It’s half time in my Super Bowl of laundry (me vs. the laundry, the laundry is winning) and thought I would take a moment to reflect on Super Bowl Sunday.

My Super Bowl Sunday started out like this…on the hunt for a wagon wheel sandwich at Sam’s Club. When I saw a woman with one in her hand I inquired where she found it, saying it was the last one in the case—I offered to fight her for it, she grimaced at me and said no. I did however find a large container of the biggest strawberries—envisioning those three giant chocolate Santa’s melted down into a delicious coating for the berries. So I bought them.

The girls were so excited to be creating this luscious treat for our football feast of sandwiches, chicken wings, shrimp and dips. The guests arrived. The partying started. The icy cold beers were quenching thirsty men. The ladies delicately sipped Smirnoff Ice’s. All was good…or we thought.

M: mom my contacts are really bothering me

J: your eyes are really red go take them out

5 minutes later M reappears flopping on the couch

M: mom I am having trouble breathing, like when I ate the cherries

J: what did you eat tonight, what did you eat last?

M: chocolate covered strawberries, four of them

J: quick go use your inhaler

Calls doctor’s exchange

J: this is…I’m calling about…she is 14…her birth date is…the reason--well she ate strawberries, been eating them for 14 years never a problem before, her eyes are swollen, her lips are swollen, she has hives on the back of her tongue, she has difficulty breathing, her cheeks are red and warm with a prickly heat look of hives, not huge red blotches just tiny bumps all on the face…no hives on the trunk of the body. Okay I will give her 50 mg Benadryl and take her across the street to the hospital.

(Which I might add is not my favorite hospital but I had houseguests)

I explained to the triage nurse that all this occurred within what felt like thirty minutes-- the strawberry consumption and arriving at the hospital. We were escorted to an exam room and the roving registrar (aka we want to make sure we know where you live so we can collect your $100 co-pay) came in asking this question as part of the registration process: what is the exact time this occurred? I looked at her saying, I don’t know I was between a sandwich and a cocktail, the score was 14-16, I don’t even know the time now. You know what I did know—this stinking hospital had no TV’s in these exam rooms so we were oblivious to everything Super Bowl! Oh yes, and when she saw spouse’s occupation on her screen from our stored information in her portable computer she felt compelled to say “maybe your husband gave me a ticket”. Did I care? NO! My child is in the process of transforming into a human strawberry.

Finally the doctor broke himself free from the Internet (I can see you doc, everything from my curtained area, busted) and ordered 3 epi shots every twenty minutes along with 60 mg of prednisone.

Saved. Restored.

We hopped in the car KMOX was letting us know the trophy was being presented to…M quickly turned off the radio and boohoo-ed a bit “now everyone will be talking about the game at school and I won’t know anything but how to reverse a strawberry allergy”.

So to make her feel really good I said…"baby girl all we need to know is that my family has disowned us because we rooted for the Colts and not the Bears and we will be lucky if they let us visit Chicago in the future for just a weekend get away”. And then we laughed together my “don’t serve me fruit salad” girl and me.

So should she eat peaches, Bing cherries or strawberries we now own the EpiPen and are prepared to fight the fruit!

Today I called my grandmother to seek forgiveness (and maybe rub in a little the Colts beat the Bears). She said she still loves me.