts she'd bought them months ago when we visited a Texas dinosaur museum and fashioned them into fabulous party dresses, and we were all dinosaured up. 

The venue only allowed cake and water, no food.  So we decided to make them as dinosaur-y as possible!  Little One picked out the tape and stickers for the water bottles.

 As for the cake, it took some experimentation...

 

 And it didn't look like much at first...

But in the end we fashioned a vegan chocolate island surrounded by a jello sea and topped by a volcano...

That blew smoke...

 And erupted in strawberry goo.

 

I kind of forgot to light the dinosaurs.  But She wished on Her 5, and even though it was a mess to serve, it tasted pretty good and She was quite amused with the special effects.  

 The kids had fun getting up close with the reptile visitors,

 Ok Little One was not about to pet the one described as "gooey and slimy"

 And then we all got to take a tour of the aquarium's animals and exhibits.

Little One is always happy to lend a hand

 One of the top highlights for Little One was that after the aquarium tour, She got to go behind the scenes and feed the otters.  The rest of us got to watch, and the otters put on quite a show! 

 

Overall Little One had a blast.  She invited some longtime best friends, and a list of new pals from school.  I was happy to see that they were all awesome, sweet, fun kids.  

They made a fierce group of dino-guests!

 Afterwards, as a family we went to lunch at Her favorite restaurant- a sushi and Japanese food place which She might just eat out of business one day.  Then we opened presents.  At first, Little One was afraid all those fancy packages meant no one had honored Her request for donations. But it turned out they were mostly filled with toothbrushes, soaps, power bars, and the like.  She was thrilled.  

She got some nice gifts to play with and wear as well, and it seemed like a nice balance.  Because She is now FIVE and a BIG GIRL, She even suggested that She make Her own thank-you cards this year.  An excellent idea, I agreed.  I'm glad that She is a big girl, and I'm glad that She is thankful.  

I am, too. 

Small Victories

I can't share everything about our little Bananas.  I'm not allowed to share photos, names, or identifying information.  So I won't.   But I can share some of what we are going through as a family.  We are working on patiently taking tiny steps forward. 
Baby Banana is nearly a year.  But because of "non-accidental" brain injury, caring for him is like caring for a six month old.  He can't feed himself a cheerio.  He can't sit up by himself.  He is tiny for his age; he is learning how to eat. 
Little Banana is a tiny bit older than Little Miss.  Like Missy, she is small, which is nice because she now has a closet stocked with outfits to share.  They play together and it is very sweet.  But, now that she has settled in enough for us to really see her whole self, it is heartbreaking as well, because it's impossible not to compare. 
Missy is potty trained.  She sets the table and sings the alphabet and spells Her own name. She has Her favorite stories memorized, She plays elaborate games of pretend involving family members She rarely sees and the names of friends from play group.  
Little Banana doesn't know her own name, or who she sees in the mirror.  She knows what a dog is.  But she can't recognize one in a book.  She can't recognize me in a photo.  She can't choose between water or milk, or tell me where it hurts if she falls.  She talks a lot, she is very engaging, so it's hard to notice at first.  But almost all of what she says is just parroting what someone else has said. She seems to be playing the same game as the Littles; She follows along and does what they do.  But if you ask her what she is playing, she says, "playing!" If they are being mommies and feeding their dolls, I tease, "are you pretending to be lions?"  She nods, "Ten-deen lions!" 
She seems to understand you- she nods when you ask a question. But it has nothing to do with affirmation.  She takes directions very well, and she's extremely compliant.  If I ask her to put away the blocks she's been playing with, she will jump right up and begin gathering them.  Only, even though she's just taken them out of the white box minutes ago, she can't remember where they go.  She runs frantically from room to room with one in each hand, repeating, "Bocks? Bocks? Bocks go?" I tell her to put them in the white box at her feet. She looks all around.  She looks right at it.  "Feet?" I have to point, to show her.  "Oh! There a is!"
She's nowhere near potty training; she has serious issues with both toileting and eating.  It's agonizing both from an empathy and a frustration point of view to watch her attempt either.  I spend half the day, it seems, coaxing- "Eat, Banana.  Chew it up, love.  Swallow your bite please, Banana.  Try a drink of your milk."  She will stuff her mouth as if she's starving, until she begins to gag.  Then just let the food sit there.  And sit there.  Forever.  She will forget what she's doing and begin playing with the spoon, begin rolling a pea over and over.  It can easily take her two hours to finish a bowl of oatmeal.  Amidst the many appointments we are rushing to these days, I am constantly faced with how on earth to get food into her before we have to pack up and go again. 
She scribbles alongside Missy.  Missy tells me, "this one the ship. See, looks like a tri-angle. A big sailboat! An' it's going aaaaaalll a way to Texas.  And here, is a crocodile! Going to get the sailboat to eat it up! And here come the mama, right here, to save it from crocodiles.  And here is a cow." 
I ask Banana, "And tell me about your picture?"  She looks up at me and cocks her head. 
"Pic-ure."  
"But what are you drawing?" 
"Drawing!"
It breaks my heart. In moments like those, I look at her and see a child who has been robbed of the very greatest gift we are each born with- unlimited potential.  I look at Baby Banana and see years of struggle for things that could have been a given, if they weren't taken right from him.  It breaks my heart. 
But I have to shake it off and remember that pity and anger and breaking hearts never do anyone any good.  That nothing can be done about could-haves and should-haves.  What we can do, is start from here, and do our best.  The hard work for me isn't to decide fairness or assign blame- that's not my job at all.  My task is to accept them as perfect.  As just who they are, just where they are.  And to do anything I can to just move forward...no matter the pace.  No matter how far behind we start compared to someone else.  To choose to see their potential as Limitless Anyways.
The eating is messy and frustrating, with them both.  The effects of "training intestines how to process food regularly" is messy and frustrating.  And gross.  For them both.  Learning to cope with delays, especially those that effect certain behaviors, is tiring and confusing at times. 
But tonight I want to celebrate the victories.
After a month of being in our family, our bananas are quite far behind their peers in so many ways.  But they aren't in a race; they are on their own tracks.  And I'm feeling happy with how far they've come so fast. 
Little Banana no longer runs and hides when she's scared or hurting, she comes to me with wide arms.  That's huge.  She has learned, after lots of work, to tell me at least sometimes when she is hungry or thirsty, or needs help.  This feels like a big hurdle jumped; learning to both identify and express a need.  Today, for the first time, she was able to identify both Littles by name. She has learned how to buckle her top car seat buckle, and she is so proud of this it makes my heart shine.  She ate her whole dinner tonight with silverware. 
For Baby Banana, it was a banner day.  For the first time, he rolled all the way over and discovered the incredible freedom of getting from one place to another.  This baby who used to be on the same spot on the blanket if I left the room and came back later- by the end of the day he was rolling half way across the room.  It's a new world for him! 
When he first came to us, if I put him on his tummy he would whimper a moment, then lay down and go to sleep.  After a month of tummy time he now pushes up on his hands and plays with toys, he gets his belly just off the floor.  Today, he even scooted forward a few inches!  He has learned to eat baby food, even with a few soft chunks, and decided that he loves it.  Today in fact, an amazing thing happened. 
He cried.  Because he was hungry! This is a baby who thus far has only cried if in real pain.  Who I have to feed a set amount on a careful schedule because he could not tell when he was hungry (and wouldn't fuss no matter how long it had been since eating last) or full (and when fed would eat and eat until he threw everything up).  Today he cried for food- he asked for food!  He has also learned to turn away when he is full.  He is learning himself, learning how to communicate, learning how to be cared for.  It's beautiful.  I've hardly been so happy to hear a baby cry. 
These children are amazing.  They have been given so little; I am stretched, I can manage just the basics most days.  But they have taken that little and used it to grow and learn and become bigger and better and stronger and smarter.  In such a short time, in such a hard, scary situation.  I am proud for them. 
They are proof of what human failure can do to damage.  But they are also proof of what the human spirit can do to overcome.  They haven't passed as many milestones as some their age, but they are achievers in their own right. They inspire me. 
If they can keep on, keep being better each day than they were yesterday, after all they have been through...well what's my excuse?! 
The truth is I have been feeling tired and stressed and rather maxed out lately.  But today especially these bananas remind me that I have a human spirit, too.  It means that the more I have to overcome, the more I will overcome.  If they can wake up each day and move forward on their own tracks, well so can I.  Tomorrow I am going to be be myself.  But better. 

Living Large

Today I spent eight hours with Littles and Bananas at the hospital.  We did a sort of tour of waiting rooms, triage stations and exam tables.  Then I dragged the lot of them across a parking deck in wind and rain to find an exploding diaper.  Changed the poor shivering buns on the passenger seat, then drove the soaked bunch of hungry, no-nap children whining in harmony through two hours of rush hour to get home.  J is out of town again.
It's not all rainbows and sunshine all the time, is it?
In fact, it is simply amazing how much actual, literal crap is involved in this job.  I honestly would write more for you Peanuts about our current lives, except that practically every story involves poo or vomit or both.  If I can't be spared it, Peanuts, at least you can.  Some of it, anyways. 
Tomorrow we go back to a doctor, Friday to another.  Between the four of them we are the traveling band of medical maladies.  Since I've been hit with a good strong respiratory infection the last week, I make a perfect ringleader!
But even though the house is a wreck and the kids and I all had a great laugh today about the state of my rainy-day hair, we are hanging in there.  At the end of the day we get to snuggle up, all smelling like baby soap, all in our fuzzy jammies, and read stories.
Suddenly the rain seems cozy and friendly, the messy house still feels like home.  The long day melts away behind us.  That too has passed.  And now we're Here, wrapped in blankets, cuddled together in an imaginary adventure to dream about soon. 
This season of life feels large to me.  As large as I am! The days are so long, the work is so ponderous.  The headaches are so blinding and the sacrifices demanding.  But the payoffs.  The sweet moments.  They are breathtakingly huge as well. As long as I remember to hold on to those while the challenges fall into my lap, life may get heavy, but maybe there will be balance. 
And hot chocolate.  There will always be that. 

October 7, 2013

Five. 
Enough to count each finger on a hand.  A whole hand full of years. 
Five whole years of motherhood, five years of Little One. 
A handful isn't such a very lot. 
But when I look back at five fingerlengths of years with this child, it feels heavy.  It feels like holding the world, like holding a lifetime of joy and wonder. 
What was there before those five?  How did I not notice how empty my hands were?  What did I hold on to?  I can't remember. 
I know that having held this small hand in mine, five little fingers in five weathered ones, feels like enough love to have gathered to make all of my many more years worth the while. 
It's amazing how the smallest things can make the biggest difference.  A handful of little years and I've been redefined; I've relearned myself and what living and loving means.  Five years only, and yet I somehow know in my soul that the world has more light than it did when my hands were empty. 
Someday I'll tick off more years on more fingers, and then She will be too big to hold on to.  I will have to let Her go.  Still I can't wait to see what each of those years will bring. 
In the meantime, five is such a perfect number.  Big enough to feel the weight of holding all that magic.  Small enough to fit into my hand.  

\

Big Little (One) Decisions

Today I took four quite ill children to the ENT specialist at nap time. 
I'm not sure if this was like a test to see if the surgeon could remain calm and collected under all circumstances, a test to see if I could, or just some kind of a twisted joke I decided to play on us both.  But, fortunately, surgeon and I both passed the test.  And while no one got the promised Big Treat For Being Extra Patient And Calm (our traditional BTFBEPAC at the hospital is orange juice), no one got scolded either, and I did get to have a lengthy conversation which I could even hear all of.  So overall a win I think.   In part because of the compelling facts Dr ENT had kindly printed up for me in advance (points for actually reading Her chart and being prepared! And passed the four-sick-kids-no-nap test! The guy needs a trophy.) we have decided to go ahead with the surgery. 
The other reason we are going for it is that for extra credit, Dr. ENT agreed to coordinate with another specialist who is already scheduled to have our Little One under anesthesia later this month, so that She could get both procedures knocked out with one, well, knock out. 
Since half the risk will be undertaken whether Her tonsils are removed or not, we might as well yank 'em and hope that it will be the miracle life-changer for Her that the latest studies promise. 
The trickiest part (other than how I will manage to disguise myself as an orderly or stow away in the scalpel cart so that I can be RIGHT BY my baby's side EVERY SECOND while She's having a part of Her body cut off),  will be convincing Her this is all a good idea. 
As I've mentioned, the fevers have been part of Little One's life since She was a baby.  She literally can't remember living without them.  So for Her, what's the big deal really?  Removing body parts, however... um....that's a novel experience She is none too excited to explore.  Her exact and final words to me in our discussion today were, "Say what you want to but I will NEVER ALLOW IT." 
Of course She was a little grumpy about the no juice.  But still. 
And what about this other procedure you ask?  Oh, you know. Just another specialist looking into whether She has yet another rare disorder associated with deranged immune systems.  Unfortunately, confirming this diagnosis requires general anesthesia.  And I personally really, really don't want Her to have it.  On the plus side, deranged as Her immune system is, it isn't dangerously so in the way that say, cancer, or some really terrible thing might be.  So I will count blessings instead of eggs before they hatch. 
Speaking of blessings, tomorrow will be the first school day in a very long time that no one has any appointments for me to drag us all to.  We will stay home with our sick, nasty selves and keep our PJ's on and do birthday party crafts and take actual naps.  I'm pretty excited. 

Same Girl, More Adventures

Awhile ago I posted an update on Little One's allergies. 
Since I've had a few questions from family lately about how Her fevers are going, let me give Little One more reason to slap me with a HIPAA lawsuit someday. Bring it, Little One!
I don't talk about the fevers as much as the allergies, because unlike food allergies, which other people can have a lot to do with making worse/better, there is nothing anyone can do about Her fevers.  Not even me.  And I'm the mom.  I'm supposed to have super-kiss-it-better-powers!
But they are a big part of our lives, nonetheless.
Little One has a glitch in Her immune system that causes Her to spike high fevers about once a month, for about a week.  They come with lovely side attractions like vomiting and lymph nodes the size of ping-pong balls.  So much fun! 
Let me tell you something about Little One.  She is tough.  I mean, this kid is tough as nails.  How much is inborn, how much is building up a tolerance for discomfort after a small lifetime as a human pincushion, who knows.  But my girl is so tough, She doesn't even know She's being tough.
So most people don't notice.
Think about it.  A week of fever that comes every month. That's a quarter of Her life.
Most people don't notice that 1/4 of the time, She is experiencing something that would have most kids crying and pouting in bed.  And practically all adults.  Because She is tough, and because Her parents take the stance of, "this is your life so go live with it", She goes about Her business- school, swimming lessons, chores- even though She is fevered and in pain. 
To the average observer, Little One might seem like a kid that's due a nap.  A little bit droopy, a little bit grumpy.  A little bit.  Almost no one can tell that She's powering through a really tough week.  And we don't bring it up.
Before we knew what was going on, when She got sick we would baby Her a little.  Let Her lie on the couch, let Her eat soup.  Then the week after the fever was as rough on us as the week during; it took that long to readjust to having to follow the rules and the schedule and not being a Special Case anymore.  Well if we keep that up, it's literally half our lives spent off-kilter.  It's telling Her over and over that She's a victim and She Can't.  No thanks.
So She might be a little grumpy at a playdate, but I'm not going to skip it. Or say, "Sorry. She's running a fever of 103, taking three medicines, and hasn't kept down any food today.  It's not really Her fault She's a bit fussy."  I don't want Her to hear me say that this thing, normal for Her, is an excuse, or that I think She needs to be apologized for.  I'll just let Little One know that if She's too tired to play, we can go home.  She decides.  Sometimes we do, but we say She's tired and leave it at that.
Unlike food allergies, which anymore are pretty common, fever syndromes are still pretty rare.  So I also don't talk about it much because I get blank stares.  No, it doesn't really make sense.  It's an odd disorder.  No, She's not contagious; She's not actually ill.  Her body is just attacking itself for awhile.  Luckily my girl can take a self-beating and keep on kicking.
Still.  Just because we don't make too much fuss about it doesn't mean is isn't hard.  For Her, there are a lot of times She is expected to achieve and behave as usual when She just feels like crap.
For Her parents, between fevers we all but forget them.  It feels like they are no big deal.
But when one hits, it's misery.  It is misery to see my baby having to fight hard to get through a day.  An onlooker might not be able to tell how bad She feels, but I can.  She might not cry or whine one bit.  But when She just can't swallow Her dinner, She falls into my lap ready for bed two hours early, and looks up at me with these big, suffering eyes...it breaks my heart a little.
My super-kiss-it-better-powers fail me here, Peanuts.  In the middle of a fever, it is a big deal. We can't remember why we ever thought it wasn't a big deal.  We want to sell our internal organs if it will make it go away so She can feel better.  And then She wakes up in the morning, fine.  And we move on; we forget about it again for a few weeks.  It's a roller-coaster for us all.
The high demands of burning like that for a week each month ratchets Her metabolism up so that She needs a special calorie drink and a careful diet to get through the days without running out of energy.  But Her teacher can't understand why I keep bothering them about why She hasn't had Her snack at school.  She has to have it, I try to explain.  Every day.  One missed snack a day and She will dive off the growth curve and send all Her specialists into a tizzy fit.  I get to be That Crazy Mom. 
This summer, after a couple particularly bad rounds of fever, we agreed to try high-dose steroids.  It was like a miracle.  One dose and She'd wake up the next day as good as new.  One day a month is SO much better than a week.  SO much.
But the problem, which is common for fever syndrome kids, is that while the drugs shortened the fevers, it also caused them to come closer together.  Closer and closer, until we were having to give them to Her every two weeks instead of once a month.  Hard to say how much better that is.
So now we are considering third-line treatment, which is surgery.  In a little over half of cases, a tonsillectomy has been found to "cure" this fever syndrome.  Maybe not forever, but for at least a good long while.  Maybe by then She will be old enough that Her body will have stopped this cycle; it usually does happen on its own around puberty.
I know it's a minor, common procedure.  But it's still hard to elect to put your child under a knife.
I know I have found comfort scanning the internet for blogs of fever-syndrome moms.  It helps to know that though it's a rare problem, She's not the only one going through it, and it helps to see how other parents handle managing it for their kids. So maybe someone will read here and know there's someone who gets what you are going through, who is facing the same kinds of decisions.  If so I hope you share your story and advice in the comments.
For those who are just part of the Little One fan club, now you know Her better.  In the next week or so we will see the ENT guy and decide whether to try the surgery.  I'll let those of you who are curious know how it goes.  In the meantime, if you meet Little One She might be fighting or recovering from a fever.  But if you ask Her how She is, She'll tell you, "Good!" Which is exactly what She is. 

Four

A friend of mine pointed out recently that I had referenced my current brood as "four under four", when in fact that's not quite true.  Four four-and-under would be more accurate, and even that's only until next week.  Because Little One is about to be five. 
AH! How did it happen?!
But it's undeniable, especially since She seems to astound me with Her maturity almost constantly these days.  I don't just mean the part where She sneaks into my make-up and eye-shadows Herself every morning, or the part where She shamelessly flirts with the boys in Her class.  I shall choose to ignore those parts. 
I mean the way She looks after the littler Littles.  The way She says to me about the book She has worked on for weeks at school and couldn't wait to show me- "It's ok Baby Banana chewed it up, mom.  He's jus' a baby, he didn't know it was a special book.  The 'portant part is he didn't get choked on the paper, right?  I can make a new cover for it sometime."
It's the way She asks for extra veggies to be "healfy", the way She cleans up without being asked. 
It's the fact that when we talked about Her birthday party, all on Her own She asked if Her guests could bring donations for the homeless instead of presents.  Since "I'll probably get one from Nana and Grandma anyways, and I don't need too much more of stuffs than that.  But if people bring presents for the homeless people we see, we could give them things and they do need them.  I think I would like to do that better". 
It's seeing Her ride a bike with training wheels, it's working together on math each afternoon.  It is, sadly, the passing from memory of the afternoon nap.  And one more thing. 
Little One has learned to read.
Not just a few letters or a word or two.  To really read.
Every day at story time, and each night before bed, I read two books to the Littles, and, now, Little One reads us one.  She reads The Cat In The Hat, The Giving Tree, whatever we've found at the library this week. She reads with emotion and emphasis- I can hear the exclamation points in Her voice.  
I love it.  I'm not sure I've loved much in the world quite as much as I love hearing Her read.
She Herself has turned a key, opening a door which leads to, well, absolutely everything.  The whole wide world is there for Her now, just waiting for Her to discover it.  All of human knowledge and accomplishment is now at Her fingertips.  She can learn anything! She can travel limitless worlds of imagination and poetry.  She can arm Herself against anything, because there is an answer out there, and now no one can stop Her from finding it.
I feel that She has found wings, a shield, and a way to share the wonderful everything that is in Her own heart and mind.  There is nothing more powerful than words.  Now, Little One has them all at Her fingertips.  As a mother who worries (as we mothers do) I've found this to be one of the most reassuring events of my whole life. 
Watching Little One's babyhood slide into the scrapbooks is sad in some ways.  The hugs and cuddles are fewer and shorter.  My omnipotence is already fading.  Bummer on that one.  Her innocence becomes colored by an awareness of what others think, by an awareness of the ability to manipulate the truth.  Her disappointments are more real and run deeper.  Her questions become harder to answer.
But this new grown-up Little One is also a real, true help to me.  She has good ideas that work; She has interesting things to talk about.  She can be responsible, She can take care of Herself.  She is brave and compassionate and smart.  As much as I miss Her baby self, I'm proud of the little girl She's becoming, and lucky to have such a really fun, kind-hearted person in my life every day.
With Five around the bend, I only mourn the past a little bit.  If who She is now is any hint of who She will become, I'm as excited as an almost-five about to have a birthday party about the years ahead of us. Even if I do have to share my make up. 

Things Are Going....Swimmingly.

Now that J is home (yay!),  things are running right along at home. We have a rhythm going. 
The Baby Banana is as adorable as it is possible to be.  Baby Banana relishes the attention of the Littles and so they pour it on.  They jump along with the jumper (in fact Little One is the one who taught BB to jump!) they bring soft toys to jingle, and help BB practice babbles and silly faces.  Little One sits in front when BB does tummy time and gently pulls BB onto Her lap.  BB curls up and rests on Her thigh, sucks on those fingers and coos.  Little One melts.  She croons- "Oh baaaby, pretty baaaby, you are so sweeeet.  You are a daaaarling, a wonderful baaaaby.  How I love you! Sweet angel baaaaby!" BB is sleeping.  She melts again.
Missy asks to hold BB in Her lap.  I prop them up together on the couch; BB is almost as big as She is.  Miss looks like a proud mother hen.  "Look I'm so big gul! I a Momma! I can be so gentle see?  I can do a good job!  Hi baby! You my friend?  I think baby say yes, Mommy!"
Little Banana seems a bit younger, but is just Missy's age.  When they aren't having a standoff over who can be the Most Two, they play nicely; when Little One is around they are three peas in a pod.  Missy calls Little Banana "Friend", LB calls Missy "sis-er".  The two of them follow Little One around like ducklings, to Little One's great delight.  The baby dolls in this house are exquisitely cared for. 
Little Banana has been here long enough to begin settling in and testing me carefully. What if I say "no"? Lb wonders. What if I dangle this piece of turkey over the floor until I catch an eye, and then drop it?  What happens if I knock over Miss's milk?  Or take Her toy?  Or paint pictures on the glass with my snot?  Or refuse to eat- anything- and instead say "banana. cookie." over and over and over?  This is the nature of things.  There is an adjustment, a settling in.  A readjustment.  Typically Bananas aren't supposed to be with us long enough for that second phase. 
Since Little Mister is poised to hit this family like a precious, adorable wrecking ball in a swaddling blanket, we were only approved for short-term foster care placements.  However, there have been some twists and turns in the life story of these two particular bananas, and it appears they may be with us for some time. 
I'm sad about that, because foster care is no place for children.  I know it's an odd thing to say, but though the system is certainly better than nothing (I've seen places where there's Nothing; broken is drastically better than Nothing), it is still a mess.
I'm happy about it, because they are precious and despite the medical issues and the testing and all the car seat buckles (why has no one invented the self-buckling car seat?!) I like having them here.  It's fun having four- there are more snuggles and giggles.  I like them in particular; they are sweet little people I'm honored to know.
And then I'm sad about it again because as much as having four is fun, as much as I love these special bananas with all my heart already, taking care of them is not the hard part.  It's that broken system.  It's being constantly sent all over town to appointments which may or may not exist, with people who may or may not show up.  It's spending 3 hours every day on the phone with social workers and lawyers and various affiliated people who are all somehow involved in the Bananas' case, but who never seem to speak to each other, only to me.  ALL the time.  And they rarely agree. 
It's never being able to clean my house because there is always someone coming over to judge the cleanliness of my house.  It's being asked why I don't have them on a morning nap schedule by the same people who have insisted I drag all the children out to some meeting or doctor every. single. morning. since they have been here.  That stuff.  That's the stressful part.  A couple little kids, with or without some health issues, is no problem.  The kids are lovely.  It's the grown-ups, guys.  The grown-ups are driving me CRAZY. 
It's funny, but I had been prepared for the kids to be so much harder to deal with than any of them have been.  But, ignorantly I suppose, I was not prepared for the grown-ups to be so terribly frustrating and exhausting.  You have no idea how many times a day I want to send them to time-out. 
Instead, I am channeling my favorite cartoon fish (hey we all need a role model), and trying to just keep swimming, just keep swimming.  Luckily for me, J is my emotional life-vest as I swim, and he always gives me a little lift when I start to feel in over my head.  Luckily for me I have a few really, really good friends who have been there to help me along;
luckily my own Littles are such expert swimmers themselves that all I really have to do is try to keep up with them. 
And when it really starts to get to me, Baby Banana coos and gurgles at me with big, shiny eyes. Little Banana reaches for me and wants to sit and rock for awhile, hugging me tight.  My Littles climb up too, and for just a minute before they start to bug each other or get bored and run off to make messes, I stop swimming.  In fact, I'm floating. 
Long enough to catch my breath. Long enough to remember the Whys.  And then off we go again....swimming, just keep swimming.....

Mom Luck

Mom luck. 
The rule that dictates that only after one has cleaned the house, scrubbed the floors, and taken a shower, shall one child vomit all over Mom (and the clean floors) and the other poo all over Mom (and the clean floors) (and the clean bathroom). 
It was all going to need washing again soon anyways. 

This Beat Is Bananas

The Department of Human Services cares about me.
It cares in a diefied way, an omniscient way.  It cares about my deeper being; my long-term character development.  It wants me to be all I can be.
I know this because days like today, I feel confident that DHS knows me.  It knows my soul.  My flaws.  DHS knows that I am an impatient person.  That I am a type A, lets-get-things-done, according-to-plan person.  It knows that I have raging Mama-bear tendencies when it comes to any child within detectable existence, much less those in my care, and that rage is bad.  Rage and impatience and all of that.
DHS is like a swami, people.  It knows.
That, I am certain, is why it goes to such loving, meticulous lengths to help me overcome these character flaws, by giving me such extreme and mandatory opportunities to practice patience.  And changing of plans.  Three times.  Eight times.  16 times.  To practice not becoming ballistic when seven different people make mistakes in one day and all of them adversely affect my babies.  Rage is not a good thing.  Not a good thing.  Ooooommmmm.  DHS has even given me a mantra!
After spending three hours waddling back and forth across every wing of a hospital while pushing a decrepit double-wide stroller with one trick wheel and simultaneously balancing a two-year old on my pregnant belly, after SIX HOURS of waiting rooms and car seats with three, and then four children and NO LUNCH for anyone, after over a dozen fruitless phone calls, I can say for sure.
DHS cares about me extra today. 
How they managed to throw in the exploding diarrhea child and the vomiting baby I really don't know.  But after today I feel confident they had it all covered.  It's the omniscience.
Now it could possibly be the strained muscle from hauling a pack and play upstairs with a child on my back, but I don't think so.  I think it's just growing pains, you know, from all the personal growth.  I'm feeling it!  Thanks DHS.  I practiced patience all day.  Keep it up! Keep it coming!  Someday I'll learn.  Ommmmmmmmm. 

Bananas In Pajamas

So awhile ago, J left to go bobbing about the sea on a boat again.  Not for long, just for a bit.  Such is the Navy life.  Wouldn't you know it, he'd been gone just a day when I got a call saying there was an emergency need for two Bananas to find a place to sleep.  Four kids under five, on my own, 7 months pregnant can't be that hard, right?  Right?  ....hello?...... Right.
So they came.  In their pajamas, just in time to meet us, wonder what they'd gotten into, and go to sleep.   They've been playing and sleeping and eating and reading with us since.  After spending today at a farm/playground AND a shopping trip through a packed commissary with the lot of them, I can honestly say these things:

1) Ok, friends with large families, ok.  I always thought maybe you were being a little unfriendly, a little sensitive.  But no, really, it gets super obnoxious really fast when every other random stranger in public has some comment or invasive question about the kids you are hauling.  I mean, seriously. Call me crazy again and I will show some crazy TO you, people! 

2) The question "are they all yours?" is particularly common and particularly awkward when, no, they aren't- but, well, kind of- and anyways they are listening and probably would not love being pointed out as Not Belonging seven times a day.  So I'm going with "aren't they sweet?" as an answer. And then just laughing as they look at my belly, and the baby, and then the belly, and just stand there doing math in their heads and looking confused.

3) There needs to be a minivan version of shopping carts.

4)  Four Under Five are not that hard.  Even pregnant, even J-less.  In fact,

5) It's pretty fun.  There are a lot of extra giggles around here.  Lots of them are mine.

6) There may be nothing more inspiring than the way children can instantly accept and love each other.  What is wrong with adults that we can't do that?

7) I'm tired.

In fact, I'm too tired to make it to 10.  Let's assume it would have been something funny and/or insightful.  And on that note, I will make like my kids and the bananas, put on some pajamas, and go to bed.  There will be adventures waiting and giggling to do in the morning, I'm sure. 

Adventures of Allergy Girl

Putting up that Epipen Apron post the other day reminded me that it might be past time for an update here about that sort of thing.  I like to keep the Littles' Fan Club here posted on food allergy stuff for three reasons:
1)It helps me keep track of it all.  Let's be honest, I have the memory of an aging ex-acid-junkie.
2)There is a shocking amount of outdated or plain wrong information out there about food allergies.  This is my version of shouting from the rooftops, "A LITTLE ICE CREAM IS NOT BETTER THAN A LOT! A LITTLE DEATH IS THE SAME AS A LOT OF DEATH!"
3) Since so many of you three loyal readers spend time with the Littles in real life, I'd sure love you to know what's going on.  So you're never tempted to, say, give Little One just a little ice cream.

Last year when we moved here we went to the new pediatric allergist, who is very good and very kind.  He's a practical, evidence-based doctor, which I like.  However, because of these beneficial traits, he did not quite believe my story.
I couldn't really blame him, so when he insisted on starting from scratch and doing all the tests and challenges on Little One to See For Himself, I sighed and went along with it.  He started with bloodwork.
When the results came in, he talked about how these tests can sometimes be unreliable, and these probably were off a bit, making things look worse than they are.  So, to really know what was going on, he would need to go with the most accurate, gold-standard method of testing for allergy- the food challenge. 
Little One's food allergies are down to three:
1) Nuts (ALL nuts)
2) Dairy
3) Eggs
So we started with the one Her bloodwork shows She is least allergic to- eggs.
Allergist explained that most people with egg allergy can still tolerate egg that is baked- say in a cake or bread- because the high temperature of an oven changes the protein so that it isn't recognized by the body.  So to start with a Sure Bet, we would do that first.
I baked a batch of 18 muffins. I used ONE egg in the recipe.
We started by giving her a crumb about the size of a lentil.
He gave me a wink and a nod and said he'd check back in 15 minutes.
After three, the nurse hauled him back.
Little One's face was covered in hives, which were rapidly spreading down Her torso and arms.  Her eye was puffing up.
The Allergist just stood there dumbstruck for a moment.  His jaw actually dropped. 
And that was the end of that.

Later we came back to try milk.  Because of the first experience, instead of starting with drinking even a drop of milk, they started with a scratch test.  She was given a tiny needle prick to make an invisible disruption in the natural barrier of Her skin. Then they placed a drop of diluted milk protein- we are talking about only a few molecules of milk- on that spot.  And waited.
Before a full minute had passed, the area around that spot was covered in hives so large they exceeded the chart used by the clinic to record them.
Not only that. At some point, She must have bent Her arm, and a little of the serum, placed on Her forearm, must have touched Her bicep.  Because that part was also swollen with hives. No scratch needed!
Obviously, our "three-hour food challenge" was stopped after that one minute.  She was given benadryl and steroids and made to sit there for an hour in case She stopped breathing.  She didn't, but it sure made an impact on Allergist.

We didn't even try peanuts.  As Allergist joked, we'd better not let Her so much as look at a peanut.

"I'll be honest with you ma'am", he said to me later, "I kind of wanted to be the knight in shining armor, riding up and giving you some of your life back.  I know how hard it is to do what you are doing for your daughter.  But it turns out all I can do is ask you to,  for goodness sake, be even more careful than you already are.  Your daughter's immune response is incredible.  I called your other Allergist and boy did he remember you!  She is the most highly allergic patient either of us have ever seen. Please.  BE SO CAREFUL."

Living with Little One's food allergies is so much a part of what we do in this family, that by now it truly doesn't feel like a lot of work; it really isn't hard.  It's as natural as breathing for us to scan picnic tables for food remnants before sitting, to cut Her apple on a separate board from the one we used to slice the cheese.  It's such an automatic thing for me to keep one hawks eye on your yogurt-eating child, noting everything he touches, and one on Little One, making sure She has a wide berth, that I can do it without changing my expression or interrupting my conversation with you. When you leave my house, there isn't a surface those yogurt-eating hands have touched that I haven't scrubbed within minutes.
I don't do it while mentally cursing you and your evil, toxic snack.  I do it while chatting with the Littles about how fun the playdate was.  Because it isn't an imposition.  It's just life.  This is just the way we do things.  It's so natural that occasionally it strikes me that our normal isn't everyone's, and I have to laugh.  But all families are different.  We all have our own normal.
I don't want people to avoid us, or to scare everyone by screaming at their child to Stay Away! You had eggs for breakfast! Truly, one of the very hardest things about this is that She is old enough to feel left out, old enough to be embarrassed by being made to sit alone at lunch or pointed out by well-meaning friends.
But I do want people to understand that it's real.  That sharing "just a little" birthday cake with Her is not just going to break my anal-retentive rules, or give Her a little tummy ache.  It could be the last thing She eats. Ever.  That She isn't being rude when She won't shake your hand.  She saw you eating goldfish crackers, and knows that your unwashed hand will hurt Her.  That I'm not judging housekeeping when I point out a sticky spot on your couch to my child; I'm alerting Her to a potential danger.
We don't want to keep Her in a bubble; we have to raise Her to live, as She is, in the real world.  For the most part, we keep our epipens handy and a sharp eye, and go about life like we always would have. But it helps to have friends and family who ask before offering Her food, or give us a heads-up when they know Junior spilled peanut butter on his shirt today, and a handshake would be better than a hug.
I don't need people to freak out over what She's doing and touching- that's my job.  But it does help when they understand that we have to do some things differently, and don't mention it when we break out our own cupcake at a party, go over the restaurant booth with a wet wipe, or put a blanket down before She rides in a friend's car seat.  We're not putting on a show.  We're just doing our version of normal. 
Next month we will go back to Allergist and see where She is. To be honest I don't have any expectations that there will be nights in shining armor arriving this year, either. But that's ok.  For now we try to walk the balance between helping Her feel "normal" and teaching Her to Be SO Careful. And I try to teeter along the line between keeping Her safe and throttling the teacher that handed Her a bowl of ice cream.  Ahem. 
For all you who hang around us, thanks for accepting our version of normal, thanks for being mindful that food can be a danger for us.  And for everyone else, there's probably an allergy kid in your life somewhere too.  Maybe you can be their superhero. Maybe you could print the ingredients to the homemade treats you bring to class.  Maybe you could make sure you put your peanut shells in the trash instead of scattering them on the ground at the park.  Maybe when a parent says, "my kid can't have any" you could just say, "okay".  And then, it will be. 
 

Hugs

Tonight I got to go out to dinner with a friend. 
As far as Miss is concerned, this is unforgivable.
She cried as I was saying goodbye.  She wailed, "but but but! I want HUGS!"
"Well come here then, Missy! I have a hug for you!"
"No!" She shook Her head and took ragged breaths through Her tears, "NO want a h-hug! I. Want. ALL THE HUGS! Want them ALL!"

So When I Take Mine Off, I'm On Break?

Missy is still into babies.  OH is She into babies.
Especially now that Her older sister in in school mornings and there is no one to supersede Her in pretend games, She is a Mama all the time.  Here She is with a whole fleet of babies, each changed and fed, rocked and tucked in for naps.

Today I heard a whimpering in down the hall and went to investigate.  There She was, melted into a puddle of dress in the middle of the hall, holding a necklace and weeping. 

C: "Goodness, Missy.  What is the matter here?"

Miss: "Oh, noooo.  Oh no!  I can't.  I CAN'T!"

C: "Whoa, calm down! Calm down, love! What is the problem?  I can try to help you."

Miss sniffles: "I no can put it on.  It won't.  Won't go on.  Now, I never can.  I never be a MOM-eee!"

She held out the necklace and turned away.  The horror! She couldn't even look at it! 

C: "...You can't get the necklace on because of the clasp, and now you can't be a mommy.  Is that it."

 Miss: "A-a-a-and I WANT be a mommy! I always want be a MOMee!"

I clasped the beads around Her neck, and She clapped Her hands, relieved, and thanked me.  I had to ask.


"But Miss, why can't you be a Mommy without the necklace?"

Miss looks at me like I don't know a single thing about the world.  Obviously.

Miss: "Pi-cause.  If you be a Mommy, have a have puh-ruhls.  Mommies always have some puh-ruls.  Now I have some puh-ruls, I be a MOMMY!"

I Beat Stuff Up

C: "Ok Missy! It's time to pick up your sister.  Let's hit the road!"

Little Miss: "...You say what?! Les do WHAT mama?!"

C: "Let's hit the road.  Let's go."  

Little Miss: "Oh! But MAma! We hit the road, it can cry sometimes!  Hitting not nice mama.  That can hurt feewings."

C: "Oh, no I...it's just an expression, Miss.  It means let's get going, let's get on the road to go."

Miss: "Poor road.  Ok, how 'bout this, how 'bout we on-y hit it, jus' a little bit.  'Bout that deal, mama?"

 

In Which a Razor Reassigns My Zoological Class

Little One sat next to me on the couch and gave me a pat on the leg.
Her head cocked to one side, and She gave me another pat. 
Her brow furrowed.
She rubbed my shin.  She rubbed my knee. 

Little One: "Hmm.  Mommy? Are you sure you're a mammal?"

What a question to be asking a creature currently gestating live-birth progeny. Which will be nursed.

C: "Why, Little One of course I am.  You know all about what makes something a mammal.  Why do you ask?"

LO: "Because.  You never have any fur."

 

Ready For Takeoff

Tomorrow is the first day of school for the year. 
It's a long story, I suppose, but after some deliberation and a city-wide search worthy of Don Quixote, we decided to switch Little One to a new school this year.  Even though it would have been one of the few opportunities in Her military life to attend the same school two years in a row, we are really hoping that this change will end up being the best thing. 
It does mean that in addition to all the regular back-to-school jitters, there are New Kid jitters as well.  But we're all excited about the new school.  She has asked almost every day of summer vacation when, whenwhenwhen oh when will She ever get to start going there?! And tonight we could finally say- Tomorrow. 
The school outfit is laid out.  The snack is packed.  The epipens and inhalers and forms and papers are all packed.  Tomorrow when we wake it will be the end of summer, of lazy mornings and flexible schedules. Of having my Little One under my wing all day. 
I feel I'm settling into my airplane seat and fastening the metal buckle, ready to take off on another leg of our journey and watch a year fly by. 
First day of school.  The pride and the terror are overwhelming. 

I'm sure Little One is affected, too. 

Epipen Apron- ChocolateCherryChewies

As you all know, we have serious food allergy issues around here, including milk and eggs. 
As you also know, I love to bake.  I mean, love to bake. 
These two facts tend to snarl at each other and make bitey faces.  They don't get along. 
But because of my deep love for both homemade confections and keeping my children alive, I have become an allergy/baking mediator. 
It's an ongoing process.  But I've pretty much got the opposing sides down to a few snarky comments and mild glares across the room. 
I am not trained in this art; I make it up as I go along.  So to both record successes where they occur (so I don't forget them) and share with anyone else who has similarly warring factions residing in their kitchens, I thought I'd start sharing some of my tactics on here. 
How about beginning with the treats I threw together last night? 
I was cleaning up after dinner, when I came across some candied cherries left over from a long ago recipe which called for, like, three.  Then what's a girl to do with a bunch of candied cherries that just sit on the shelf and stare at people?  There are no free rides in this house, people!  I decided it was time for those cherries to earn their keep. 

Vegan Chocolate-Cherry-Chewies   (alliteration is fun)

1 Stick of softened Earth Balance margarine
1/2 Cup brown sugar
1/4 Cup white sugar
1 tsp Vanilla
1 flax egg
1 heaping cup all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/8 tsp salt
1 tsp corn starch
Half a bag of ghiradelli semi-sweet chocolate chips*
Half cup maraschino cherries, chopped

Cream together the Earth Balance with the sugars. 
Add the vanilla and pre-whipped up flax egg and beat until smooth.
Sift together flour, baking soda, salt, and corn starch and add slowly to the sugar mixture.  Beat on medium speed until combined. 
Stir in chocolate chips and cherries
Bake at 375 for 11 minutes. 
Yum.

A couple of notes.
1) Don't switch the Earth Balance for some other margarine.  I'm not getting kickbacks for saying so (unfortunately) but truly no other brand comes as close to actual butter in baking.  I'll have to try these with coconut cream one day, that might be yummy.  But if for now, only Earth Balance sticks. 

2) A flax egg is just ground flax seeds mixed with water.  You can buy flax meal at Trader Joes, Whole Foods, sometimes regular grocery stores in the health food section. When you whip them up with a fork, they will reach the consistency of a raw egg.  I just estimate the ratio based on making sure that consistency is right, and then use an egg's worth of the goo, rather than measure exactly how much flax to water. Even though most bakers prefer exact measurements, it always turns out better this way. 

3) Don't argue with me about the corn starch.  Just do it.  Trust me.

4) As a disclaimer for allergy people, the ghiradelli people are serious about warning that these chips are made on the same production line as dairy products.  The line is washed off between products, but there could always be trace amounts remaining.  Those with doubts should use a true vegan or dairy-free chocolate chip.  But Little One is as sensitive to dairy as it gets, and I've used these (too) many times over the years without issue.  Plus, they are in my opinion the absolute best tasting of the lot of vegan chocolate chips, especially for cookies.

5) Because of the flax and the high ratio of brown sugar, these cookies turn out a little darker than a typical chocolate chip cookie.  But eleven minutes is about perfect, they will still be soft and chewy.


And there you go. Just skip these posts if you are like me and know deep in your heart that there is no substitute for butter.  But if you are a veganish or allergic baker, check back and click the "Epipen Apron" tag.  Our cookie jar is never empty.