Tricks-N-Treats

This morning I saw a grown man dressed up like a big, bright, yellow banana...Or wait, was it a man dressed up like a banana, or was he just happy to see me?

'Mon Canes!

I went to my first Carolina Hurricanes game last night, and it was a good first game to go to, because the Canes beat Tampa Bay, 6-4. Anna's seats are really good, lower level, 10th row, perfect for viewing the Canes' franchise record of scoring 3 goals in 43 seconds. Too bad that was the very minute I was out buying nachos...just kidding, I saw it.

On another note, Fall Daylight savings does no favors for parents with kids five and under. These days last forever. Today the kids woke up at 6:00 AM, and no, not the 'clock-says-7:00-but-it's-really-6:00' , but the 'clock says 6:00-but-it's-really-5:00.'

Happiness Is...

1. Putting your hand in the pocket of a pair of jeans you've put on for the first time this season and finding an unexpected five dollar bill...and then later at the checkout line at Walmart taking the five dollar bill out and realizing that it is really two five dollar bills.

2. Perfect parallel parking on Franklin Street during a weekday lunch hour and having a fellow motorist give you 'thumbs up' for a job well done.

3. Hitting play on your iPod during your morning run and realizing that your husband has loaded a bunch more songs...good songs, from bands you'd all but forgotten about.

4. Coming home from work on a cold, rainy, evening and being greeted by your kids who are so excited they're out of breath trying to explain to you the plot of "ET," a movie they've just discovered.

5. New posts on your favorite blogs and comments on your blog from people you didn't know read it.

What Does SARAH Stand For?

I accidentally found this on the web today...but I kind of liked it.

But You Don't Look Depressed

I've been taking an antidepressant for about two and a half years now, and, well, I'm still depressed. The pit is back, or still here, and that really depresses me. Do I have "real" depression? Whatever that means. Or do I have a depressed mood-- or depressive symptoms--on occasion? Maybe it's actually anxiety and I've been on the wrong medication all this time. Or maybe it's not depression at all, but symptoms of my thyroid disorder. Or disease. My Thryroid Disease- Autoimmune Hashimoto's Thryroiditis-the type I'll have for life, where my body is destroying its own thryoid gland, resulting in extreme fatigue and depression, and therefore, the pit.

And take my progesterone deficiency (please--take it far, far away!) with unopposed estrogen lurking around. Is the progesterone deficiency/estrogen dominance and resulting brain fog, mental confusion, and Pre Menstrual Dysmorphic Disorder causes or effects of my under-active thryoid? Are these hormonal imbalances precursors to one another or do they exacerbate each other--or both? Does it matter? Will I ever know? And where does my adrenal fatigue fit in? My extremely low cortisol levels that have been clinically proven, mixed with low blood sugar, (hypoglycemia) food sensitivities, and migraines that make me vomit. Like yesterday.

Don't even get me started with the stress in my life: a demanding job, two small kids, one of whom has special needs, continued grief over the loss of my mom, and trying to manage this insidious chronic illness that just doesn't seem to get better. The world is too much with me sometimes, and just when I think I have things figured out, the pit comes back.

What does the pit feel like? We've all felt the pit at some points in our lives. Depressed people just feel it more often and more deeply. Or so I guess. I'm still not even sure I have depression. Take this checklist, for example. I don't feel worthless, but I do feel guilty. I'm not suicidal but I am sad and irritable. My depression surfaced after the birth of my second child, but I never felt like I had postpartum depression. But, the pit. You know, that pit in your stomach feeling that you get when you absolutely dread something that is coming up--like maybe a test that you haven't studied for, or a conflict at work that you have to resolve. Or that hollow feeling that you get when you realize the one you love doesn't love you back, or the emptiness you feel because you'll never talk to your mom on the phone again. Ever. Except in your dreams. Like when she calls you from Heaven and tells you that you have your glow back. But then you wake up and you don't have the glow, you have the pit. And the jitters, and heart palpitations. You tell your therapist who says it sounds more like anxiety, but then you find something on the internet that links a racing heart to an over-active thyroid, and that it's common for autoimmune thryoid diseases to sometimes flip-flop back and forth between hypo and hyper.

You're thankful that the internet leads you to Mary Shomon, thyroid patient, writer, and advocate, but frustrated and even a little scared that with a few key words typed into google, this site comes up that links autoimmune thryoid disorders with MS, a disease that runs in your family, that your paternal grandmother had.

I don't think I have MS, but I do think I have a multi-gland endocrine imbalance that is screwing my brain chemistry up in ways that make me think I am going crazy sometimes. Because I'm usually a sharp thinker who can focus on many details at once. But then once a month, religiously on day 12 (women will know what I'm talking about), it's like my brain stops working and I forget why I go into stores, and I worry about myself driving home from work because my brain is just in a fog, and I have a terrible time concentrating, and I feel so much utter tension and inexplicable rage that just stays with me until I rub my brain cream on. The bio-identical compounded transdermal, natural progesterone cream that I have to get at a drugstore in Cary, that I rub on my arms that makes me feel almost like myself again. The cream I absolutely cannot function without anymore. But then I get home and want to just lie around, and at the same time, I don't want to. I want to see David and my kids and hear about how everyone's days went. But I don't have the energy to play Batman with Johnny or make up one more story about "boy going to the dentist" for Grace. I just don't. So, I lie around and play quiet games with them, and plead with David one more night to fix supper and bathe the kids. I always have energy to read to them, but too often fall asleep alongside them, just to wake up the next day in the same vague daze.

I don't question why all of this is happening, it makes sense to me. On March 7, 2003, the day before my 31st birthday, my mom died after a lengthy battle with non-hodgkins lymphoma. Five months later Johnny was born. Two months after that, we thought Grace had autism. That was a triple dose of real life thrown at me and enough to tip my endocrine system into distress.

I have good days and bad. Good enough days to think I can actually run a 1/2 Marathon in less than two weeks. But bad enough days where David tells me I'm bringing everyone down and bills pile up and get paid late (again) and where I forget about dentist appointments and wake up on Saturday just to tick off each hour waiting for an acceptable time to call it a day and crawl back into bed.

But most of the time, the outside world doesn't notice. I've had colleagues and even doctors tell me that I don't look depressed. One co-worker put it this way: "It's not that you ever seem depressed to me. But when you've just come back from a family reunion, or a weekend away, or a night out with your friends, or when you talk about your blog or reconnecting with friends, it's striking, really striking how bright and up and alive you seem. It's almost like you're high or something."

ADD it Up

Now "they" think Grace might have ADD. Definitely not ADHD, there's no "H" anywhere to be found...except when she drinks espresso. I'll just "ADD" it to the list of other medical terms that have been thrown our way since she was born. Here's the list:

1. Hip dysplasia
2. Cerebral Palsy
3. High Functioning Autism
4. PDDNOS (Pervasive Developmental Disorder, Not Otherwise Specified)
5. Sensory Integration Dysfunction
6. Food Allergies
7. Language Processing Disorder
8. ADD

This morning at school, Ms. Diane asked me if I had any extra shoes in my car. I thought, "Great, what is Grace doing/what have I not done now?" Turns out, though, that a little boy in her class made it to school without any shoes on. My procrastination paid off, for this little guy, anyway, as I had a whole box of shoes that Grace and Johnny have outgrown that I've been meaning to drop off at PTA. I went out the car, brought the whole box in, and rooted around with the teacher and kids until we found a pair that fit. Everyone got a kick out of "Sarah, do you have any extra shoes in your car," to "Well, as a matter of fact, I do..."

What I can't figure out is, how does a preschooler make it to school on a morning with temps in the 30's WITHOUT ANY SHOES ON???!!!

Rock-N-Roll and Fiesta de Bebe

Before it gets gobbled up by Halloween, let me tell you about what I did this past weekend.

On Friday, my brother Daniel drove up from Boone, and we attended our friend Matt's live show at the MarVell Event Center as part of Troika Music Festival. Matt's band Vedere Rosso played from 7:45-8:15 PM, and what they lacked in sound-system quality, they made up for in stage presence and catchy lyrics. And intensity. Matt's parents were there, and his mom commented on how intense Matt was playing the drums. Watching Matt bang his drums, I couldn't help but remember the one and only song I ever banged a full-on drum set to and that is "You Make(a) My Dreams Come True" by Hall and Oates, circa 1982. My dad's a drummer, and when I was 10, he taught me how to play drums to that song. Seriously. Bass drum with my right foot, tom tom with my left hand, high hat with my right hand. Maybe a cymbal here and there. Vedere Rosso is always fun to watch, as is most live music with three chicks and a guy on drums.

After VR, we stayed for a set by a band called The Heist & The Accomplice, from Columbia, SC.
The sound system just didn't work so I can't really say whether they were good or not. I can say they were good and loud.

A trip to the Arby's drive through and a bag of curly fries later, Matt, Shawna, Dan'l and I went to a venue called 305 South to catch a headlining band, The Mountain Goats. The Mountain Goats were a little too "emo" for what we were all in the mood for, but I have to say, 305 was kind of a neat venue. It's like half indoors, half outdoors, with a warehouse feel to it, but I tell ya, people were out in droves to see this band. There were hundreds of hipsters, and it was like, "Who are all of you people and where did you come from?" I just don't get out much anymore, and it just didn't feel like we were in Durham.

I told my party that I typically turn into a pumpkin at midnight, so I left at 11:20 PM to make it back home to Chapel Hill before the stroke of midnight. (I'm practicing to be Cinderella again this year for Halloween. Ladies: you can wear periwinkle-blue bridesmaids dresses again, you can!)

So, then Saturday evening, I found myself at a Baby Shower for Marcela, Johnny's former teacher at SFFA. All I was told in advance was, "This isn't going to be your typical American babyshower." It wasn't. There were lots of women ooh-ing and ahh-ing at each present that was opened (ok, that part was the same), but there were also lots of kids, lots of men, and lots of beer around. There wasn't lots of English spoken, however. In fact, I was one of four adults in a group of about 30 who was not a native Spanish speaker. I held my own pretty well during all of the festive games, and almost lost track of the fact that I hadn't laid eyes on my children in over 45 minutes straight. When I made it back to the "kid" room and asked, "Donde esta Johnny y Gracita?" I was answered with, "We speak English, too." Ok. "Where is Johnny and Grace?" The dark-haired boy replied, "No se." Well, I tried. When in Rome, you know.

I was honored to be included in what was clearly a close-friends-and-family affair, and I am all the more confident that the Cooley family's collective Spanish-speaking skills will serve us well if and when David and I take the kids to a Spanish-speaking country for an extended stay in the next few years.

Today's Stats

Sarah:

Minutes Run: 109

Miles Run: 10

Calories Burned: 1470

Johnny:

Food and/or Drink Spills: 4

Towels used to clean up Drink Spills: 6

Grace:

Times toys and/or game pieces were thrown in a fit of frustration: 3

David:

Times Grace's GFCF Diet was violated: 5

Pigs, Cheese, and Dogs in Drag

Pigs:

#1. Yesterday I was delivering Lucy's Card packets to the fine participating merchants in Chapel Hill. In the middle of one of my spiels, a distracted store owner said, "Hold on for just a minute, there's a pig running around here somewhere." Can you guess which store I was in?

a.) A Southern Season
b.) Aria Skin & Laser Spa
c.) Great Outdoor Provision Co.
d.) Ferdinand's Dog & Cat Boutique

The correct answer is d.) Ferdinand's Dog & Cat Boutique. The pig was small, black, cute, and named Serena.

#2. I was talking up the NC State Fair to my kids yesterday.

Me: "When we go to the fair, do you guys want to see the racing pigs?"
Johnny: "Cars?"
Me: "No, pigs."
Johnny: "But will the pigs be racing in cars?"
We all wish.

Cheese:

This morning Johnny asked for a cheese stick, or string cheese as it is most usually identified. Johnny was oh-so-proud at the fact that he could peel the wrapper off by himself, as he is getting to be such a grown-up, big boy. Next thing I knew, he was whacking the unwrapped cheese stick against his head rather than eating it. I said in my most exasperated, morning-voice, "Johnny, don't whack the cheese stick against your head." He replied in his most assuring, but totally-missed-the-point voice, "It don't hurt, Mommy."

Dogs in Drag:

No words necessary.

It's a Small World (Wide Web): Will the real SCooley please stand up?

Back in 2001 when I was pregnant with Grace, I got a lot of e-mails from friends wishing me well and stuff--especially throughout that long, hot summer as I approached Grace's August due date. Back then, my personal e-mail was cooleysl@yahoo.com. If you think that it's the number "1" between the s and the @, you're wrong. It's an "l" as in Louise or Lightfoot.

Our friend Rick, aka Ricksta, aka Rickstar, bless his heart, was trying to be a good brotha and sent me lots of e-mails asking me how the pregnancy was going with little messages like, "Not long now," and "Bet your belly is getting really big," and "How does David feel about becoming a daddy?" Then the next group e-mail from Ricksta went something like this: "Hey everybody--Sarah Cooley's e-mail address is cooleysL@yahoo.com NOT cooleys1@yahoo.com. I thought you should all know, because I've been sending messages to a 'Steve Cooley' and he's not too happy. He wrote me back to tell me he wasn't Sarah Cooley, he wasn't pregnant, and he's not married to a guy named David. Just wanted to make sure everyone else had her e-mail straight." Everyone else did.

I, too, got a couple of curt emails from Steve Cooley himself, informing me that my friends were e-mailing him by mistake and would I be so kind as to notify everyone in my address book the distinctions in our e-mail addresses. I thought seriously about abandoning that account, but in the end decided, nah.

Fast forward a couple of years to 2004 or so when the tables turned and I started getting messages that were intended for Steve. First it was an itinerary for his trip to Japan and instructions on who would pick him up at the airport. Then it was from his cousin saying she'd enjoyed the visit, and another from someone who said they'd like to see the photos from his trip. It was my turn to be curt, but I had fun with it. I forwarded each misdirected e-mail with a pleasant header such as "Remember me? People are still getting our addresses mixed up. By the way, I'd like to see your pictures from Japan sometime too."

I think he was surprised to hear from me again, but he did e-mail back acknowledging the long-term imbroglio in which we were both entangled. A couple of e-mails later, we finally found ourselves on common ground, I mean cyberspace, for the first time in our five-year relationship.

I wonder what's of Steve Cooley now...whether he's back in Japan, whether he ever got pregnant, and whether he ever ended up with a good man named David. After all, if Grace had been a boy, we'd decided to call her Steve.

Six Degrees of Blogging

I got to this blog in 5 steps months ago, and dooce.com is now one of my favorites. Can you imagine, she gets 800,000 to 1 million readers a day?

The Things We Do To Keep Things "Even" Between the Kids

The last time we were all in Boone, we stopped at Walmart for something, because Boone doesn't have a Target. Yet. Grace has a whole bunch of pairs of panties. We never seem to run out. Johnny, on the other hand, more often than I'd like to admit, gets dressed in girls' drawers because he has fewer Super-Hero skivvies, and the ones he has are usually in the dirty pile.

So, on this shopping trip, I remembered to pick up a three-pack of new underwear for him. I knew, of course I knew, that Grace would want new underwear too, but I became iron-strong-mom, and steeled myself to not buy new underwear for Grace just because I did for Johnny. People only got underwear on this trip if they needed it. And I needed it too.

I can't believe I'm about to tell you the rest of the story, but it was David's idea to post, so here goes: I needed a three-pack of the type of women's underwear that ryhmes with "song." (Whew, I didn't actually have to type out that word). I wear them strictly for professional purposes, because visible panty lines are so last century in the workplace. So, I bought a three-pack, with flowers on them, in my size. When I got back into the car (Can't remember why David and the kids were already there waiting for me--Wait, I do remember, it has something to do with the fact that I probably insisted they go out because getting any kind of meaningful shopping done is a complete NIGHTMARE with any combination of those three right on my tail), Johnny asks me, "What did you get me, Mommy?" "Well," I said, "as a matter of fact, I bought you some new underwear."

He demanded to hold the package. Immediately. Grace then wanted to know where her new underwear was. She didn't have any. I was not going to succumb to their notion that they both get something new each time the other one gets something, or that they get something new everytime we go into a store. But Grace's bottom lip curled out, and big, fat, crocodile tears started rolling down her cheek. I thought fast, like being a mother has conditioned me to do, and I said, "Wait and minute. Grace. I completely forgot. I did buy you a new pack of panties. Here these are for you. I just hope they fit. If they don't fit, we'll get you some more next time we go out," and I handed her the pink, flowered, three-pack of women's underwear that rhymes with "long." She was thrilled. David seemed impressed.

So, then when it's time to actually open the package of "Grace's" underwear, I say with feigned disappointed, "Oh, Grace, look. Mommy completely bought the wrong size. These are way too big for you. You're not going to be able to wear these after all. I'm sorry, Honey." She got that. She doesn't like clothes to hang off of her.

I then think the whole Johnny-got-something-new-that-Grace-didn't-get incident was over--and esentially it is--it's just that whenever Grace catches me in the act of getting dressed, with aforementioned underwear on, the ones that rhyme with "wrong," Grace always asks me, "Why are you wearing my panties, Mommy?"

Breaking the Ice

I'm doing some writing about depressed moods, whoremones and the darker side of my life, but for now, I'll post something light.

Whenever I get together with my college roommates--those of us who, due to the absolute worst social security numbers of the UNC freshman class of 1990 ,were placed at the 11th hour on the 5th floor of Carmichael dorm--there's a story that we retell over and over and over.

The scene: Fall, 1990, first week of class, our freshman year, me and my new suitemates, all of whom were strangers at this point. We ended up next door at Teague because they had a cigarette machine, and one of the girls smoked. The cigarette machine took the quarters without giving cigarettes in return and the smoker went off to find a way to get her money back.

The story: The rest of us waited in the vending machine area for our new suitmate to return. Again, strangers at this point, embarking on what would become the best years of our lives. To break the ice and kill some time, I made up a game. Wouldn't it be fun to all stare at the food/candy vending machine for thirty seconds, and then one by one, with our eyes closed, try to remember, in as much detail, what foods were where? Who knows what my new suitemates thought of the game, or me for suggesting it, but they played along.

We found out something important during this ice-breaking exercise. We learned that Anna has a photographic memory. We'll never let her hear the end of it. After thirty seconds of studying the vending machine, when it was Anna's turn to have her eyes closed, with accuracy that shocked us all, she rattled off, "Top row. Left to right. Plain M&Ms. Peanut M&Ms. Snickers. Kit Kat. Babe Ruth. Next row. Left to right. Doritos. Cheetos. Plain potato chips. Barbeque potato chips. Bugles."

Wow.

More Beach Pics

Beach Pics

Beach Trip

We went to North Myrtle Beach this weekend with friends from college and stayed in a really nice high-rise time share unit that Stephen lined up for us. So nice that that the fake flowers were so life-like that I was certain the calla lillies were the reason the babies' noses were running. It was great to get away, and my kids certainly didn't let the cooler weather keep them from enjoying the ocean. David and I both enjoyed running on the beach, a nice change from pavement pounding.

Sometimes, You Just Gotta Ask

I was in the check-out line the other day at Weaver Street, buying gluten-free this and that, and the guy working the register is this Goth-looking kid with really black, long hair and really white skin. Nice guy, though, who I once bonded with as we both share a love of limeade. This day, though, he was chit-chatting with the guy in front of me, whose wife, apparently, had recently died. I didn't actually hear him say those words, but he was saying, "Yeah, she's been gone a month..." and "Coming here makes me think of her." The Goth-kid was visibly struck by the customer's news, and, as he continued to scan the groceries, said in an authentic, sombre, earnest tone, "Gosh, that's terrible. I am really sorry to hear that. That must be so hard."

"Yeah, I thought you should know, because you used to see us here together all the time and stuff. Yeah...well."

And I, standing behind listening to the whole thing, knew exactly how each of them felt: The customer, feeling the need to tell someone he encountered several times a week, someone who he's not close to, who wouldn't otherwise know, that his wife died. And the clerk who's used to commenting on people's limeade rather than how it must feel to lose the love of your life, and how awkward the whole exchange was.

But the juxtoposition that I just can't get out of my head, the juxtoposition between the extraordinary and the mundane, came when the Goth-clerk, fully aware of how trivial it sounded coming out of his mouth said, "I know this sounds kind of weird right now, but, do you want paper or plastic?"

Got Progesterone?

Let's settle this once and for all:

PMS: It is all in your head.

This is my PMS brain:

This is my PMS brain on progesterone:

Any questions?

Check it Out...

Wow, it's fall, and I feel alive. There's so much going on right now that it's hard to keep up. Here's a sampling of what's going on here in the Triangle that I'm involved in this fall, my second favorite time of year.

On sale now: Lucy's Cards. A unique fundraiser to support mental-health services for children and families in the Triangle. I share a facility here in Cary with the Lucy Daniels Center for Early Childhood, an award-winning therapuetic preschool that provides wonderful services to kids with emotional needs. The way the fundraiser works: You buy a Lucy's Card for $50. 100% of the $50 goes to programs that the Lucy Daniels Center offers. Then for one week, Nov. 3-10, 2006, you use your card to shop at over 200 stores in the Triangle (locally-owned stores, not chains) and you get a 20% discount on all the stuff you buy. So, if you spend $250 the week of Nov. 3-10, (think holiday shopping early, we all spend $250 during the holidays, right?) you recap your $50 and you've donated to a really important service for children. If you spend more than $250, that's pure savings to you. So, shop, save, and help kids. (But if you do buy a card, I encourage you to buy one from me...I'm running my own specials for those who sign up first)

Next week, Thursday, Oct. 12, 7:00, Chapel Hill Bible Church: Caramore Community's 2006 Annual Client Celebration, Featuring local author Lee Smith (There is no charge to attend this event!) Caramore, where my husband works, is a private, non-profit organization in Carrboro that provides comprehensive services for mentally ill adults. It's a highly successful community-based program whose model more people need to know about--especially in this day and age where there's lots of talk about mental health reform in NC. Lee Smith, a well-known local author, will speak first-hand about how Caramore helped her son.

Wednesday, Oct. 18-Friday, Oct. 20: Troika Music Festival, an event designed to promote and celebrate the independent music scene in the Durham, Chapel Hill, and Raleigh area. Here's a special shout-out to my friends in the band Vedere Rosso, who will be playing on Friday, Oct. 20, at 7:45 PM, at the MarVell Event Center.

Saturday, November 4, "Art as Healing & Healing as Art", 1:30-4:30, NC Bar Center in Cary, NC, $25: a lecture that my place of employment, the Lucy Daniels Foundation, is hosting. The Foundation is pleased to host two internationally known presenters for this inaugural lecture:Thomas Sayre, local artist & designer and Salman Akhtar, MD, psychiatrist & psychoanalyst, poet & writer. The artist and the psychoanalyst will combine the origins of art with the theories of potential space in the following talks:Wrestling with the Angel, Thomas Sayre, and Hearing Voices: Psychotic, Poetic, and Psychoanalytic, Salman Akhtar, MD.

(Both of these speakers are really, really, good- plus Thomas Sayre is one of Raleigh's own with artwork up a the the NCMA, RDU Aiport and Exploris. Plus he's in a rock band. Plus, there's a reception over at the Foundation afterwards. Y'all come out).

Then, of course, there's the Marathon, Half-Marathon on Nov. 12. at the Outer Banks. All I can say is wish me luck, lots and lots of luck.

Code Blue

Something strange happened this morning when I dropped Grace off at school. We were a couple of minutes late, and signed in after the 8:00 AM bell rung. Everything seemed business as usual in the office, but as we walked down the hallway to Ms. Diane's class, things got weird: the hall lights were off, the classroom lights were off, and no one else was walking the halls. Just as we began to enter Grace's class, the door slammed in our faces. I knocked and Ms. Diane hushed me inside, whispered, "Code Blue," and directed us over to a corner in the classroom where all the kids were "huddling." I crouched down, too, with Grace, and we "huddled," in the dark while Ms. Diane made sure all the room's blinds were shut. The preschool children, two teachers, another mother, and I sat quietly for about ten minutes, until the bell went off again, in a "Code Blue" drill which was activated in response to this.

Gluten-Free, Casein Free, Leaky Gut

Grace and I are now both on a Gluten-Free, Casein-Free diet. Gluten is a protein found primarily in wheat, but also in barley, rye and oats. Casein is a protein found in milk products. I've basically been on a Casein-Free diet since this past June when a blood test revealed that I had food sensitivities to 35 foods, many of them forms of cow's milk. I ran into an acquaintance twice this weekend, a mother whose older daugther exhibits behaviors and tendencies, like Grace, that are consistent with Autism Spectrum Disorder. This mother put her daughter on the GFCF diet with excellent results. I'd heard about the possible link between wheat, milk and autism, but since none of the authorities believe Grace has autism, I have never taken too seriously implementing a particular diet with her. Until now.

When people say they are allergic to foods, more often than not, they are talking about IgE food allergies--allergies that account for only 5% of adverse food reactions--allergies to foods that produce almost immediate symptoms like skin rashes and blocked airways. The other 95% of adverse food reactions are due to IgG antibodies, the kind that I have and that I believe Grace, and many children with autism and autism-like symptoms, have.

This past summer, when I was still complaining about headaches, fatigue, depression, brain fog, dizziness, etc. my healthcare practitioner suggested that I be tested for food allergies or food sensitivities. IgG food antibodies are linked with delayed symptoms, even as much as 48 hours after eating a certain food, therefore making it near impossible to pinpoint what foods, if any, are causing particular reactions. I got the blood test, got my lab results, and sure enough, IgG antibodies showed up in relation to 35 foods that I eat. The most interesting thing revealed, is that out of the 35, 23 foods are high in protein. Which brings me to "leaky gut" syndrome.

Over time, due to many factors such as stress, caffeine, too much ibuprofen, etc., the stomach lining in adults can deteriorate, causing small holes and extreme thinning of the lining. When this happens, whole, undigested protein molecules then pass directly from the stomach into the bloodstream. Once in the bloodstream, these large, un-broken-down proteins are seen by the body as foreign invaders and the body then creates antibodies to counteract them. This brings about food allergies and negative symptoms. I have fewer of these symptoms since I've been following the diet.

Take Grace. When given a choice of milk or juice, she always chooses milk. She eats lots of cereal, bread, pasta, and tortilla wraps--sometimes three and four in one sitting. Read the following taken from a website describing the possible effects of gluten and casein on a child's developing brain:

"The molecular structure of the partially undigested proteins in wheat and milk, known as peptides, resemble opiates. It is thought that such peptides have an effect much like opiates in the brain and nervous system. From this premise it follows that long term exposure to these opiate peptides can have many damaging effects on the developing brain and also affects behavior, just as any narcotic would."

So, in the mornings when I get so frustrated with Grace that she can't just put her pants on without her legs going all floppy, and when I tell her ten times nicely before raising my voice to "Come on and GET IN THE CAR!" it may be that she's not being obstinate but that her morning bowl of cheerios is doing her in?!