I am about to describe a particularly bad day, but as often happens in these pages, I'm not going to reveal every detail. It's not appropriate, and it's not fair to John. But I will hit the highlights, and you can fill in the details yourself. By the way, you should know that I asked John's permission before posting this blog, and he agreed, provided the names are changed. (You didn't really think my kids were named John and Mary, did you?)
John did something at school that was not terribly dangerous, but is nonetheless a suspendable offense. Since you can be suspended now adays for bringing cough drops to school, or complimenting your classmate on her pretty hair, this isn't saying a whole lot. And the specifics aren't important in any case. The point is, I knew he was staying home the next day, so why not run an experiment? I gave him some prepackaged potatoes with a few additives, and we basted the chicken in a thin barbecue sauce. (Hey, his diet grows more restrictive each day; we have to make things taste good or he'll revolt.) I had confidence in the menu. He's only having one chicken wing, so the protein intake is quite low. And the barbecue sauce only contributes 2 or 3 grams of sucrose. The two culprits are held in check. Everything should be fine - but the next morning, disaster struck.
By mid morning I had to restrain him, physically. He has already thrown his metal die-cast car against the wall, shattering it into pieces. Wendy takes the laptop and all other valuables out of his room, then retreats into her bedroom crying. I would cry too, but I don't have time. I have to keep my wits about me, to control a boy who is almost as big as I am, and I must do it without the benefit of sight. This is not for the faint of heart.
When John settles down on his bed exhausted I review our little experiment and its tragic outcome. Was I wrong? I spent at least 4 of the past 7 years proving his diet is not microscopic. A bite of this or that doesn't matter. Trace amounts of additives don't matter. Even the problem compounds such as sucrose are tolerated in small amounts. Now, the foundation of my theory is crumbling beneath me. To make matters worse, I can smell the butyric acid on his breath. I haven't smelled that in over a year, since we cut sugar out of his diet. Where do we go from here?
John says he has to go to the bathroom, so I carefully escort him out of his room and across the hall. After he is done he goes over to the sink to wash his hands, and the mirror sends him into overdrive. He grabs the liquid soap and is about to spread it all over the room. I snatch it away from him just in time, and drag him out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom. Now he is frantic. With a touch of OCD, he insists on washing his hands. "I'm diwty!" he declares, without the r. I tell him that he cannot go back into the bathroom, with that giant mirror, nor can I leave him alone long enough to cover it. "Now if you had a blindfold," I suggest, "like the ostriches." He knows exactly what I am talking about. Last week we watched an episode of Dirty Jobs, where Mike was loading ostriges into a truck for transport. You must first blindfold these birds, or they will panic, and you'll be kicked by a frightened, 400 pound beast. This is a common theme throughout the animal kingdom. If they can't see what's happening, they are much calmer. He pulls a shirt off the floor and wraps it around his eyes. This quiets his emotions almost immediately. (Why didn't I think of this years ago?) We go back across the hall and he washes his hands without incident. Then we go back to the bedroom, with John still blindfolded and in a much quieter state of mind. Suddenly he confides in me.
"I snuck something last night, something big."
"Thank God!" I almost blurt it out loud, in pure jubilation. My theory is intact. Seven years of hard work have not been flushed down the drain.
After some investigation we determine that John ate approximately 60 grams of sucrose while nobody was watching, just before he went to bed. This was a hold-over from Halloween. I didn't even know it was in the house. I thought we through out all the candy, but John found it in the back of the kitchen cupboard. This underscores the importance of never punishing a child for sneaking. I needed this information. His honesty is critical in our ongoing investigation. Without good information, we're lost! Besides, he's been punished enough. He destroyed one of his favorite cars, which he bought with his own money, and he doesn't want to hear his mother cry any more than I do. He has learned something today - that tempting 11:00 treat just wasn't worth it. And I learned something too. The sucrose reaction produces the volatile short chain organic acids, and the protein reaction (if any) does not. What is this trying to tell us? What is the underlying chemistry? Are these reactions metabolic, or are they driven by a microbe, as I had theorized earlier? Are they separate and independent, or is there a connection? We don't know - nobody knows. While we are waiting for the next piece of the puzzle, I must continue to keep a tight lid on sucrose and protein.