"Raising a kid is part joy and part guerrilla warfare."
~Ed Asner

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Dear....

Dear Amie,

We need to have a talk.  On Friday you went with Izzie on her field trip to an apple orchard and farm.  You fed the ducks; pet chickens, sheep, and even a baby piglet.  You got to see the horses and spend time holding the bunnies.  You went on a hay ride and finished off the day by picking out a pumpkin to take home.  I know that you wanted to be a part of Izzie's first field trip.  I understand that you adore fall and anticipate going to the apple orchards and farms.  You thought you would be okay if you pumped your lungs full of steroids and drugged yourself up with Benedryl.  You can't fool me.  While you were doing your best to smile and enjoy yourself on the hay ride, your lungs were working overtime just to get air.  I saw what you were thinking.  What would happen if you passed out?  How embarrassing would that be?  You left your Epi-Pen in the truck.  How long would it take for someone to retrieve it?  Would they be there in time?  Your face was smiling, your mind was racing, and your lungs were doing everything they could to keep up.  Your sweater and jeans covered the hives breaking out all over your body and your sunglasses hid puffy, red eyes that made you look like a stoner.  You did a pretty good job of keeping it together, minus one incident in the bathroom when you took your sunglasses off and one of the parents gave you a questioning look to your stoner gaze, in which you responded, "I have allergies."

This is the thing.  You are not a farm girl.  You can't pet the animals.  You can't walk through the fields.  And you really, really can't go on hay rides.  Just don't do it.  I don't enjoy scraping you off the living room floor from an over medicated state of extreme drowsiness.  I hate Calamine.  Not enough ice packs and eye drops in the world can help your face when you been taken over by allergies.  Hawking up loogies and hacking like a smoker are not your best qualities and quite frankly, embarrassing in public. 

Tempting as it is to pick up produce and cider from the orchards right now, let's just stick to the roadside and local markets.  And the next time you feel the urge to pet a baby lamb or romp around in some hay, think of that moment...Friday night, when you thought you took your last constricted breath, before shoving an Epi-Pen in your thigh, that in my opinion is a brutal and completely preventable course of action.

Repeat after me.  I am not a farm girl.  I am not a farm girl.  I am not a farm girl.

Love
-Me

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