All Adither

Bonk my voodoo

Fruit Bat had a hard day at preschool. A boy who was previously woozy with love for FB because of his expert wooden, train-track assembling skills told him that he didn't care to engage in any cooperative foolery. Only I think it came out more as a sulky, "I don't want to play with you." This boy also announced, during show and tell, that Fruit Bat's chosen object (a Dora doll) was 'babyish'. And then there was some, in Fruit Bat's words, Bonking.

All the abuse transformed my firstborn into his own version of an asshole bully. Upon our return home, he turned his feelings of powerlessness around onto Kitty Cat and much screeching, growling and flailing limbs ensued.

We talked at length about the preschool incidents and how they made him feel. We discussed possible motivations for the little antagonizer's behavior. Then I decided that it would cheer Fruit Bat if I relayed a few of the more charming verbal assaults I've suffered. And there have been many. Mostly spurred by my extreme height. But, when I was mentally scrolling through appropriate insults, what I came up with was, "Well, like, people who say they don't like my hair."

And that really hurts. Not liking my hair. I don't think anyone has ever, in my presence, scorned my 'do. Even if someone did, it would be nothing compared to an emotional bonking from a fickle classmate.

Yeah, such injustice helps shape us, builds character, forges what little social skills we might possess. This knowledge, however, doesn't make it any easier when your kid has to board the rollercoaster of interpersonal relationships.

All I can do, as his mom, is to be there for him if he wants to talk.

That and pop one of these babies in his stocking on Christmas Eve.

Photo totally stolen from Etsy.

My little Fruit Bat

His poor, four-year-old lungs tonight. So twitchy, so wheezy. I'm sad right now.

To cheer us all up, here are two sparkling Fruit Bat moments of the past weekend:

•His insisting I make him a Sunbutter, banana, lettuce and mustard sandwich, and then eating the whole thing.

•His deciding to put this on his Christmas list:

Funny Fruit Bat.

Sweet and Sour

Halloween with a severely food allergic child is a delicate proposition. You want your kid to enjoy the holiday and feel included, but at the same time you're always squinting at their loot, scouting for the Snickers and the Baby Ruths that, for your family, might as well be little hand grenades.

We trick-or-treated at four houses tonight. That was one up from last year, where we knew all three families well and had informed them that we'd be coming. Tonight's new house was a wild card. We know the couple who lives there but hadn't explained to them Fruit Bat's food issues.

We were greeted at the door with a huge bowl of peanut-laden candy bars. Fruit Bat and Kitty Cat each took one and I instituted a trade-in policy, where they got to hand over the explosives for Skittles or Starburst.

It worked well and Fruit Bat handled it beautifully. I'm so proud of my guy, with how aware he's becoming of his dietary limitations. At the same time, I wither a little each time he has to eat his own cupcake (granted, its the best damn cupcake in the place...I make sure of that) at a birthday party.

I really hope beyond hope that researchers are able to come up with a treatment someday, so Fruit Bat and other kids like him don't have the weight of anaphylaxsis on their skinny little shoulders.

Introducing...

We have a new member of the family:

We just got him today. Isn't he cute? With the shiniest coat and most helpful demeanor.

We weren't totally surprised we had to adopt one. This little guy needs the company:

We've had him for four years and he goes everywhere with us. He even has his own travel carrier that never leaves our sides.

And we can't forget him in the car because you know what a detriment high temperatures are for these munchkins. So he is either tucked under my arm or nestled into my tote for every grocery store run and playdate.

Don't get me wrong. I'm beyond grateful to have him. Did you know this breed is actually trained to save Fruit Bat's life?

Sadly, we had to get rid of:

and

They were not good with Fruit Bat. In fact, they were downright vicious.

The new addition seems quite friendly though. I think it'll work out. He's sleeping peacefully at my feet as I write this!

Swimming in a murky pool of chaos and tears, where zebras sometimes come to drink

We're two-and-a-half weeks into preschool this year and dropoffs have greatly improved. There is no leg-clinging now. No abundance of tears.

It's easier this week, but I'm not sure Fruit Bat's stoicism at the preschool door is worth the price we have to pay.

Because when we get home...it is a freaking apocalyptic meltdown. To be fair, it hasn't been everyday that he's fallen apart as soon as we've crossed the dusty, pine-needlely threshold of our house. This day just happened to be bad.

Once last week we ate lunch in the basement which, considering there is no table or chairs down there, only a big couch and lots of floor, was a treat. And since we mixed it up that one time, changed things around like the crazy people we are, we now have to do it the same way EVERY DAY from now on.

That was his big request when he got home (and the impetus for his wrathful vent that left us all gasping and teary): that we eat lunch in the basement. I said yes. At first. Until he tormented Kitty Cat to the point where I withdrew the privilege of cellar dining.

Fruit Bat let loose with a bray like a plains Zebra warning his herd of approaching lions (I know what a plains Zebra might sound like because of the Zootles magazine, all about, yes, Zebras, that Fruit Bat and I have been reading).

Kitty Cat vaulted into my arms and buried her face in my chest. Fruit Bat refused all offers of hugs and validation until I had to shove my fingers in my ears waiting for him to drop a few decibels.

He howled like that for a while, then, because he's four-and-a-half and has figured out some nifty new negotiating tricks, proceeding to haggle. He wailed, "Eating in the basement would really cheer me up! That is what would really, really cheer me up!" Over and over.

When this tactic failed to impress me (though it did amuse me a little), he tried the dinner angle. Couldn't we eat dinner in the basement then?

No, we're having soup for dinner. Same as last night. Soup is not a table-free meal. How about a snack, later today, in the basement?

FB: A snack right after lunch? Right. After. Lunch.

No, I said. After your rest. Later. LATER today.

He was trying to save face. Trying to preserve his dignity by getting his way, in some shape or form. How much dignity, though, can a little boy have with snot and tears darkening his sleeves, still coursing down his red cheeks?

I felt sorry for him. I know he's going through a lot with readjusting to preschool and a new class (in which there are no little boys his age. The other boys in his class for four and five year olds are three-and-a-half. I don't get this.)

But I felt sorry for me too. It was all so unreasonable. So uncivilized. So chaotic. And I hate unreasonable, uncivilized and chaotic. I have to remind myself 500 times a day what it is like to be a kid: the confusion, the fears, the lack of social skills. If I don't, I will end up hurling that dinosaur lunchbox of his off our second-story balcony (which almost happened today), then regretting it forever.

So, I sucked it up. I tried to be calm. I gritted my teeth. I prayed an agent would quickly take me on and sell my novel for big money so I could justify hiring a nanny and writing every morning away, emerging in the afternoon, refreshed and easily charmed by my children.

I really just tried to make it through, banking on the fact that better times were just the other side of his collapse.

All that and no Cadbury in the house.

The Good Son

Fruit Bat has switched to one of his more pleasant alter egos.

Clearly the winds are streaming toward us from just the right end of the ocean and transporting agreeable wafts of pine and snow and little boy contentedness. He is like a different person today. He's quite delightful. I would like this Fruit Bat to stay on indefinitely. But, sadly, short of keeping him fed and loved and attempting to get him enough rest, I seem to have no say in the matter.

So, tomorrow the doppelganger could be back.

In the meantime, I'm enjoying him.

You know what else I would really enjoy? For Kitty Cat to actually sleep without requiring my presence in her room (though even that isn't working today) so I could sit by an open window and sip a cup of tea. Or maybe vacuum and make dinner.

Undercover

We spent the whole day on and commuting to and from Bainbridge Island today. I figured it would be okay with "Jay" to post this picture of Fruit Bat, since he is essentially incognito in my giant sunglasses. This is him on the ferry.