Udi’s Makes Gluten Free Living Tasty

Disclosure: I participated in this program on behalf of Udi’s and The Motherhood. All opinions are my own.

It was about a year and a half ago that Aaron went gluten-free. At the time, I had first learned about Udi’s Gluten Free foods, and they suggested we try a two week gluten-free challenge. Aaron and I both tried it, completely eliminating gluten from our diets for two weeks. At the end of it, we felt pretty good, but the true test was to see how we felt eating gluten again. I had no trouble going back to gluten. Aaron, on the other hand, discovered just how badly his body handles gluten, and after a few days of extreme pain, realized that maybe gluten-free would have to be a necessary lifestyle change.

This isn’t an uncommon path for many with gluten intolerance, I’ve found. Udi’s reports that only 10% of those who go gluten free are medically diagnosed, while 37% are self-diagnosed and discover through elimination diets. Although in our case, Aaron went to his doctor after this and was told to remain gluten free due to gluten sensitivity. It’s possible he’s had this sensitivity all of his life, although it’s also possible to develop it later in life after a major change to the body or traumatic event.

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An Unexpected Typical Development

Cordy is a hugger. Well, she likes to hug those she knows and trusts, and has always been fairly affectionate with those in her family. When she was younger, we had to spend a lot of time teaching her about personal space, as she likes to get right up next to people when talking them.

While she’s a sensory avoider in many areas (like anyone messing with her hair, or loud noises), when it comes to hugs she’s a sensory seeker.  I’ve always considered us lucky that in the world of autism, where so many kids don’t like to be touched, Cordy is a child who likes hugs.

Snoopy at Castaway BaySnoopy always gets hugs from her, too.

Over the weekend, we attended a memorial service, with a lot of family and friends present. This was more of a party than a somber memorial service, and it was occasionally loud and crowded. I worried that Cordy would not do well with the noise and crowd. At first, she kept herself away from the crowd, choosing to spin in a chair instead, but then she started wandering around through the people.

At one point, she walked past Aaron and I as we were telling someone about our upcoming trip to Disney. I reached out to Cordy, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her closer to me. I gave her a big hug with a very quick kiss on her head. Usually, she’d wrap her arms around me and attempt to squeeze the life out of me, or hold tight while she lifted her feet and hung on me. But not this time.

This time, she squirmed and broke free of the hug. And then as she turned away and walked off, she uttered those words that most parents dread hearing, the words that signify a move to another phase of childhood: “Mom, you’re embarrassing me!”

What??

I was embarrassing her? How is that even possible?

The first “you’re embarrassing me” is, I’m told, usually a sad moment for many parents. It’s the moment when your child is fully realizing their individuality as they mature, seeing themselves as separate from their parents and demanding to be treated in a way that protects that new identity they’re trying to create in the world among their peers.

But this…this wasn’t a sad moment at all. I felt the momentary sting of having my oldest child push away from my affections, but then as I considered her actions and words, I wanted to celebrate. Why? Cordy’s social and emotional development has been far from typical for much of her life, but in that moment, she had a very typical and age-appropriate response.

In other words: it’s progress towards understanding and developing typical social behavior. We know she’s on the verge of puberty, and several experts have told us that the hormones of the teenage years make everyone act different, but for kids with autism it can sometimes be dramatically better or dramatically worse. So far, we’re leaning towards the “better” category, as she starts noticing the behaviors of others around her and makes her own attempts at social behavior.

It’s encouraging. So very, very encouraging. In the last year she’s worked harder than ever to understand what’s accepted and what isn’t when she’s out in public. She’s been attending a social skills class for girls with social/emotional disabilities, and that class has been nothing but positive for her. She’s one of the group members that looks forward to her weekly class, enjoys stumbling through social missteps with the other girls in her group, and will now point out the frowned on social behaviors of others.

I may still feel sad at later attempts to push away from me when I try to hug her. But for this instance, I could only smile and be proud of her.



Not So Sick (But Possibly Sick of Math)

Yesterday just after lunch, the phone rang and I recognized the elementary school’s phone number immediately. I answered and one of Cordy’s teachers was on the other end, telling me that Cordy was complaining of a headache, a stomachache and feeling like she could faint.

This hasn’t been the first time I’ve had a call like this. They’ve been somewhat frequent in the past two weeks. At first I thought the headaches and other complaints were due to Cordy’s new glasses. Since the correction for her left eye is so strong, the optometrist said she might feel a little dizzy or get headaches while adjusting to her glasses. In previous calls, I usually recommended that she take her glasses off for a little bit, maybe rest for 15-20 minutes, and then go back to class.

The most recent call before this one, Cordy said she wanted to go home. At that point, I was starting to put together the pieces and noticed a pattern. These complaints of headaches and feeling faint were all coming either just before or during her math class. Which means that feeling sick let her escape math class for a bit. Hmmm. So that time, I told her that if her head hurt that much, she could come home, but that if she did it would be best that she not watch any TV or play any video games that night, so we wouldn’t make the headache worse. Falling for the trick, she immediately told me that her headache wasn’t THAT bad, and she agreed to tough it out the rest of the day.

This time, though, she had added in the stomachache as well. The teacher put her on the phone so I could talk to her. “I feel really sick and think I need to come home, mommy,” she told me.

“Are you sure you’re really sick, and not just nervous about going to math?” I asked.

“Yes, I really am!” she insisted. “I want to go to math and earn all of my points for the day, but I don’t think I can do it because I feel so bad.”

We went through variations of this same questioning a few times, and I reminded her that if she was that sick that would mean she’d have to come home and go to bed – no video games, no TV. She thought it over. “What do you think I should do, mommy?”

“I can’t tell you, Cordy, since only you know how bad you’re feeling. It’s up to you.”

There was a pause. “I think I should come home,” she weakly murmured.

“OK, I’m on my way to get you.”

Cordy suddenly sounded less weak. “Great! I’ll go try my best in class until you get here.”

“Um, no,” I replied. “If you feel well enough to go back to class, I’m not coming to get you.”

“Oh,” she said, realizing her error. “You’re right, I should wait here.”

I told the teacher that I was on my way to pick her up, even though something still felt off to me. I didn’t think she was sick, but was instead trying to get out of her math class. But I also didn’t want to leave her there if she was feeling sick.

When I arrived at the school, the secretary told Cordy that I was there, and she popped up off of the nurse’s cot with a big smile and a hug for me. Again, she didn’t seem sick. When I told her that, she put on her best miserable look, and barely pushed out the words to tell me that she really didn’t feel well.

On the ride home, whenever I looked back she was all smiles, watching the scenery fly by on this sunny day. I reminded her that she had to go right to bed when we got home.

At home, she immediately hugged Cosmo and tried to play with him. I sent her up to bed, tucked her in, and told her to get some rest. I also took her Nintendo DS from her room so she wouldn’t be tempted to play it when I wasn’t watching. Then I went back to work downstairs.

A short while later, I hear her door open. Soon she’s peering down at me on the staircase, eyes bright with a wide smile. “I feel all better now!” she announced. “Can I play on the DS for a little bit?”

So much for being sick.

Clearly not sickClearly not sick.

I still wouldn’t let her have any screen time, but told her she could work on her homework or read a book. We discussed her symptoms from earlier, and she continued to insist that she wasn’t making it up, that she really did have a headache, stomachache and felt faint, but then felt all better at home. I asked if she thought she was just nervous about math, but she again insisted she wasn’t.

Maybe she was faking it all along. Or it’s possible she doesn’t realize her anxiety over her math class is causing her symptoms. I’m a little sad at the thought that math – a subject she’s gifted in, and does so well at when she’s not paralyzed with the fear that she’s doing something the wrong way – could be making her physically sick from worry.

We talking about her feelings and her worries, and I explained how a person can worry so much they make themselves feel sick, and that it’s not healthy to do that. We then discussed ways to help ease worrying, like picturing things that make her happy, or taking a few deep breaths.

I’m hoping that my talk with her yesterday will help her get past this. I don’t want her to see school as a place to run away from. She used to love being there, and couldn’t wait to go back each day. But this year she’s more resistant, and now trying to find ways to get out of school before the end of the day.

I’m crossing my fingers and hoping that there’s not another call home today.



Keeping Myself Moving

Since the start of 2014, I’ve been making an effort to exercise more again. I was a bit delayed with that goal due to my shoulder injury, but now that physical therapy has started, there’s no excuse not to get moving.

Last week was my first meeting with the physical therapist. Since having the cortisone shot in my shoulder, I’m not feeling any pain in the shoulder, which is great, but it’s still stiff. She had me try some basic movements and concluded that it doesn’t have nearly the same range of motion as the right shoulder, and is significantly weaker now. So I’ll be going to PT twice a week until my shoulder is stronger and more flexible. I’m hoping the cortisone shot won’t wear off during this time, since exercising pain-free is much better than the alternative.

The first session wasn’t too bad. She had me show her the exercises she asked me to practice at home. It’s funny how something as simple as a shoulder shrug can be difficult when asked to do it thirty times with a weak shoulder. I found myself laughing from the frustration of struggling through what should be easy movements – laughing only so I didn’t show how much it bothered me. I’m not used to having a part of me not working properly. I can already tell I’m going to be unbearable as I grow older.

One positive to come out of physical therapy is that it’s a mandatory upper body workout twice a week, so I can’t complain about that. I tend to not pay enough attention to my upper body when I exercise, so maybe this will start a new habit to spend more time on those muscle groups?

But I have also started running again, too. Back in January it began as walking on the treadmill. (Most of January was covered in snow here, so the treadmill was the safest option unless I wanted to actually ice skate.) While I was only walking in January and still getting out of breath, I gradually got used to it and started the Couch-to-5K program again.

I’ll be honest: it took two weeks to successfully get through week 1. I can partially blame the awful head cold that Mira passed along to me, but the other part was purely being out of practice. The legs were willing, but the lungs were not. It was disappointing to struggle through the most basic week of the program, unable to run all of the eight 1-minute run periods, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

It did get better, though, and on the second try I completed week 1 without any added walking breaks. I’m now on week 3, and I can assure you it’s not getting any easier. I’m up to running three minutes at a time, and I’m remembering how three minutes can feel like FOREVER when running.

I’m going to get through it, though. There are moments when I’m running and feel like I’m in a comfortable spot and suddenly all is right with the world. I can’t make those moments longer without pushing harder beyond them first. Now that spring is almost here (right, March? RIGHT?) I’ll be able to run outside again, too, and the change of scenery might help the training go faster.

And it is training. Because I’ve signed up to do a two mile runDisney Fun Run when I go to the Disney Social Media Moms conference in April. Not only will I be running, but I’ll be doing it in costume. I don’t want to be the one who collapses on the run, or comes in last, or just looks like she might pass out at any moment.

Hey runners – what do you do on the days when you don’t run? Do you do strength training? Another form of cardio? I’m curious what else I should be doing to make running easier for me.



Even An Optometrist Appointment Has Drama

Last week, I took Cordy and Mira to their first optometrist appointments. I know, I should have scheduled eye appointments long before now. But Cordy has only recently reached a point where she doesn’t have a panic attack in any kind of doctor’s office, and all of the tools used to look at eyes would have freaked her out in the past. The school nurse does a brief eye exam every year, and both kids have brought home 20/20 vision reports with no indications for referrals.

So, I waited until now. Partially my own procrastination, partially wanting to shield my child from more scary things as a special needs parent. After all, Cordy reads ALL the time – if she had vision problems, wouldn’t she have complained about her eyes hurting? But I have noticed recently that one of her eyes was turning out occasionally. It’s happened since she was three or four, but back then it was a very rare thing, and her doctor said it was common when little kids are very tired. (Which is primarily when we noticed it.) Now, though, I’ve been seeing that eye turn out more and more, not tracking in sync with the other eye.

The hardest part in getting ready for the appointment was convincing Cordy that an eye doctor doesn’t have any shots to give. Because apparently doctor = shots. I went through the whole process with both girls, explaining what they’d do and what they’d see in the office.

Cordy was called back first, and I went with her. The initial tests that involved looking into a machine and clicking buttons when she saw dots of light was a little frightening to her at first, but I convinced her it was a game and then she loved it and asked if she could have a second try to improve her score. Then she was taken into the exam room, where the digital eye chart was displayed and she was asked to read the smallest line she could comfortably read. She found this “test” easy and rattled off the bottom line, a line so small I had to work to read it sitting only a third of the distance away.

Optometrist appointmentYes, she brought a book to read while at the optometrist.

But then she was asked to cover up one eye and read it again. She covered the left and rattled off the letters on the chart again. Switching to cover her right eye, though, she paused. She then tried to cheat and partially uncover the right eye. The assistant asked her to totally cover the right eye, no peeking, and read the smallest line she could. Cordy squirmed and leaned forward, again briefly uncovering her right eye. That was enough time for her to memorize the line and repeat it back. (Sneaky kid.)

I called her on it that time, though, and asked that she try again with a different chart she hadn’t memorized. The assistant helped hold the eye cover in place to prevent cheating again. Cordy frowned, squinting and shifting around while staring at the eye chart. She then said, “It’s all fuzzy. I can’t see the letters.” We encouraged her to not worry about the smallest line and read whichever line she could. She tried reading the top line, and missed two of the five letters.

Hmmm…that’s a problem. So much for the school nurse’s 20/20 in each eye report.

The optometrist spent a good deal of time looking at Cordy’s eyes, confirming that she can tell there’s a bit of outward drift with her left eye. She also confirmed that Cordy can’t read much of anything from that eye. Her right eye is 20/20, and she believes her left eye was likely equal to her right until very recently, probably a year or two at most since it changed. How she was able to determine that her vision change was a recent development is beyond my knowledge, but I trust she knows what she’s talking about.

The treatment plan first calls for glasses, so Cordy can actually use her left eye for reading. At the moment, her right eye is doing all of the work, so it’s time to make the left eye do a share of it, too. After a few weeks of getting used to glasses, she’ll then see a pediatric specialist for the muscle issue. It’s likely she’ll need special treatment (probably wearing an eye patch for a period of time each day) to strengthen the muscles of her left eye to keep it from drifting.

Cordy’s reaction to needing glasses bordered on a meltdown. She yelled that she didn’t want glasses and wouldn’t wear them, because everyone would think she was a nerd. The optometrist explained that lots of kids wear glasses, and I reminded her that her parents wear glasses sometimes, too. “It’s OK for adults to wear glasses, but I’ll be a nerd and teased,” she cried. As for her friends who wear glasses? “They’re already cool, so they’re able to wear them without being nerds.”

The doctor made it very clear to both of us: she has to wear glasses, or her left eye will only get worse, leading to developing a lazy eye, and possibly losing any use of it. Well then, she’d going to wear those glasses, even if I have to use every method possible to convince her to do it.

I took Cordy out to the waiting room so we could look over the selection of frames while Mira had her eyes examined. I hoped that by giving Cordy some control in choosing her frames, she’d be a little happier about the process. She wasn’t. She tried on pair after pair and declared each to be “not that cool” and fell back on her fears of being a nerd. With every pair, she sniffed and frowned and grumbled that she didn’t want glasses.

 Trying on glassesSome of the pairs we tried on. She wanted me to take a photo of each so she could see what they looked like on her.

We didn’t find any pair that she was happy with, but there was a pair I thought looked best on her. I tried to convince her that they were the best choice. “They’re not blue,” she replied. “I don’t want anything that isn’t blue.” The assistant quickly whisked the frames away to check them in their computer, and returned to tell me they also came in blue. Bingo.

The assistant sat Cordy down to measure her pupil distance to place the order for her glasses. Cordy again began to cry that she didn’t want glasses. At the same time, Mira came bouncing out of the exam room, announcing that her eyes were healthy. The optometrist was right behind her, confirming that everything looked good.

“So can I pick out glasses now, too?” Mira asked. Unlike Cordy, she was excited about getting glasses, because to her they’re a fashion accessory.

The doctor laughed and then said, “No, honey, you don’t need glasses. Your eyes can see perfectly!”

And then Mira cried. Big tears rolling down her cheeks over being denied glasses.

I stood there, with Cordy on my right, crying that she had to get glasses, and Mira on my left, crying because she couldn’t get glasses. The assistant looked up at me. I sighed and said, “I give up. I can’t make anyone happy today.”

So Cordy will be getting glasses soon, which will hopefully make it easier for her to read and will start the process of strengthening her left eye. The kid reads for hours and hours a day, so I’m amazed she wasn’t complaining of eye strain with one eye doing most of the work.

As for Mira? I caved and took her to Claire’s. She now has a flashy pair of fake glasses:

 Mira's fake glassesFake glasses FTW.

And she’s already forgotten them at school for most of this week.

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