I'd better unpack my shovel

We now live on the coast. I can see the ocean from my house.

Not a bad sight to wake up to every morning.

But in addition to the beautiful view and the soothing sounds of the ocean, this also apparently means we need to be aware of potential, although extremely unlikely, dangers. Specifically, I am talking about tsunamis. My guess, which I cannot substantiate with facts since I am too lazy to actually look up any information, is this was not a concern before the Fukushima tragedy. But now tsunami drills happen periodically. I was wondering how I would know when a drill was to take place, but I needn't have worried. First, you hear a voice on a loudspeaker, and then the loudest siren I have ever heard starts blaring. Also, on certain streets as you drive by you see warning signs.

Calvin is fascinated by these signs. We drove by one just the other day.

Calvin: Look, Mom! Look, Dad! There's a warning sign!

Me: What kind of sign?

C: It says tsunami excavation route!

David: Excavation route?

C: Yes.

D: I think you mean evacuation route.

Me: The tsunami is coming. DIG FASTER!!

C: ... Maybe it said evacuation.

At least now we know where to dig.

Who's the smart one now?

Shortly after we moved to Half Moon Bay, I went with the girls to enroll them in the local high school. We met with their counselor. She looked at their transcripts and the classes they were enrolled in at their previous school and started to put together schedules for them. One obstacle appeared when we asked  for advanced English and advanced math for both the girls, and AP World History for Sabrina. The counselor was extremely reluctant to enroll them in these classes. Her reasoning was that we were coming in after the start of the year, these advanced classes had required a fairly heavy summer workload, and therefore they would be behind.

Sabrina started to get quite upset and insisted that she needed to be in those classes. The counselor hesitated and then said, "Well, if you agree to do all the summer work to get caught up, I will enroll you in your requested classes." Sabrina immediately said yes, of course she would do that. Sign her up now, please. Rose, on the other hand, was silent. When the counselor turned to her and inquired, "Will you agree to do the summer work also?" Rose replied, "No, I will not. Enroll me in regular classes, please." The counselor looked at me, and I shrugged and told her to do as Rose asked. If Rose did not want to do the extra work, I was not going to fight her.

The girls started on a Thursday. Sabrina had a horrific first weekend. Despite her new school starting a week later than her old school, she was astonished to find that her new AP World History class was moving much faster. She was already three chapters behind. In addition, her English teacher told her she needed to read a 300-page book from the summer assignments. Sabrina spent every waking hour trying to catch up. She got very little sleep and became slightly hysterical. Meanwhile, Rose played games with Calvin, slept in, and watched TV.

On Monday, Rose's counselor called her into her office. After administering a couple of tests, Rose's English teacher had called the counselor and said, "Don't be ridiculous. Move this girl up. She belongs in Advanced English." So the counselor looked at Rose and said, "If you do not have to do any of the summer or catch-up work, would you consider moving to Advanced English?" Rose replied, "Of course."

At dinner, in an off-hand manner, Rose mentioned they switched her classes that day. I asked why, and she told me what had happened. I looked over at Sabrina, whose eyes were still bloodshot from reading a 300-page book and doing six history assignments in 48 hours, and hoped the mess to clean up wouldn't be too extensive after her head exploded.

Not for the faint of heart (or weak of stomach)

For those of you that know me, I suffer from quite severe allergies. You name it, I'm allergic to it. If I come into contact with anything that grows or anything with fur and four legs, I'm off on a trip to Allergy Land with an uncertain return date. Fortunately, I function pretty well over all. I avoid triggers whenever possible. I married a man who has no desire for pets. And I avail myself of all the medical miracles at my disposal.

I have watched my children for years, hoping and praying they inherited their father's genes in the allergy department, rather than mine. For the most part, that seems to be the case. Calvin had some trouble with asthma as a toddler, but seemed to outgrow it by the time he was six. The girls have occasional sniffly noses in spring, but some simple over-the-counter antihistamines take care of that. I was just beginning to breathe easier (pun intended), thinking we dodged a bullet. But . . .

A year ago, Calvin started getting sick quite frequently. Every three to four weeks, he would catch another cold/virus. At first, I told myself it was a bad flu season. I was getting sick frequently also. We just had bad luck. But then in the spring, every time he got sick, he ended up with an asthma attack. I started thinking perhaps there was more to this than just bad luck in the cold department. I was just about ready to call the allergist, but then Calvin started to feel better in late spring. That combined with our move pushed it all to the back burner.

We hadn't even settled in yet, were still living in a hotel, and Calvin got sick once again. His breathing never really recovered. Medication didn't seem to be helping much, and any and everything (virus, exercise, being outdoors) triggered an asthma attack. The poor boy was panting his life away. But we were in a new area. I didn't know who to call. We don't have any doctors yet. What to do?I started to research. I found an allergist that had rave reviews and, luckily, was not too far away from our new location. I called, and they got us in within a week. Yesterday was Calvin's first appointment.

They started out with a breath test. He wasn't wheezing. His lungs didn't crackle. But the breath test showed that his lungs were inflamed. What this means is that he doesn't show any symptoms normally, but as soon as he comes into contact with a trigger, he goes from fine to in trouble with alarming speed. Next up was a nebulizer treatment for both the lungs and the nose to try to clear up his breathing. Next, we had to find out what he was allergic to.

I knew what was coming, having suffered through it many times in my life: allergy testing. This is something that is not too horrible if you are mildly allergic to things, but excruciating if you're on the other end of the spectrum. Calvin asked the nurse, "What is going to happen? Will it hurt? Are there needles involved?" The nurse gently informed him there would be no pain, no needles, just some itching. Calvin looked relieved. I didn't have the heart to tell him that "just some itching" takes on a whole new meaning with these tests.

They tested him on 96 (that's right, you heard me, 96!!) different items.

Right after they administered the test

Five minutes in

10 minutes in

15 minutes in

20 minutes in

25 minutes in

Poor baby. He's allergic to everything, just like me -- grasses, trees, mold, mildew, dust, dogs, cats. It's amazing he's been breathing at all. He almost cried when they told him he'd have to come back in two weeks for more testing (foods this time). I am just extremely grateful we live in an age where he can get effective treatment.

He got to choose what he wanted for dinner, but he barely made it through.

The waitress removed his plate just before his face fell into it.

It was an early night for all.

It was a hard day for Mom, too.