Confessions of a Food Addict

Moving Day

2008-02-06T13:45:00.000-06:00

Please join me next door. I've moved here. Update your blogroll and tell your friends!

BIG CHANGES

2008-02-01T14:33:00.000-06:00

I know it's been way too long since I've updated.

Big changes are happening and have happened. If you're a Blogabetes reader, you're up to date.

I've struggled with what to do--if anything--with this blog since all of my diabetes-related writing energy is being directed at Blogabetes. I have an idea now.

Stay tuned faithful readers (if I have any left).

By the way...happy birthday to me and happy 30th to my wonderful sister!

Fateful Judgement Calls

2007-12-12T15:13:00.000-06:00

As parents we make judgement calls all the time. Not just decisions and choices, but judgements. Some of those we wind up patting ourselves on the back for, and others we wind up kicking ourselves in the pants for.

Take this weekend for example. I had plans to drive two hours from our home in mid-Missouri with my kids so we could go to my niece's first-birthday party and celebrate Hanukkah dinner with a very good friend of mine. Also, Mom and I were looking forward to just hanging out and chatting since we really didn't get to do that at Thanksgiving.

Well, with winter weather all around us and more on the way, The Mr. suggested I stay home. I checked the Missouri Highway Patrol web site's road conditions page, looked outside and obsessively checked the weather. I decided that I was a smart driver and that if conditions were too bad or got too bad that I could simply turn around.

Judgement call number one. And The Mr. was none too happy with me. At. All.

Saturday night, after a wonderful evening with friends, the kids and I were congregated near the backdoor. Somehow, No. 3 fell down the flight of basement steps that were immediately facing the backdoor. I didn't hear a tumble and didn't see a little diaper butt going down. In fact, No. 2 saw her at the bottom of the stairs. Actually, she saw her light-up shoes at the bottom of the stairs.

I ran down the stairs and No. 3 stopped crying almost as soon as I picked her up. I checked her over and there was no blood, no cuts, no bumps, no bruises, no abrasions. And she had stopped the frantic crying. I brought her upstairs and we all looked her over again. She seemed fine. I mean, except for the tumble. She did seem a little confused--wanting me to pick her up and then immediately put her down and then pick her up. But she was walking fine and had full movement of her arms. She wasn't lethargic and wasn't throwing up. Again, I thought she was fine.

I drove to Mom and Dad's where Mom and I watched her and discussed her condition. I thought about calling the doctor, but my momsense told me that the doctor would tell me what I already knew...as long as she's awake, not throwing up, not lethargic, not bleeding, etc., that she was fine. She slept fitfully that night, but who wouldn't after falling down a flight of stairs? I called The Mr. who was two hours away working. He was mad that I hadn't taken the baby to the hospital. I explained my reasons, but I don't think it helped.

Judgement call number two.

Sunday night when I returned home, I called the doctor mostly to appease The Mr. She confirmed my mom-diagnosis.

Sunday No. 3 was cranky, but reasonably so. Monday she seemed better, but I noticed that she was favoring her right arm and that her right shoulder was swollen. Thankfully she had a well-baby checkup scheduled for Tuesday at 4 p.m. I was concerned enough that I moved it up to 10a.m.

Her pediatrician took one look at her shoulder and said, "I think she has a broken collar bone." (And man, oh man did I want to eat my words because not 48 hours ago had I practically yelled at The Mr. (who was still raking me over the coals for not taking No. 3 to the hospital Saturday night), "Oh, come on! She did NOT fracture her collar bone." Yeah, open mouth, insert foot.)

So we went for an x-ray to confirm and consulted with an orthopedic surgeon. (Read about my x-ray experience here.) Turns out, according to the ortho, that what I did was "classic" mom behavior in this situation. I'm just glad The Mr. got to hear it straight from the horse's mouth.

I made more than those two judgement calls over the weekend, but those are the ones that will stick in my mind for some time to come. As a mom and a wife, I have to learn to pick my battles. Sometimes that can be harder than making the decisions in the first place.

Finally a new post!!!

2007-11-28T11:16:00.000-06:00

Um, yeah, so it's been a while since I updated my blog. I've been so involved with Blogabetes that I'm having trouble finding time (read: deadline season at work) and inspiration for my blog. However, I have vowed to try to be better about not leaving my faithful readers in a lurch for so long anymore.

So, here to whet your appetite for more, is a meme floating around the OC.

1. Were you named after anyone? My middle name is my paternal grandmother’s maiden name. My sister and my nephew have the same middle name. An interesting tidbit about my name: all three of my names have eight letters.

2. When was the last time you cried? The week before Thanksgiving, I think. I was terribly worried about my blood clot leg and wound up going for a doppler to make sure I wasn’t developing another clot.

3. Do you like your handwriting? Sometimes. Usually I think it’s just OK.

4. What is your favorite lunch meat? Roast beef.

5. Do you have kids? Yes. No. 1 is almost 8 (my God how did that happen??), No. 2 just turned 5, and No. 3 will be 2 next week (again, how did that happen??).

6. If you were another person, would you be friends with you? I hope so.

7. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Ah, ye-ah.

8. Do you still have your tonsils? Yes.

9. Would you bungee jump? No freaking way. Couldn’t get me to jump out of a plane either.

10. What is your favorite cereal? I have a lot of trouble eating cereal without taking a ton of insulin. When I do eat cereal, though, I like Raisin Bran Crunch, Smart Start (but I won’t buy it anymore because the box is too small for the steep price tag) and almost anything sugary.

11. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? No.

12. Do you think you are strong? I have my moments.

13. What is your favorite ice cream? Peanut Butter and Chocolate from Baskin Robbins. Also really like Chocolate Fudge Brownie from Ben and Jerry’s.

14. What is the first thing you notice about people? Body shape, I think. And how a person holds himself up. I think it reveals a lot about self-confidence.

15. Red or Pink? Neither, really. Or, it depends.

16. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? I can be moody.

17. Who do you miss the most? I regret that I can’t spend more time with my grandmother. And hate that I can’t see my sister every day.

18. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Jeans and khaki slip ons from Easy Spirit.

20. What was the last thing you ate? Quaker’s Lower Sugar maple and brown sugar oatmeal. I really want some M&M’s right now.

21. What are you listening to right now? A girl in the office discussing style and grammar, the ticking of my typing.

22. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Always loved midnight blue.

23. Favorite smells? Rain, fresh-cut grass, Christmas, clean babies.

24. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? I had an editorial conference call. In five minutes I’m about to have another conference call.

25. Favorite sports to watch? Baseball, specifically the St. Louis Cardinals. I’ve grown to enjoy watching football.

26. Hair color? Medium brown

27. Eye color? Blueish, greenish.

28. Do you wear contacts? No, I wear glasses. I get mixed answers when I ask about contacts. However, I’m not fond of having things in my eyes, so I don’t know that I’d enjoy wearing contacts anyway.

29. Favorite food? I love a good steak. Oh, and pretty much anything chocolate.

30. Scary Movies or Happy Endings? Happy endings, though I enjoy some psychological thrillers and would prefer that to a physical thriller.

31. Last movie you watched? Die Hard 4.

32. What color shirt are you wearing? Greenish button down with my company name embroidered.

33. Summer or winter? Depends. I don’t like real hot or real cold. I prefer spring and fall.

34. Hugs or kisses? Depends on who I’m getting them from!

35. Favorite dessert? Hmmm… I have to pick just one?

36. What is on your mousepad? Some space scene.

37. What did you watch on TV last night? I watched Journeyman online because I missed it on TV on Monday.

38. Favorite sound? My kids laughing, rain/thunderstorms

39. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Probably Beatles.

40. What is the farthest you have been from home? Mexico.

41. Do you have a special talent? Uh, I don’t think so.

Hitting Below the Belt

2007-11-05T09:49:00.000-06:00

I consider my life with diabetes to be fairly boring. There are few surprises. And then something significant happens. Something really significant. I wrote about my lowest low ever (29 mg/dL) on Blogabetes over the weekend. The Mr. and I went out to lunch on Friday and my mood prevented me from really paying attention to what was going on and to what I was going. I got that low pretty quickly. It scared us both pretty badly. I am thankful, though, that I had The Mr. with me. I had contemplated going to lunch alone that day.

Read Part I here and Part II here.

Two-week update

2007-10-23T15:12:00.000-05:00

Whew!

There has been so much happening lately. I've been focusing most of my diabetes writing for my blog at dLife. I know, that's kind of crappy, but no one ever said you can't take a jaunt over there to check it out. In fact, I had an awesome appointment with my endo this morning and wrote about it here. I'm proud of where I've come, so go read and leave a comment here or there.*

Also progressing seems to be my photography. In fact, I've asked Santa for a portable backdrop stand, and have created a small flyer that I will likely start distributing to friends soon. I have an "appointment" with a friend to shoot her kids' Christmas card, and will likely get a newborn session in before too long because another friend of mine is about to pop!

I've really been thinking lately that my blog template is dark and quite drab. I'm considering switching it up to a white background. What do you think?

*My endo emailed about an hour ago and my A1C has dropped from 9 in late June to 7.9 today. It's not ideal, but go me for getting it lowered.

I'm Gonna Do It!

2007-10-11T16:30:00.000-05:00

I'm going to join the ranks of other OCers and tackle the Diabetes 365 project. For me, it will serve as fuel for my blogging and photography. Especially photography. So far, I think I am the only type 2 on the project. Not that I want to emphasize the differences necessarily, but our management styles can be quite different--and quite similar.

I hope to get started by Monday. I'm already generating several ideas for photos.

Check out the pool of photos already on flickr and join the project!

A Kidism

2007-10-08T09:04:00.000-05:00

Driving with No. 2 this morning, she said out of the blue:

"Mom, I know why people litter."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"Well I don't know how to say it because it's a bad word."

"OK," I said, bracing myself for the "F" word.

"Because they're idiots," she said matter of factly.

I chuckled. And then laughed.

"You're right," I said.

And then I laughed some more.

"What? I'm serious!" she said.

"I know, sweetie," I said shaking my head and smiling.

"And I would never litter because I don't want to be an idiot," she said.

Again, I laughed. No. 2 laughed, too. I sighed with a smile.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Mom."

A Diva Birthday

2007-10-04T10:09:00.000-05:00

Happy birthday to my little girl!

How far we've come. She was born at 37 weeks 3 days, weighing in at 5 lb. 8 oz. She was just 9 days old in this picture.

In what has apparently become a tradition, I've just received flowers from The Mr. as I have on No. 2's birthday for the last several years!

The Diva

2007-10-03T14:14:00.000-05:00

I don’t consider myself to be a softie parent, but The Mr. contends that the kids don’t push him like they push me because they know he won’t bend. I think I’m a pretty strict parent and I really don’t think I give in as much as The Mr. claims I do. We just have different parenting styles. And with his work schedule, the kids tend to spend more time with me than him. Which leads them to know how to push me.

This morning I was relaying a story to The Mr. about No. 2’s first hour-long, full tilt temper tantrum. I’ve never seen her act the way she did this morning. Maybe it’s because I’m indeed a softie.

It all started when she decided not to follow directions and thought that crying and throwing a fit would get her way. Fortunately, I was on a pretty even keel this morning and didn’t lose my head. Other mornings I would have completely lost my cool and would have done a lot of yelling.

I gave numerous opportunities to “put your shoes on and get your backpack or I’m leaving,” but, honestly, she called my bluff. Even as No. 3 (who was so confused!) and I walked out the door and LOCKED it leaving her inside to scream to her heart’s content, she still wouldn’t lament and do as she was told. Hell, I even strapped No. 3 in her car seat, started the car, closed the door and drove several feet and No. 2 STILL stood there crying and screaming and not doing what I asked. Yes, my friends, this is *my* headstrong daughter. (I would have driven around the block, but we live across the street from City Hall and the police station and I had already attracted enough attention that two police officers came outside to “check out his car’s sound system.”)

Ok, here’s a quick back story as to why she felt confident calling my I’m-leaving bluff. I’ve pulled the do-it-now-or-I’ll-leave-you trick before with all three kids and it has worked. However, there have been a number of times when we’re, say, going to go outside to play and No. 2 freaks out that she’s going to get left behind. I’ve said so many times in the last several months “Would I really leave you? No, of course not.” So, there you have it. I showed her my cards.

So this morning’s tantrum (just one day before her fifth birthday) was about the sharing bag she has for school. Since the I’m-leaving trick didn’t work and I actually had to come back in the house and put her shoes and jacket on myself and she was still given more opportunities to do what she was told and didn’t do it, she gave up her privilege of putting *anything* in the sharing bag. Man did that make things worse. I had to pick her up and carry her outside and struggle with her to get her to let go of the door handle! The car ride to take No. 3 to the sitter came complete with screaming so loud that I felt vibrations in my ears, and the following demands: “Mom! Stop the car!” and “I want this car turned around right NOW!” and “I want to put more than two things in the sharing bag!” and “I want this car turned around right NOW!” Oh, and my favorite: “I’m going to tell Miss Sandy!” Miss Sandy is her preschool teacher. I was close to laughing, actually, when she started demanding things.

And the girl who loves to go to school so much that she normally races to the top of the steps leaving me way behind had to be carried into school, had to have her hands pried off the door handles again and almost literally drug into the classroom. Once we left the house without anything in the sharing bag, I suspect she realized there would be a certain element of embarassment if she showed up to school without anything to share.

Explaining the situation to Miss Sandy, she hugged me and said “I’m so glad when parents make consequences.” I really thought, geez, this is sort of normal for our house. It’s never really trickled into the classroom like this, but it’s not like I’m new at this. I suppose other parents don’t do this kind of thing. (Miss Sandy asked if Megan could have the sharing bag again. “Yes,” I said. “But not today.”)

So, back to telling The Mr. about what happened…I told him I had considered not allowing No. 2 to go to ballet class today, but decided that since she (and us as a family) had made a commitment to her class that she should go.

“No,” he said. “Ballet is a privilege.”

Man, he was so right. I had to straighten my backbone and take this privilege away from her because I knew that the ripple from just making her not take toys in the sharing bag wouldn’t last too long. (This is the kid who says “OK, go ahead” when I threaten to throw toys away that she refuses to pick up.)

She cried, naturally, when I told her that she wasn’t going to ballet today and that she couldn’t watch TV tonight. After asking if her punishment included not going out to eat for her birthday tomorrow and wondering if she could still go trick or treating, she claimed that she really didn’t want to go to ballet. This kid just doesn’t give up! Someday, I know her fierce personality will serve her well.

So I had to lay it on thick, had to make her remember how much she loves going to ballet and how disappointed I was that I *couldn’t* let her go. She had to know that she wasn’t puncturing my thick skin today.

I’m drained, actually. I took a quick nap at lunch. I’m sure that when I pick her up from the sitter she’ll have nearly forgotten what happened this morning. I’m considering driving her by the dance studio and making her explain to her teacher why she wasn’t in class today. And then making her spend the evening in her room except for dinner.

I suppose 5 is a better age to be having this battle than at 15.

*Diva photo: http://www.lonestardiva.com/

Blog+Diabetes=Blogabetes

2007-09-24T10:21:00.000-05:00

You may--or may not!--have noticed that I've been a little more absent than usual from my blogging. I can finally tell you that I've been involved with dLife in a new project called Blogabetes. It's a blog-like project with a number of contributors (many of them from The O.C.), and it's super exciting to see all of us working toward the same goal.

You can find the main Blogabetes page here. And me here.

A new kidism

2007-09-04T15:18:00.000-05:00

I've said for a long time that No. 2 is a marketers dream. She could see an ad for Viagra and say "Mom, we need to get that." Lately, though, it's the hair product commercials that she's begging me to pay attention to so that my hair can be as shiny as the lady's on TV.

Yesterday, she and I were sitting together on the couch and she sneezed. I'm actually the one who's been sneezing non-stop lately thanks to late-summer allergies (phooey!). I said "Bless you" and she shook her head and said "Too much sneezing. That's why I need Beneful."

I laughed and told her that Beneful is dog food and wouldn't do anything for her sneezing. She looked confused and said that it would help her with her sneezing, itchy nose and throat, and watery eyes. I'm not sure if she heard me through my hysterical laughing tell her that it was BENADRYL not BENEFUL that would help her with all those symptoms.

She, of course, got mad that I was laughing because "MOM IT'S NOT FUNNY!"

Like God is Speaking to Me

2007-08-24T22:28:00.000-05:00

The last two days I've felt a little bummed about mommyhood, as you can easily tell from my previous post.

And then tonight, I had a God Wink. Sitting down to the computer 30 minutes after I normally go to bed (I was waiting for cookies to cool that I had baked for my brother and his wife to celebrate their new home, which we will drive two hours tomorrow to visit for the first time, so I could put them away and not worry about them sticking together.), I logged on to Diabetic Mommy, aka the site I can't live without.

I nearly cried when I read this. It was like God was coming through my computer, sitting down next to me and saying "We all have days like this." Illustrating this point even more is that in the world of e-mail forwards, I can't ever remember reading this.

Perspective: The Invisible Woman
By Nicole Johnson

It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, young fella?" "Nobody," he shrugged. "Nobody?" The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?"

I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family—like "Turn the TV down, please"—and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing.

Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking.

That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me. I'm invisible.

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?"

Obviously not! No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude—but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.

She's going she's going she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."

In the days ahead I would read—no, devour—the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

* No one can say who built the great cathedrals—we have no record of their names.
* These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
* They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
* The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Confessions of a Mommy

2007-08-23T20:32:00.000-05:00

More days than I can actually remember--but enough, obviously for me to take note--I feel like Goldie Hawn in Overboard staring off into space and chanting buh-buh-buh-buh.

My children simultaneously suck the life out of me and overwhelm me with thoughts of how I ever lived without them.

In an effort to add humor to situations so I don't literally explode, I have coined the phrase "If you don't stop, my head will explode and then there will be Mommy brains all over the wall and you'll have to clean it up." That usually gets a smile out of someone.

Many nights I'm so mentally exhausted after putting the kids to bed that I can barely think clearly enough to do the laundry. This has put a serious dent in my writing and photography aspirations. Recently looking back at some of the writing I accomplished in college, I actually surprised myself at how good I was and then wondered where that writer went.

I have a difficult time choosing which of the millions of projects I should undertake in the roughly 90 minutes I have "to myself" after the kids go to bed that I often sit on the couch chanting buh-buh-buh-buh. And then I decide to go to bed early because I'm too overwhelmed to do anything else.

I hate that I get short with my children because of my mental exhaustion.

I hate that I raise my voice.

I hate that I feel like I've ruined my children with my often short temper.

I hate that this seems like I'm blaming my children for my own shortcomings. I'm not.

I hate that I often don't have the mental energy to read books and say prayers with them before bed.

I hate that I feel like I'm a bad mommy because of all of this.

Sometimes I think I was put on this earth just to be their mommy; to shape and mold these three incredible people into more than I ever was or will be. That my struggles are actually making them into solid, strong people who will be positive contributors to our society.

I remember that I am a good mommy when one of the kids comes out of nowhere and says "Mom?" (Yeah, sweetie.) "I love you."

Aug. 14—The 14-thing walking meme

2007-08-14T11:23:00.000-05:00

I have walked 10 of the last 14 days.
I have so far reached my goal of walking five times a week.
Walking has dramtically decreased my blood sugar levels.
I have gained and lost the same 4 lb. in the last 14 days.
There’s a swing in my swagger.
My clothes fit better even though I technically haven’t lost any weight.
My mom complimented how I looked even though I was on a gaining trend.
I feel better all day when I walk.
I do tend to hit a spot some time in the day when I have to fight very hard to keep my eyes open, but I really don’t think it’s because I’m getting up 30 minutes earlier than I was last month.
I’ve realized I don’t have to get up so early to get my walk in and still get to work on time.
I still haven’t taken the mp3 player with me that I bought for my birthday in February with the intentioin of taking it with me on walks.
The dog jumps on my back when I come outside with the leash.
The kids continue to ask me why I go for a walk every day and I continue to tell them “Because it keeps me healthy.”
My body loves the attention I’m giving it.

Keeping you up to speed

2007-07-16T14:29:00.000-05:00

On writing:
It’s been ages since I updated my blog. It’s terrible, terrible, terrible and I’m sure my readership is down to nill. I started my blog for several reasons, one of which was so I had an outlet for writing and all the nonsense that goes through my head; but I also wanted to use it as a way to get and keep my creative juices flowing.

This may sound like a tangent, but it actually has a point, so bear with me. Several weeks ago I went out to the garage in search of a packet of information for The Mr. I thought it was in a box of old letters I had written to The Mr. when he was in the Navy. I didn’t find that packet, but I did find a number of folders full of college writing projects. I found myself looking through this box and thinking I wasn’t half bad. In fact, I was sufficiently inspired to go ahead with some fiction and non-fiction projects I’ve been mulling over for some time now.

So, the whole reason for that story was to say that I’ve been distracted with some other business and non-business writing lately. I simply haven’t had it in me to update my blog. Some people have genius pouring out of their ears, mine is more selective apparently.

On photography:
I’ve been working hard lately at building my portfolio. OK, really I’ve been working harder at the portfolio. Before recently I was simply taking pictures just to be doing it, and while I’m still doing that to some extent, I now have a goal in mind. I’d love for photography to be a side business of mine. I need to hit up some more friends and family to let me take their pictures, but it won’t be long and I’ll have something decent to peddle around to potential clients. Wow. That word is kind of scary!

While I took these pictures just because, they will make a nice addition to my portfolio. I definitely need to learn more about Photoshop!

This is my gorgeous sister and her son, who is a week older than No. 1.

This is my handsome cousin and his beautiful family.

On diabetes:
There’s not much to say on this topic except that I am frustrated as usual. I’m not sure what to think of Byetta. I haven’t changed my eating habits all that much and I still find myself with wild swings at fasting. Several mornings I’ve woken up to 69 and was crashing fast. These mornings were bad enough that I could barely make it downstairs to the kitchen. (The one morning I put a granola bar on my night stand to be proactive, No. 3 stole it for her breakfast!) On the other hand, a number of mornings I’ve found myself upwards of 150 or 200. And as for my appetite, I find there are moments when I have none. In fact, yesterday morning I didn’t eat breakfast until 10 a.m. because I simply wasn’t hungry. But, like I said, these are moments, not an overall atmosphere of unhungriness. There are also brief moments of nausea. I’m hoping that I’m not passing judgment too quickly and that next month when I start the full dose of Byetta that I will feel sufficiently crappy enough to not want to eat anything.

Notables:
This is my 100th blog post!

If there was a theme song for Byetta, I’d be singing it

2007-06-27T09:45:00.001-05:00

So far, after what amounts to two full days (Monday evening, all day Tuesday and this morning) of Byetta, I’m having a great time. That sounds weird to say, but that’s the best way to explain it, I think.

I’ve had two post breakfast readings in the 80s for meals that prior to Byetta I would have taken four to six units of Novolog to cover. I’ve had fastings under 100 when I’ve gone to bed at 216. And I’ve gotten great readings in random tests after I’ve had a snack.

One of the best things: I’m testing after every meal and keeping a log again. I’m not sure how long this will last, but I’m so in awe of this medicine (when I went into this with such low expectations) that I’m trying to make the most of it.

Perhaps the best thing: For the first time since taking it, I can’t fathom the idea of eating.

Simple pleasures

2007-06-25T16:11:00.000-05:00

No. 1 was getting ready for his Friday baseball game when I asked him where his cup was. He didn’t know, which doesn’t surprise me because, like his father, he tends to explode when he comes home… there’s just stuff everywhere. Anyway. It occurred to me that he likely hadn’t been wearing his cup for the last few games.

He found the cup and was trying to put it in his slider shorts, but since it was hot and humid and he was trying to put on a bunch of baseball clothes, it was tough. Mom to the rescue. A few years from now, this would be considered inappropriate.

So, as I’m helping No. 1 get, um, situated, The Mr. walks in.

“I hate wearing a cup,” No. 1 says as he adjusts himself.

“Well,” The Mr. starts. “It’s better than getting hit in the ding ding.”

(I should mention that “ding ding” is not a term normally used in our house to describe the male anatomy.)

No. 1 looked at me as if to ask if it was OK to laugh. Of course, the look on his face—not to mention the term “ding ding”—made me bust out laughing, which made No. 1 turn red and start laughing. Hilarity ensued. He couldn’t stop saying “ding ding” (Ok, neither could The Mr.!) and I couldn’t stop laughing at him laughing and saying “ding ding.” Ah, the things that amuse us.

Byetta--and sour tummy--here I come

2007-06-22T14:04:00.000-05:00

I’m. So. Flippin’. Scared. Of…Monday.

Monday is the day I see my endo for the first time in roughly six months. Monday is the day that he will give me the green light to start Byetta. Monday is the day he will ask me how my numbers are and if I’m exercising and if I’m keeping my carb counts in range. Monday is the day I will get blood drawn to test my A1C. Monday is the day I will not break down in fear. (Actually, it's more like Tuesday I won't break down since that's the day I'll likely get my A1C results.)

I’ve been doing some reading lately about people’s A1C and it was actually pretty comforting to know that people get by with an A1C above 7. Above 9 even. It’s rare and extreme, but I read recently about someone with an A1C of nearly 20! I don’t think mine’s that bad, but I know it will be bad. I’m trying to prepare myself for something in the 8s or 9s.

However, with little testing in the last few months, poor eating habits, not being motivated to get out and walk in the mornings, and the strangest inability to take Novolog when I should, I should probably prepare myself for just about anything.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I’m really looking forward to Byetta, to having this crutch that will hopefully help me stop eating so much. The fear, though, that crept into my mind today was that I will feel so awful from its side effects that I will have to quit, that it won’t work for me and that I will have to rely simply on will power and the thought of dying at 60. Of course, I also thought that even if I feel like crap that I’ll just have to stick it out because I need something. Desperately.

Meme meme

2007-06-21T12:13:00.000-05:00

Indirectly tagged by Kerri.

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
1. Michelle
2. Mom
3. Mommy
(What can I say? I’m a mom with three kids. I don’t have a clever nickname!)

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. My hair. It’s growing and curly.
2. My eyes.
3. My height. Being the tallest girl in class often sucked (at one eighth-grade dance a guy friend of mine stood on a chair to dance with me), but being a 5’10” adult rocks.

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. My flab.
2. My big, wide feet. (Try finding a cute pair of shoes in a 10 wide.)
3. Stretch marks.

THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
1. Irish
2. British
3. American

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
1. Something happening to a member of my family.
2. The thought of bungee jumping or parachuting.
3. Not being a good enough wife, mother, sister, daughter, employee.

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. Chocolate (sigh)
2. My BG meter.
3. A watch.

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
1. A funky new shirt that Mom bought me. :-)
2. Cute new shoes that Mom bought me. :-)
3. A ring with the birthstones of my kids.

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE MUSICALS:
1. I’m not really a fan of musicals.
2. But I did enjoy Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
3. Does Veggie Tales count? (If you like to talk to tomatoes, if a squash can make you smile...)

THREE OF YOUR [sort of current] FAVORITE SONGS:
1. Nothing Better To Do—Leeann Rimes
2. Crazy—Gnarles Barkley
3. Tim McGraw—Taylor Swift

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
1. Love.
2. Comfortable conversation about anything.
3. Laughter.
4. Honesty.

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS THAT YOU FIND ATTRACTIVE:
1. Arm muscles.
2. Chiseled facial features.
3. Appropriate-length hair.

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
1. Writing.
2. Photography.
3. Crafting.

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1. Have money in my checking account.
2. Know where I’m going in life.
3. Have some time alone at home.

THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING:
1. Full-time writer of fiction and non-fiction.
2. Professional photographer.
3. Part-time writer, part-time photographer, part-time mom.

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
1. Colorado
2. Somewhere in Europe.
3. Some tropical island.

THREE KIDS NAMES YOU LIKE:
1. Wyatt
2. Henry
3. Emma

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1. Be a successful writer.
2. Be a successful photographer.
3. Be sought out for my writing and photography.

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A CHICK:
1. I cry. Easily and a lot.
2. I window shop—everything from hardware to houses to crochet yarn.
3. I can’t get enough chocolate.

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A BOY:
1. I love to watch a good baseball game.
2. Farts are funny.
3. I don’t wear skirts.

THREE CELEB CRUSHES:
1. Patrick Dempsey (so, so yum)
2. Matthew McConaughey
3. Brad Pitt

What happened when No. 2's tube wouldn't fall out of her ear

2007-06-20T09:34:00.000-05:00

I should have posted this a month ago when it happened, but I wrote this down and stuck the notebook in my purse and forgot about it. This is from the day No. 2 had the tube in her right ear removed because it wouldn't fall out on its own.

5 a.m. Alarm goes off, but since No. 3 was playing with it yesterday, I get static instead of music. It takes a few minutes for me to wake up. Takes even longer before I actually get out of bed.

5:45 a.m. Wake up No. 1 and tell him to get ready.

6 a.m. Finish getting ready. No. 3 wakes up; fortunately she’s not fussy this morning.

6:05 a.m. Wake up No. 2 and remind her that she can’t eat breakfast this morning and that she can’t even drink water when she brushes her teeth. I can see the fear finally showing in her face. I stay with her and help her brush her teeth and show her how to swish the water around in her mouth and spit it out.

6:21 a.m. Get No. 3 settled in her high chair with breakfast and finally check my sugar. 226! WTF? I was 187 before bed. Ugh, this is insane. I wash my hands and test again. 199. Sigh. I had a baked potato with dinner last night, but I also took Novolog to cover it. Blech. Whatever. At least I don’t have to eat breakfast before we leave and I can leave my appetite in tact for when we take No. 2 out to breakfast after her procedure.

6:40 a.m. We rush out the door five minutes later than we planned. Fortunately, the hospital is only blocks away.

6:48 a.m. We arrive in the Ambulatory Services Unit almost right on time. A nurse takes No. 2’s temperature and weight and then shows us to “our room.” Another nurse comes in and checks her heart. First nurse comes back with a gown for No. 2. I help her change and I can tell she’s even more nervous than before. They tell us to hang tight and that anesthesia will be right in.

7:10 a.m. The Mr. is happy and the kids are all crowded on the bed watching cartoons. “Seems like if they want us here at 6:45 that we should be doing something other than sitting around,” I say.

7:15 a.m. Anesthesia finally shows up and asks the same questions the previous four people asked. “Dr. B usually comes in a little before 8.” I look at the clock. “A little before 8?!” I say exasperated. “We’ve been here since 6:45. That’s when they told us to be here.” The nurse looked surprised. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Sometimes they have a lot of kids in the morning, but they don’t really this morning.” I sigh. “It’s not your fault. You’re not the one who told us to be here so early.” The Mr. starts to scratch my back in an effort to say “Chill out.” The nurse leaves and I grumble a bit and then settle in for a long wait in a small hospital room with three children. Thank God for cable.

7:25 a.m. The actual anesthesiologist comes in. She barely looks at me, paying more attention to her nails than her patient. (She actually took a nail buffer out of her pocket and worked on her nails while she was talking to us. Talk about offering an atmosphere of confidence.)

7:40 a.m. Dr. B comes in. I was surprised actually that it wasn’t 10 minutes later.

8 a.m. I wheel No. 2 down the hall to the surgery area in a wagon. She’s nervous, but hanging in there. It's less than 30 minutes before she's back with us, all smiles and drinking juice.

By 9:30 a.m., we’re home and I’m off to get the breakfast I promised her we’d get after the surgery. A corn dog and french fries was her request. Strange, but I obliged.

How many licks does it take?

2007-06-14T11:21:00.000-05:00

Although I didn’t update you all from my post about whether or not to move up my next endo appointment seeing as No. 3 weaned herself, I was able to get the appointment moved from the end of July to the end of June. So, I’ll be starting Byetta likely on or around June 25.

I’m looking forward to it, actually. I was a little hard on myself for a while about needing this crutch, but now I’ve realized that I really do need the crutch and if I can have something that’s going to make me stop eating so much (one of the side effects of Byetta, apparently, is a decreased appetite) then it will be easier to get myself to actually stop eating so much crap.

So, I was curious about my other meds and asked my friendly Diabetic Mommies who take Byetta what other meds they take. I was surprised that the Byetta takers hadn’t gotten off the other medicines they took prior to Byetta. So I querried my endo by email (I love that he’s available for quick questions this way!) and asked if I’d be able to/have to ditch the Lantus, Metformin and Novolog. No, he said, we should keep me on all of those, although likely at a decreased rate, especially for the Lantus.

Whah…huh…um…excuse me. I know it’s not a cure and I know it’s not a miracle drug and I’m happy to be able to take it, but I feel like screaming OhComeOn! How many drugs do I have to take to manage this stinkin disease? I’m not really frustrated with the medicines. Really, I’m not. I think I’m frustrated with the whole situation…that I have to take four drugs for the same disease to make things work right. I have to keep reminding myself that it could be worse…this could be completely unmanageble and I could be at the mercy of my body with no recourse.

Notes from vacation

2007-06-12T15:16:00.000-05:00

Look good on the outside, feel good on the inside Part II
Last week while visiting Phoenix, Mom took me shopping for some new work clothes. We thought we’d hit a couple of stores and maybe come away with a few things. But the first place we went into was like a gold mine. Five pair of slacks and so many shirts I didn’t even count! Then a quick trip to the mall for two new bras (my band size went down four inches!!) and the shoe store. This morning when I walked into the sitter, she complimented my new shirt. And before I even made it up the stairs in my office, someone woohoo’d me from upstairs. Talk about an ego kick.

On the hunt for an insulin pump
Although I have seen numerous pictures of insulin pumps both on and off people, I’ve never seen one on a person in real life. I’m not sure why I need to see this, but it seemed like something interesting to be on the hunt for. Like a car game. Mom and I took the kids to a ginormous park near my parents’ house and while we sat back and watched the kids play, I started looking for the reclusive pump. One woman I saw had a pouch clipped to her belt loops. I looked as closely as I could without being conspicuous. She passed by several times and after “close” inspection, I decided it was a cell phone case. No tubing. Hmph. The hunt goes on.

Inspiring photos from our week out west

This is the Salt River Canyon in Arizona. In the lower left corner area, there's a small spec that looks just a little different than the grass, rock and river. That's a red car.

No. 1 and No. 2 standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Nope, there's no fence on this part. If you're afraid of heights, you probably shouldn't look at this picture too long!

And just before vacation
I photographed my first wedding in ten years. I really felt pretty prepared and then almost as soon as I got there I felt like I had stage fright. It seemed that I had forgotten so many things. I felt so underprepared. My biggest problem is lighting, as I may or may not have said in the past. Although I was pretty disappointed in my shots, I feel like I got a few good ones. And a deeper passion (yes, I said passion!) for wanting to continue on my trek to being a better photographer. I did, however, feel my heart sink when the bride, bridesmaids and I were sitting in the bride’s room between photo sessions and the ceremony when one of her relatives walked in. I immediately spotted the Canon camera case. This was no point and shoot digital, either. With that bag, I knew she meant business. Oh, man, I thought, someone better than me. I had to really talk myself out of letting someone who might possibly be better than me get to me and affect my abilities. I got up the nerve later to ask the bride about this aunt. “Oh, she does what you do…takes pictures sort of on the side.” Oh, whew, I thought. But I still felt her judging me at every corner. Fortunately, she didn’t offer any advice. That’s not to say others didn’t.

Woe is (mini) me

2007-05-29T10:17:00.001-05:00

The countdown to vacation now stands at five days and I'm beside myself with excitement! Having done this last year with three kids and an airplane, I know a little more about what to bring and how to pack. Not like I've never traveled before, but if you've ever tried to get through airport security with a stroller, three kids and all that is necessary to keep those kids busy in a tiny airplane seat for three hours, then you know where I'm coming from.

So, with all the talk about the incredibly cute One Touch Ultra Mini, I thought I'd pick one up for the trip. Minimizing is great on these trips. I looked online and found that I could get one for about $20, which is like my favorite price ev-ah. Being as impatient as I am, I went to my local WalMart to grab one instead of waiting for one to be delivered.

When I got to the aisle with glucose tabs, alcohol swabs and Diatussin cough syrup, I found the Ultra Mini, and at only $18!! What a deal, I thought. I dug and dug through the dust-covered boxes, but (gasp!) no green! No pink! Just incredibly boring grey. Bbbb--bbb---but that's the whole point! I don't want one if I can't have one with some spice. Well, shit, I thought. Sigh. I resigned myself to lugging my enormous Ultra Smart in my purse.

On another trip-preparing jaunt to Walgreens for travel-size toiletries, I again found myself roaming the diabetes-supply area. This time, though, I had my sights set on a new ID bracelet since I lost my last one. My eyes were diverted to the sale sign: $14 for the Ultra Mini! Holy Crap, I thought. Always psyched by a bargain, I thought it was a good thing I didn't get the one at WalMart because I would have surely kicked myself over those $4. But, well, I should have known...no pink. no green. Is there no justice in my impatient world?!

It's too early for this

2007-05-24T14:57:00.000-05:00

Brushing my teething this morning, they stared at me.

“Whah?” I said with a red, foamy mouth (Colgate cinnamon).

“Nothing,” they said, sighing.

“Fi-ine,” I said with a gigantic eye roll. I am not a morning person.

I rinsed out my mouth. They kept staring.

“What do you want?” I said exasperated even though it was only 6:30 a.m.

“You never take us out anymore,” they blurted.

“That is so not true!” I said, looking at them in the mirror. “I took you for a walk just last week.”

They gave me that look, that oh-come-ON-you-know-better-than-that look.

“OK, maybe it was the week before that, but geez we went recently, didn’t we?”

“It’s not good enough,” they said. “You promised we’d go every day and we’ve been sitting up here on the towel rack, folded nicely, waiting patiently. We know you’re avoiding us.”

I sighed heavily. “I’m not avoiding you,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s just, well, life, you know. And, geez, it’s so hard to get up in the morning, and I’m so tired all the time and we have so much to do these days, and I’m trying to work freelance and I have all these projects and—”

“You always have an excuse,” they said, defeated. “Remember…remember two summers ago when you were losing all that weight that people said it was just melting off of you?”

I dropped my eyes and leaned against the sink. Yes, I remembered.

“And remember how good it felt to see good numbers on your meter even if you skipped your walk one day?”

Tears welled in my eyes. Yes, I remembered.

“And you know, you wouldn’t be so tired all the time if you actually put us on and walked more often,” they scolded. "I mean, we're here all ready to go. You don't have to search for Socks or Shorts. Not even Scrunchie. We're all right here, ready to go every single morning."

“I know…I know,” I said sheepishly.

“Well what’s the hold up?!” they screamed at me.

“I…I, oh hell I have no idea. I have no excuses, I have no reasons. I…I just don’t know. I’m sorry,” I cry out. “I’m so sorry. I’ll take you down and we’ll go for a walk tomorrow,” I promise. "Please don't be mad anymore! I don't take criticism well!"

"We'll be expecting you at 5:30 a.m."

"Man, that's really early..."

"MICHKO!!"

"OK, OK. I'll see you tomorrow."

Look good on the outside, feel good on the inside

2007-05-18T10:09:00.001-05:00

For the six years we've been in this house, we've been dying to fix up the front porch and yard. The house is so old and the porch so settled that it really needs to be completely redone, but we don't have the time nor the money for that.

So last weekend when my mom sent The Mr. some birthday money, we gingerly spread it around getting some touch ups for the front of the house.

There used to be these ginormous bushes on both sides of the house that The Mr. and I genuinely hated. It covered up the front of the house and took up nearly half of the front yard. So we tore them out with the intention of planting grass, etc. in that area. Well, that was about four years ago and we're just now getting around to putting in more stuff.

I was never really ashamed of telling people where I lived, but I did think twice about who I sent past our house since the paint was peeling on the porch and there were big holes and bare spots in the front yard. Now, I've been telling everyone who knows where I live that they should go by the house since we did some landscaping.

And even though we really, really, really should have put that money towards bills, I think we both felt that we needed a little pick me up, a little something to make us puff out our chests and take pride in ourselves. I think sometimes you have to throw some serious caution to the wind and just do something different, something sort of out of character, something that makes you feel alive.

OK, so a little landscaping and paint might not be The Thing that makes us feel alive, but if you are/were feeling as hopeless as we are right now about our financial situation, just this little something is enough to push you back to that place where you remember what it feels like to not be at the mercy of the bank. And that, my friends, can give you a glimmer of hope.

WTF?

2007-05-16T09:22:00.000-05:00

The following is an example of a somewhat typical conversation between me and No. 2. If something like this happened once in a while, I would be OK with it, but this kind of thing happens all. the. freaking. time.

Background first: No. 2 is having "surgery" tomorrow morning to remove the tube from her left ear. She's on her second set of tubes and they've been there for about two years. Her ENT was able to take the one out of her right ear, but thinks the left one is caught up. So he'll knock her out and gently remove the tube without hurting and subsequently traumatizing her. No. 2 is interestingly anxious about tomorrow's procedure.

OK, this was yesterday in the car after daycare:

No. 2---Mom, what's tomorrow again?
Me---Tomorrow's Wednesday, babe.
No. 2---So, tomorrow's Thursday?
Me---No, tomorrow's Wednesday, sweetie.
No. 2---Oh.

Um, huh?

Let's make a deal

2007-05-14T14:22:00.000-05:00

Pretty much since my first appointment with my endo, Dr. C, he’s been telling me that he wants me to start on Byetta, which is great since I’ve heard nothing but good things about it. I went back to Dr. C about three months or so after the first time, had another A1C drawn (it was much worse than the first one, which was 5.9; the second was 7.3 I think), talked about meds, decided to start me on Metformin and talked about how long I would be nursing.

I really don’t know, I kept telling him. I never anticipated nursing more than a year, but No. 3 and I were really into it so I let her call the shots.

The third time I saw Dr. C he basically said there’s nothing we can do until you stop nursing. I had another A1C drawn (6.something this time, so the Metformin was definitely helping) and set up an appointment for May 1. At that time, May was a long way away and I really thought we would have been finished nursing. But in the middle of April, while I was already contemplating weaning No. 3, she showed no signs of stopping.

I called Dr. C’s office to reschedule the appointment. July 31 it was, and if things changed then I’d call back, I discussed with the receptionist. Three months seemed like an appropriate time.

So here we are barely two weeks into May and No. 3 has weaned herself. It’s bittersweet. It was really time to wean and I’m glad to have my body all to myself again and to have some freedoms I didn’t have while nursing, but I’m still sad that that part of our lives is over.

So now I’m wondering if I should keep my July appointment and try to get things a little more in order before facing the blood draw, or if I should just bite the bullet and try to get in to see Dr. C sooner. Part of me says to do it sooner so I can see what the walking has done, what the periodic Novolog use has done, and what the periodic handful of M&Ms is doing. Part of me says wait until you’re more compliant, but then I realize that that might not *ever* happen.

And then I think about what Byetta will do for me. Part of the benefit of the drug is that it’s an appetite suppressant. That’s actually a pretty good deal for me since I tend to eat all the flippin’ time—even when I’m not hungry.

So, dear readers, what would you do? Prior to writing this post I was leaning toward keeping my July appointment. Now, I’m leaning toward calling Dr. C’s office this afternoon to reschedule.

Field day

2007-05-07T20:37:00.000-05:00

Here's No. 1 practicing for his first-ever baseball game.

And this is what happens when Mom's too busy taking pictures to notice that No. 3 has wandered off to the gigantic mud moat surrounding the baseball field.

The seed becomes a rose

2007-05-04T13:43:00.000-05:00

I’ve had to remind myself over the last couple days that yes, I can indeed do this.

“This” is a photo session with the newborn of a friend/colleague of mine. I’m so nervous, scared and incredibly excited all at once. I’ve been frantically scouring the pages of flickr getting ideas and wondering how I could possibly pull off something “that good” tomorrow morning.

And then I look at my own flickr page, specifically the set for Saturday, 7 a.m., and remember how laid back that morning was, and how much fun I had with the kids and how I enjoyed using the natural light. And I remind myself that my friend knows where I’m coming from, she knows I’m not a professional, she has no expectations for perfection (at least I don’t think so!).

I’ve had to remind myself, too, that I’m a talented photography hobbiest. One of my favorite comments regarding my photography came from my parents shortly after my niece was born. My brother and his wife hired a professional photographer to take pictures of their newborn. After looking at the proofs online, my dad said, “Mom and I thought you could have done that.” My heart lept. I brushed it off at the time as my folks just blowing smoke, but the more I thought about it the more I realized that I can do this.

In the back of my mind somewhere close to LaLa Land, I want this to be a ginormous success so that I can officially have a second career. (OK, not “this” as in just this one session tomorrow, but “this” as in the start of something.) Something to breathe life into our dried up checking account, to offer us hope for retirement and paying for our children to go to college. And, of course, something that breathes life into me.

A supplement, for sure, not a replacement for writing. Because heaven knows I’ve considered a life without writing and I’m just not sure I can do that. In fact, I can think of thousands of ways to write about how I’ve contemplated not writing! When I realize that, I realize that not writing is not in the cards.

And when I compare where I was when I started writing, it’s easy to remind myself that I wasn’t as good then as I am now. I’m not patting myself on the back, I’m just saying that I’ve grown and evolved. The same goes for my photography. I have to start somewhere. I have to take a deep breath and dive right in. I have to know that when I get home and start editing that I will think about the things I should have done or forgot to do. And even though I know that will happen, I have to just keep going and keep doing what I love. And take each photo one at a time.

Adventures in low blood sugars

2007-05-01T10:52:00.000-05:00

Let me start by saying I started composing this post while in the shower this morning. (Again with the shower composing! I need to invent waterproof paper and pens that will write in the shower so I can write this stuff down while I’m actually thinking about it.) I had one of those I’ll-remember-this moments. And, of course, as I sit here at the computer, I got nothing. Can’t remember for the life of me where I started.

Anyway. Back to the task at hand. Hi, my name is Michko and I’m here to talk about blood sugar. Oh, wait, that sounds like an addicts’ meeting.

OK, seriously, I do want to talk about blood sugar and how lately mine’s been a little wacky. But wacky in a good way, if there is such a thing. For the most part, my blood sugar is fairly predictable. It’s not often that I get a number or range I wasn’t expecting.

Over the last two weeks or so, things have been not so predictable, though. In fact, my numbers have been quite lowish. Something I’m enjoying, actually. It's mostly lower than normal fastings, but also some post meal numbers that are under 130.

For example, I had been craving a steak, egg and cheese bagel from McDonald’s for a long time. I tried desperately to kick that craving in the ass, but to no avail. I hadn’t had one of these bagels in years and was almost desperate for one. Armed with my Novolog, I guesstimated carbs, fat, etc., and two hours later I was 95. Yes! I felt so good about that, thinking for sure I had simply counted carbs right.

A week or so later, I had that same hankering. Couldn’t shake it and since the cupboards were really bare thanks to my Sunday sickness, I went for the bagel again. (It wasn’t nearly as good as the first one and I think my cravings for that are over now!) My fasting that morning was 104. I knew I had time to get the girls to the sitter and make it to McDonald’s without going low. I shot up while in the drive through lane, ordered and then ate at my desk.

Just shy of two hours post, I started feeling the low coming. I thought for sure I was high and dropping. Not so; I had hit 65. I grabbed a handful of M&M’s and went about my day. I assumed I had taken too much Novolog. HOWEVER, again just shy of two hours after that, I hit 50 (with no symptoms of a low, mind you, until right before I tested).

Just an isolated incident and case of Michko over guesstimating? Well, this weekend I had a fasting of 61, which was weird by itself, but I took it. I had a slice of cheese toast for breakfast on bread that as of late has been shooting my numbers high enough to make me consider ordering my old favorite bread online that my WalMart doesn’t carry any more; I didn’t take any Novolog. Two hours later…59!

And most of this is happening during a time that I had stopped my morning walk for various reasons (working late, sick family, recovering from sickness). For roughly two weeks, I didn’t get up to walk, I was sick AND my period showed up, all of which (especially my period) usually kick my blood sugar into the 200s.

So this morning when I got up to walk (yeah, me!), I walked into the bathroom and felt the whoosh of a low. I felt sick to my stomach, I was having a hot flash/cold sweat, and all I really wanted to do was lie down. But no shaking, interestingly, which is really my signal for a low. I got dressed—determined to walk—and made it downstairs to my meter (I should really keep that thing by my bed). This morning’s fasting was 65. It wasn’t until then that I even considered the possibility that I’ve been taking too much Lantus. It was one of those d’oh! moments.

I still wondered, though, how too much Lantus could be affecting me during a time when I hadn’t been exercising and when all those other high-inducing factors were present. Could it be that my walking regimen had finally caught up and my body was responding this late?

Over the last several days I had also wondered about how my weight might be affecting my numbers. Since I started walking again and having a renewed sense of self, I also took the plunge and stepped on the scale. I have been fighting with about 7 lb. that keep leaving and coming back. After last weekend’s sickness, I stepped on the scale (yes, I was stacking the deck in my favor, but whatever, right?!) and found that I had lost those pesky 7 lb. I considered the weight loss, while minimal, could be the kicker that was making my numbers lower. But when those damn 7 lb. showed back up (maybe it’s the scale?!) and my numbers were still low, I had to think in other directions.

I still can’t really put my finger on what’s going on. And since I had stopped logging for some unknown reason, I can’t really look back to see any patterns. Yes, this is motivation for starting my log again, although I’m not starting off on such a good foot since I said last night that I would do it today, and, well, I haven’t.

I suspect that my lower numbers are primarily due to the walking, which is making my Lantus requirements go down. So, tonight I’ll take two fewer units than I did last night (thank God I’m comfortable self-medicating) and we’ll see where I am in the morning.

On a high note (no pun intended!), I've hardly been using the Novolog at all lately except for meals that I know will make me high.

There’s a first time for everything

2007-04-23T13:00:00.000-05:00

I remember the first time I thought I was going to throw up post-diagnosis. No. 2 had been sick. I was walking up the stairs and my legs went wobbly. I thought, OK, today’s the day I’m going to get sick. But it never happened.

Since then, all the kids have been sick, but I’ve managed to stay well. How exactly I’m not sure. And when I say sick, I don’t mean getting a cold. I mean, sacrificing to the porcelain God.

That is, until Saturday around 4 a.m. I was tossing and turning and couldn’t get comfortable. And then that feeling hit me. That oh-shit-I-think-I’m-gonna-barf feeling. Sure enough.

One of the first things I thought of, interestingly, while still crumpled on the bathroom floor, was checking my blood sugar. Standing up to get a small sip of water, I decided I didn’t feel low and that I’d be OK. And since I had just recently written an article for a major diabetes magazine (to be published in the fall!) regarding sick-day management, I knew my sugar was likely to go up, not down, when vomiting.

It was mid-morning before I called downstairs to No. 1 to bring me my meter. He came bounding upstairs with the kit all taken apart. “Mom, where does this go?” he asked holding the test strip. I really didn’t have my wits about me and frankly I’m not sure what I told him, but he figured it out. He wanted to know where to put the needle, too, but I told him there was already one in there. He stuck around while I tested (108) and then went on his way.

Several hours later, I checked again and rang in at 123. I felt pretty good about those numbers since I hadn’t eaten anything since the night before. Not long after that second test, No. 1 came upstairs again and said, “Daddy said you need to eat something and check your blood sugar.” He brought me some ice water and saltines. Such a good nurse maid.

The really interesting part is that sometime yesterday when I was still chained to the bed, hardly able to turn over without inducing pain somewhere, I was thinking about that article I wrote. One of the key management points I talked about was having a sick-day tool kit. A box or bag filled with things like tissues, saltines, regular or soda, cold medicine, phone numbers for all your doctors and anything else you may need to manage your blood sugar while sick and barely able to even make it to the bathroom, much less the kitchen (which is downstairs!). I kept thinking, gee, I should have put that darn kit together…I kept thinking about it and kept saying I would do it and just didn’t get to it…you silly procrastinator…what if you had been alone today…who would have brought you saltines and ice water.

Dedication

2007-04-11T13:54:00.000-05:00

The brim of The Mr.’s hat I’m wearing drips with water. Rain drops tap on my head. I had decided not to mess with wearing a poncho since last time I walked in the rain it was really more trouble than it was worth.

Maybe I’ll cut my walk short. I’ll decide once I get over to Promenade. As long as there’s no downpour, I’ll be fine.

Tap, tap, tap goes the rain on my coat. The wind blows drops onto my glasses and I lower my head just a tad so that my hat might shield my eyes. But I don’t like to walk looking at the sidewalk, so I grin and bear it.

The dog seems unusually interested in chasing cars this morning and gets herself wrapped twice around a tree. I start to shorten her leash when I hear cars coming. The drivers must think I’m crazy for voluntarily being out in the cold and wet conditions.

As long as there’s no downpour, I’ll be fine.

The house on Promenade that’s under construction had the front door left open yesterday morning. As I come up the small hill on that street, I look to my right to see if the door is open. The early morning darkness keeps me from seeing that the mounds of dirt in the front yard had turned to mud; my feet squish and slide.

Oh, geez!

With every step more mud, more mud, more mud. I have no traction on the brick sidewalk and I'm afraid I'll fall. The dog keeps going, walking right through the mud without a care. I don't stop, don't think about moving into the grass, just keep going. I look back and see that the front door is closed.

My glasses are smudged now and I wonder if this is what retinopathy looks like. I take a tissue from my coat pocket and wipe off the left lens while the dog contemplates going after another car. Passing the hospital, I watch the rain beneath one of the tall light posts in a parking lot. It’s misty and the wind keeps it from falling straight.

Passing Jefferson, I think about turning right and going home. But I’m on a roll and keep on.

As long as there’s no downpour, I’ll be fine.

I’m in a zone and start my cool down a block later than usual. The dog sees another dog far enough away that its owner doesn’t even notice us. She’s obsessed with saying hi. Under cover of a storefront overhang, I wipe my smudged glasses again. I’m almost home.

The Five-Question Meme

2007-04-10T12:58:00.000-05:00

Questions courtesy of Kerri at Six Until Me.

1. You have the opportunity to go “in-blog-nito” and start a whole new online personality. What kind of fiction would you pen to break away from the mundane?
This is a really tough question for me to answer, and I thought all weekend about it. I have no clue what I’d do if I weren’t blogging about diabetes and my life in general. The only thing I could think of that came close to being interesting is a completely anonymous blog where I could say the things I can't say outloud; in the "here's your sign" rhelm.

2. A film crew is following you while you shop. What purchases are you reluctant to make with an audience?
I definitely wouldn’t want an audience to see me when I’m in the middle of a chocolate craving.

3. Someone’s cat breaks into your house and starts leaving you notes about your housekeeping habits. What does the first one say?
That sock was in the same place last time I broke in.

4. Someone asks you to describe yourself in three words. Rebel against them and describe yourself in a sentence using all the letters of the alphabet at least once!
I’m an anal-retentive control freak who’s been called the queen of proofreading and copy editing, who loves photography, crafts, blogging and writing, who’s just trying to make ends meet, who said xylophone Sunday in the car when The Mr. and I were asking No. 1 and No. 2 what letter certain words start with, and who thinks that zebras are white with black stripes not black with white stripes.

5. The ol’ hot air balloon bit: What do you want to fly over?
I’d love to fly over the Grand Canyon and the snow-capped mountains of Colorado. But definitely no big bodies of water with no land in sight.

In the spirit of the meme, if you want five questions, leave me a note.

Kidism

2007-04-05T13:27:00.000-05:00

A little background first, otherwise you might not understand. A typical and favorite (not to mention super quick and easy) meal in our house is taco salad: lettuce, tomato, shredded cheese, hamburger with taco seasoning, crunched up Doritos and dressing. The Mr. and No. 1 usually just have ranch, but No. 2 and I like a combination of ranch and thousand island.

So, you are sufficiently backgrounded. On to the story.

Last night when I picked up the kids from daycare, No. 2 asked what we were having for dinner.

"Taco salaaaad," I said.

"Oh, yum! I love taco salad," she said with glee.

Pause.

"Mom, can I have ranch and Gilligan's Island on mine?"

And now back to your regularly scheduled program already in progress

2007-03-30T16:48:00.000-05:00

I don’t really know what happened. Something somewhere clicked.

It started last week. I don’t even really remember which day. I started refusing chocolate offered to me when co-workers said “But I bought it just for you.” I started testing more than just my fasting. I even went to a first birthday party and fed No. 3 cake and ice cream and didn’t touch any myself (Ok, I had two nibbles, but together they barely constituted half a bite). I sat in an endless three day meeting with mini candy bars all around me and only had four or five of those boogers.

And the kicker: I’ve been getting up at 5:20 a.m. to take my morning walk. I went for broke right from the beginning and took my normal 1.57-mile route; no abbreviations this time. And I was happy to see that my pace hadn’t slowed—it still only takes me 30 minutes (even with the dog stopping to smell every last bag of trash and getting tangled in almost every tree and phone pole).

It’s a complete turnaround. I’ve had some moments in the last week where I’ve allowed myself a piece of candy or two (or three), but overall, I can honestly say that I’m back on track. (In fact, when a co-worker put a Starburst on my desk yesterday and I said no, the look of shock on her face was priceless.) And this time feels much different than the past several times when I knew I was only giving a half-hearted effort.

Sitting in the pharmacy today, I kept staring at the chocolate. I didn’t want any. Seriously couldn’t fathom eating any of it. It was an incredibly wonderful feeling. I think it might have also been a feeling of fear; fear that if I got started I wouldn’t be able to stop.

Things are much, much different, though, than when I was in control in the past. Since I’ve started testing more often, I’ve noticed how absolutely, incredibly sensitive I am to carbs. At first, I thought my body would just take some time to adjust. I had planned to give it some time, stick to a decent meal plan and hope that the numbers would come down.

But they didn’t. It was obvious after only a few days that something had to change. 32 units of Lantus and 500 mg of Metformin twice a day just weren’t cutting it anymore. Even if I managed to get a fasting at or around 100, my post lunch and dinner numbers were off the wall. A sandwich on whole wheat and a handful of Cheez Its sent me soaring near 300. I didn’t want to feel like I was jumping the gun or anything, but I was too high for way too long. And even though the numbers were coming down, the second I ate something they shot back up again.

With numbers that high, I had little recourse to bring them down. One morning, even though I sort of knew better, my fasting was over 200. I ate and went for my walk. Two hours post, I was 111. Sweet! I was on the good path. A few mornings later, though, my fasting was 238, I ate and walked and two hours post I was 248. And I felt like shit. In contrast, one evening we went to a Boy Scouts banquet and I forgot to take my Metformin at dinner, so I took it when we got home. The next morning, I woke up lower than I’ve ever been. I kept repeating 46, 46, 46. The good thing about that morning was that I got to drink milk! However, even with my walk, I overtreated the low and two hours post I was 157. It just seemed like an endless battle that I wasn’t going to win any time soon. I had to stop it. I needed instant gratification if I was going to make it.

I emailed my endo yesterday and explained what was going on. I knew that if I had some fast-acting insulin for a while to help the numbers come down faster that I would feel better about what I was doing. (Frustration tends to lead me to eat, which, obviously, only perpetuates the problem.) Fortunately, he agreed. While we both want me to start on Byetta, I’m still nursing and Byetta and nursing don’t mix. So, as of 1:30 p.m. today, I’m back on Novolog. And I’m absolutely thrilled! I feel like I can work on my walking and my numbers and still have some flexibility. I can have a few sips of milk to wash down my peanut butter sandwich in the mornings before my walk and not worry about going over 200 and staying there for a few days.

This will still be a struggle. I know it. I know there will be days when I let all Hell break loose. But I also know that I’ll be able to get back on track sooner and a lot easier. If I have a brownie today, I know not to have one tomorrow. I’ve been able to talk myself out of so many things lately (namely gooey butter cake, donuts and candy). I’m so proud of myself (no, I won’t break my arm patting myself on the back). Pride is a good thing and such a motivator. And while this might sound weird, I’m doing this for myself, not my kids or my husband or anyone else who loves me. It’s all about me. And it has to be or it won’t get done.

Overprotecting myself

2007-03-20T13:18:00.000-05:00

I had The. Most. Incredibly. Written. Post. all ready for this morning. I started composing it in the shower this morning. Seems to be where I do my best work, actually. Hrmph. I scrambled around for something to write on as soon as I got out of the shower, and even though I loathe the feeling of just-washed-hands on paper with no lotion, I jotted down just about everything I could remember. (And managed to remember most of it despite No. 2 whispering “Mom, what are you doing? Why? What?) Man, I was proud of that post. It was going to get comments galore. I was feeling mighty proud of myself.

And then—yes, there’s always that—I realized that the person slash particular group of people I would be referring to in this post may possibly read it. (I think once I sent an email without deleting my blog address from my signature. Eek!) I wasn’t directly insulting anyone, but I could see how one particular person (who I actually don’t know) might view this as a personal attack. Despite the fact that the post was more centered around ME freaking out about something I don’t need to freak out about (OK, maybe a little). It’s such a small, small possibility that this person will read my blog, but I’m not in the business of burning bridges.

So, instead you’ll notice that I have updated my blogroll. It has been seriously lacking in representation of what I actually read. (It’s so easy to hit “Add to Favorites” instead of going into my Blogger template.) And Art-Sweet, I owe you one, big, fat apology for not at least updating my link to your new site before now. Bad Michko! Bad.

Take special note of Life as i know it. The Mr. started a blog over the weekend. Please go visit and give him a special hello.

My life on my sleeve

2007-03-13T10:21:00.000-05:00

It’s no secret, I don’t think, that, to be frank, I’m not taking care of myself. I’m not really paying attention to my diabetes. Which is really probably why my blog entries have trickled down to once every 10 or 14 days. And even then, it’s nothing significant.

I feel like on some level I’m getting farther and farther away from the ideal D spot. But on other levels, I’m getting closer to where I actually need to be. Yesterday, I achieved several major accomplishments. First, I checked my blood sugar four times. Well, five, actually since I didn’t believe that my post-breakfast number was over 200. Remembering the lotion I had just put on, I washed my hands, tested again and got a more sensible number. Not an in-range number, but a more likely one.

My fasting number was around 100, I had a normal breakfast of half a sandwich with Smucker’s Natural Peanut Butter and a dab of strawberry jelly on 100% whole wheat bread. I washed it down with orange-flavored Crystal Light, which, by the way, is gross. It’s no substitute for orange juice, that’s for darn sure. I had a snack mid-morning and then a decent lunch. The munchy monsters came calling mid-afternoon, though. I did fairly well considering what I normally eat. I had two graham crackers and then about two hours later I had a mini bag of popcorn. Certainly not enough to send me over the edge, but definitely more than I should have had. At least I know that much. And then I caved. I had two small pieces of chocolate. They weren’t even really that good; they were just there.

I had to grab a quick dinner (a turkey sandwich and a handful of Doritos) since I had a meeting at 6:30. After I got home, after I put the kids to bed, after I talked to The Mr. for a bit, I checked my sugar. It was roughly two hours post dinner, give or take a few minutes. I was very, very surprised to see 294. Enter frustration. I had to remind myself that I had really only been “good” for less than a day, that my body was still dealing with crap from the last several months, that I had to be patient. But still, I thought that almost topping 300 was really not necessary.

Yet another almost-milestone of late: Last week I actually set out my clothes and coat for an early morning walk before I went to bed. Those items haven’t really been touched since I got them out, but for me it’s a start. (Some have asked me why I don’t just walk in the evenings. I prefer to walk in the mornings because evenings are usually eaten up with getting three kids to bed and taking care of the house. Oh, and if I should muster some free time, I might get to write or do something crafty.) Last night was the first time in a while that I really thought seriously about getting up in the morning for a walk. But, more excuses, this was only the second weekday morning after the time change and getting up at 5:30 a.m. is “really” 4:30 a.m. and I just knew my body wasn’t going to budge.

However, this morning, after reading about the MapMyRun tool from Google on Sara in West Palm's site, I mapped my tried and true walking route. It was neat to see how far I can go. I had tried to measure my route by driving my car, but with several one-way streets along the way the measurement wasn’t really accurate. So, although I realized my 30-minute walk was “only” 1.57 miles and not closer to 2 miles, it still served as a little inspiration. I’m thinking much harder about actually getting up tomorrow. (My mom once told me that it takes something like three weeks to establish a habit (like an exercise routine) and only three days to break it.)

Another move in the right direction: this morning while I was milling around before leaving for work, I thought to myself that I really had plenty of time in the mornings to go for a walk. And that I didn’t even really have to get up all that much earlier since I essentially had time to kill without getting up earlier than usual. (And sheesh, I have a new MP3 player that I got for my birthday. I may as well put it to use!)

So what in God’s name is holding me back? I know I can do this. I’ve done it before. I keep harping on the time when I was pregnant and how I had this other life to look out for and that was essentially my inspiration. But, lately I’ve had to remind myself that I actually started on a healthier lifestyle before I got pregnant, that I was looking out for myself before I started looking out for the one who was borrowing my body. When I told people that I had diabetes they often looked at me with pity and I told them that it was actually sort of a blessing because it was getting me to do things that I needed to do anyway: eating right and exercising.

Ok, I feel like a complete broken record because I’ve blogged about this topic in the past. I just don’t really know *sigh* how to get back on track. I’m no longer frustrated with diabetes; I’m frustrated with myself.

I heart Grey's Anatomy

2007-03-06T13:25:00.000-06:00

I'm most like Dr. Miranda Bailey.

You’re a perfectionist and you expect nothing less from everyone around you. Even when people complain, they secretly admire you for holding them to your high standards. Your family is your rock, even if you don’t get to see them as much as you’d like. But without them, you’d be lost because you can’t ever let anyone at work see you’re human too.

Take the quiz here.

(In)coherant rant

2007-02-21T10:59:00.000-06:00

(Sorry, boys, if this is too much for your eyes.)

I can usually tell when my period is going to start. Aside from the fact that I keep track of the little booger on a calendar, usually a day or so before I turn into a ravenous fool eating nearly everything I can get my hands on. That’s my first clue. Then there’s the cramping and general unpleasant attitude. It’s not long before the real fun starts—the day before or the day of my fasting spikes over 200.

So this cycle, my little friend decides to show up 10 days late (no worries, The Mr. got fixed last summer). I kept waiting, waiting, waiting for that 200 spike to signal that I need to be on guard. Nada. In fact, I enjoyed several days of fastings in the 80s and 90s. I knew something weird was going on, but I couldn’t really put my finger on it.

Interesingly, I read a post on one of my favorite sites—Diabetic Mommy—where a woman said that sometimes her sugars go up during her cycle and sometimes down, and there is really no pattern. This was incredible news to me because all I had ever heard or knew was that sugars went up during this time, people were adjusting basal rates and that all hell was breaking loose with blood sugars thanks to our lovely hormones.

OK, so here I am roughly the third morning of my cycle. Monday’s fasting? 61; weird, but it was later than usual since I didn’t have to go to work. Tuesday? 143; probably some period-related crap going on there, but whatever. Wednesday? 2 freaking 19! That’s right 219! Oh my God, I could have smashed my meter into the kitchen counter. Actually, I did stomp my feet and scream several times after that because I banged my knee twice! in the same place.

Let me just say for the record, because I’m not really sure if I ever have, that I HATE THIS! I FREAKING HATE DIABETES! Today, I even hate the word diabetes. It sounds so sickenly sick to me today. I HATE IT! I HATE IT! I HATE IT!

Granted, I have been incredibly angry at diabetes in the past and have more than once wanted to throw my meter at the wall, but I don’t know that the words “I hate diabetes” have ever crossed my lips or that my fingers have ever typed them. I feel remarkably calm now having said that.

Weird dreams

2007-02-13T09:16:00.000-06:00

Last night's roundup:

Weird dream No. 1: Gas was $6.25 a gallon!

Weird dream No. 2: I was in some sort of military outfit comprised of all or mostly women. I was in a boot camp-like setting and getting my uniform. Here's the weird part--the uniform was tightish khaki pants, high heeled cowboy boots and a bomber jacket. But no shirt. (The Mr. really liked that dream!)

Weird dream No. 3: I was lost. I had the baby with me. At least I think it was the baby; at some points it might have been No. 2. We were walking, walking, walking. I think we had been waiting for a car repair. I didn't have a cell phone, purse, diaper bag or anything. "Suddenly" I saw the name of a street near where I grew up. I walked down that street and then came to what I think was the downtown area from my hometown. I begged someone for quarters to use a pay phone and I think the number I called was my own cell phone number. Then I realized that I couldn't use quarters in the pay phone, I had to use a token. So I put the quarter in the phone and a token came out of the change return slot. And then I put the token in the phone and it worked. I think I talked to my dad. So someone was going to come pick me up, and when I hung up there was a Mardi Gras type atmosphere and it was late, late at night. I lost track of the dream at that point.

Sharing time--gimme all your kidisms!

2007-02-06T13:00:00.000-06:00

This post had me laughing so hysterically that people from all corners of the office came running to see what the heck was going on in my office!

Aside from the great laugh (you must be sure to also read the comments as some are equally hysterical), it got me thinking that there are some incredible kidisms out there that we are selfishly keeping to ourselves.

Please comment with your favorite one-liner, perfectly placed cuss word or other amusing kidism. I'll even pass out a cyber award to the one that makes me laugh the most. Ready? Set. Go!

Ode to me

2007-02-01T09:28:00.000-06:00

Birthdays. I’ve passed some milestones—16, 18, 21, and (sigh) 30. I don’t really look forward to them anymore. I mean, it’s a special day and all, but it’s not like I get overly excited or anything. OK, maybe a little.

When my friend asked me what I’m going to do today, I told her “Nothing much. Watch Grey’s Anatomy, eat cake, go out to lunch with work and dinner with the family.” Nothing much. Pretty much a normal Thursday. Except for the cake. And the meals out. And the constant array of “Happy Birthday!”

Then yesterday, Mom’s birthday card arrived in the mail. And it was so, so silly. I read it over and over, and couldn’t wait to share it with The Mr. And seriously considered scanning it in to share with the blog world, but I decided that might be going a little overboard. The card came complete with a check, which I wasn’t expecting. (Thanks, Mom!!)

“I can get online and get that coat that I saw on sale today!” I exclaimed to The Mr.

So even before dinner, I raided one of my favorite Web sites and clicked on that coat. Rats! They were out of the color I wanted, but I still got one that wasn’t drab black or grey (I’m desperately trying to get more color into my wardrobe). While I was there, I decided to do some more shopping. I mean, after all, I had birthday money to spend.

The problem? I’m so ridiculously practical about nearly everything that it’s, well, ridiculous. I searched through sale items only and after picking out three things and not even spending half my money, I actually considered putting at least one item back ($11 in shipping!). I had to convince myself that this money was for me and that shopping was what it was for.

Then I started to think about putting the rest of the money in the bank and just spending it on bills or other ridiculously practical things. Trying to think of something I want that’s just for me, that’s something special was actually kind of hard. I had sarcastically mentioned to a friend the other day that since I’ll be starting my morning walks again soon (have to say goodbye to this sub zero weather we’re having first!) I should get myself an iPod. But I couldn’t practically convince myself that I needed/wanted an iPod just for my walks. Not to mention the fact that at 6 a.m. when it can still be pretty dark (especially in the winter), I like to hear what’s going on around me. Never mind that I normally have a dog with me and that bad people are often deterred by big animals that bite.

So, I’ll deposit half of my birthday money to cover what I already spent and get cash for the rest. That might be dangerous, but I’m hoping that in the next week, I’ll think of something that I forgot I simply can’t live without.

Oh, I have to mention that today is my wonderful sissy’s birthday, too. (No, we’re not twins.) Enjoy your 20’s for one more year. Hahahahahaha!

Portrait of an editor

2007-01-29T13:06:00.000-06:00

I couldn’t help but think “But it’s my job” when I got her e-mail saying that we all get caught up in our own pressures and not to be afraid to ask for help.

I had three magazines on deadline last week. It was hectic and I took work home at least three nights. But, it’s my job. And I didn’t complain and I didn’t ask for help. Because it’s my job. I knew when I was hired that I worked for four different magazines, that the pressure would often be a lot to handle, that deadlines would overlap. I knew it and I still said yes, I can do that. My job is often feast or famine, but I’ve learned how to handle it.

So when another editor said to me that she worked a lot of extra hours last week, I said, well, so did I. But, this isn’t a pissing contest.

Yes, I am fiercely independent, and damnit don’t ever tell me “you can’t do it” because I’ll die trying to prove you wrong. But I certainly know when I’m beat. And last week wasn’t it.

You know that line from the movie Michael when John Travolta tells Andie MacDowell that he knows why she’s there and it isn’t to walk the dog? She wonders how he knew and he says: “I pay attention.” That’s sort of how I live my life. I pay attention. I pay attention to what’s going on around me. I pay attention to things that aren’t going on around me. I simply pay attention. (Sometimes I just pay!)

I watch people, note their tendencies. No, I’m not a stalker, not even close. The people who get ahead don’t complain, don’t get into pissing matches, pick their battles and know when to ask for help. I’m proud of the fact that I can work for four magazines in four similar roles, be a mom to three incredible children, a wife, a sister, a friend and a host of other parts of me and still manage to watch Grey’s Anatomy, talk to my folks for 45 minutes, pick up milk from the store, give the baby a bath and read and edit five stories before going to bed. Sure, sometimes I’m not so great at it, but is everyone ‘on’ all the time?

I’m not trying to kill myself getting it all done, and I’m not trying to prove anything by “doing it all,” but it’s my job. And I’m proud to do it my way.

Right before Thanksgiving, my sitter’s daughter needed to be hospitalized. It was bad, bad timing. I had a deadline that week and no backup sitter. No. 1 and No. 2 went to friends’ houses, and No. 3 came to work with me. I took work home, I worked hard at work, I said ‘no’ when my colleagues went out to lunch. And I got the magazine done. And quality didn’t suffer. Yet, I was questioned. All I could think was that it was my job to get it done. All I could think was what would the other editors have done. All I could think was that in the face of adversity, I still met my deadline and I did it well. Because it’s my job and I love it.

Quite a compliment

2007-01-14T15:10:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I went to The WalMart to pick up some pictures that I had submitted online.

"For MK. They were one hour," I said.

The man started looking in one place.

"Oh, I submitted them online."

"When?" he wanted to know.

"Ummmm....yessssterrrrday, I think."

He started looking in another place.

"Oh, there's some eight-by-tens," I said knowing such big photos wouldn't be in that littlish place he was looking.

"Ok," he said, and started looking somewhere else.

"Sorry, I guess I'm not giving you all the information," I half-joked.

"Well, I'm not exactly asking for it either," he quipped.

He found the pictures--a big envelope with the 8x10s and a small one with the 5x7 and 4x6s--and passed them off to me. In big, black permanent marker was written "Copyright?" across the smaller envelope. A gigantic, toothy smile ensued.

"Oh, I guess there's a question on those," he said.

"I took them. No, no I took them," I assured him, still smiling. Still smiling.

"Well, with the camera technology these days. . ." he started.

"No, I took them," I said, ignoring his almost-insult.

Almost as soon as I got home, I passed the envelope off to The Mr. "Look!" I beamed. "They think I'm a professional!"

Now, my blog friends, if you would so kindly instruct me on the ways of posting pictures I would be so grateful. Specifically, how to place them where I want them, not where Blogger wants them. I've tried about a million different things and can't for the life of me figure out how to manipulate photos.

Breakthrough in diabetes research

2006-12-15T16:31:00.000-06:00

This article has a much, much better message than the one in my previous post. Click through, it's worth the read...researchers in Canada appear to have cured diabetes in mice.

Not the right message

2006-12-13T09:59:00.000-06:00

I'm sure this article was intended to be good-natured and to bring awareness to a condition that is a big issue in our society. However, I don't think the author or the editors went about it in quite the right way. In fact, the more I read it, the angrier I get that this is the kind of information people are getting about Type 2 diabetes.

OK, Santa getting diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes is an interesting, if not creative, way to help personalize the disease for youngsters. But saying it's "too risky" to take insulin injections when his reindeer tote the sleigh across the sky is like telling people taking insulin is bad and that the people who do it are putting their lives at risk.

Furthermore, "becoming dependent on drugs and insulin injections" might actually send the right message to children: be knowledgeable about diabetes, know your body, and do what you have to do to take care of yourself--even if that means "popping pills" or taking insulin injections.

And then there's the editor who is part of this web site's team of nutritionists gathered to help Santa with his diabetes. This guy calls himself a former prediabetic and wrote a book on how to halt diabetes in 25 days that teaches people how to overcome Type 2 diabetes in as little as three weeks. The article also quotes a doctor/author who claims that Type 2 diabetes is reversible.

The article, which was published Dec. 4, ends by saying Santa is optimistic about making positive progress, and he hopes to restore normal blood sugar balance and be free of type-2 diabetes in time for Christmas.

Excuse me, but what a crock of sh*t!

This article started out well and fine but ended up going very, very wrong. This is exactly the kind of message we don't need to send to people. Once you have diabetes, you have it. It's not reversible, it doesn't ever go away, there is no cure. You can, however, control it. And yes, it may seem that Type 2 diabetes is gone if you're in control, but it's not.

Come on people! We need to be more responsible with the information that we provide to the public. This is not productive. To me, this article says, it's OK to get Type 2 diabetes because it's reversible and you can get rid of it in less than a month. This is just plain irresponsible.

Kidism

2006-12-12T13:15:00.000-06:00

I've been slacking on my kidisms lately, so here's one.

When No. 1 lost his top two front teeth this fall, I joked with him that he could officially say all he wanted for Christmas was his two front teeth. (Since there were still several months until Christmas, I really thought those boogers would at least be showing by now.)

So what did he tell the Santa at a Christmas party he wanted for Christmas? Yep, he told the jolly old elf he wanted his two front teeth. I about died laughing.

A long way to go

2006-12-07T09:51:00.000-06:00

The fact that anyone could be "dismayed" or "disgusted" that two people in a loving, commited, long-term relationship are bringing a child into the world makes me...well, dismayed and disgusted.

Random Meme

2006-12-05T12:10:00.000-06:00

I can’t stand the smell of Play-Doh. I don’t know what it is, but I won’t touch the stuff. Weirdly, I like the smell of the gunk that comes off earrings after they’ve been in your ears for a while. I’m a total freak, I know!

I hate secrecy. At work, at home, wherever. It just drives me nuts. And I think it shows a lot of disrespect. Ok, I know there are times when it’s called for; however, when you’re in a situation where normally things are divulged to you and then suddenly they’re not just makes me angry and nervous.

I believe everyone should have cake on their birthday. Even if there’s only two or three of us who will eat cake, I always make one for whoever is having a birthday in our house. I even make my own cake for my birthday.

I don't tip at Sonic, the carhop/drive-in chain restaurant. At regular sit down restaurants, yes, I tip because there is a person who spends more than 30 seconds taking care of me. The Mr. hates that I don't tip at Sonic, but I just don't think it's warranted in that situation. (I've worked in food service, so I know what customers can be like. So don't write me nasty letters or comments!)

And you thought election season was over...

2006-12-04T15:27:00.000-06:00

Incredibly, I have been nominated for an award through the Diabetes OC! I and four others are in the category for Best Adult With Type 2 blog. I post along the best when it comes to D-blogging and feel honored that someone somewhere thinks enough of my blog to nominate me.

So, go vote. And I promise, there will be no negative campaign ads.

Snow Day

2006-12-01T14:26:00.000-06:00

This is what we woke up to this morning. Yes, that says more than 14" of snow! And that was no snow drift!

Milestones

2006-11-20T10:41:00.000-06:00

This Thursday marks only the second time that I will hold Thanksgiving dinner at my house. I decided our fairly simple menu last week and went shopping over the weekend. The turkey is defrosting nicely in the fridge and I will likely start cooking tomorrow or Wednesday.

I’m making Dad’s stuffing. The cornbread one that I love so much. And I’m trying a new pumpkin pie recipe from Paula Deen. I will have to call my dad/aunt/grandma, though, for the gravy recipe because I can never get it right.

This all sounds normal, right? Except that this will be the first Thanksgiving ever—EVER—that I will spend without my parents. Not only will we not be going anywhere, but no one is coming to us either. That's right, it will be just the five of us. This is a little weird for me. Now I know that traditions change, but there were always certain things I could count on in my life and having Thanksgiving with my folks at their house was one of them. I will quietly mourn updating old family friends about my job and the family, listening to Dad tell the story about how I once called one of my brothers a m----r f----r, and talking to my sister in law about which baby name is now on the top of the list.

On the other hand, there is an upside to staying at home: No traveling four hours round trip, no watching the kids destroy other people’s non-baby/child-proofed homes, no telling the kids for the one millionth time to use their inside voices, no need to wear nice clothes (heck, I might not even put on make up!).

And I’ve decided that we’re going to do more than just sit around, watch parades and football on TV and cook. We’re going for a walk or we’re going to play a special game or something other than eat turkey. Maybe we’ll have dinner in our PJ’s.

Funnies

2006-11-02T09:40:00.000-06:00

No. 1 to me the other night after I told him that I know everything:
“Nu-uh. You don’t know how many hairs are on my head.”

* * * * * * * * * *

No. 2 to No. 1 Halloween night when he was apparently trailing behind:
“Move it buddy!”

* * * * * * * * * *

No. 1: What does the “a” in a.m. stand for?
Me: I don’t know. That’s a good question.
No. 2: What does “m” stand for?
No. 1: Morning.
Me: (stifled laughing)
No. 1: I know! It stands for “A”. A morning.

Round and round inside my head

2006-10-22T20:41:00.000-05:00

It’s 8:17 p.m. on Sunday evening. I’m holding the baby, who is incredibly squirmy, and sitting in front of the computer working where I’ve been almost all day. There are a ton of things that I’d rather be doing; a ton of other things that I need to be doing, but I’m working. I’m working.

Since about 9 a.m. this morning, I’ve been working off and on reading and editing seven stories for one of the magazines I work for. Which has a deadline tomorrow. Two of the other magazines I work for also have deadlines tomorrow. I need a weekend already and Sunday’s not even over yet.

The things I’d rather be doing: working on my crochet blanket, watching the Cardinals kick the Tigers’ asses in Game 2 of the World Series, giving the baby a bath, downloading pictures that have been on my camera for weeks.

The things I need to be doing: laundry, mainly because I’ll have to take the dog to the vet tomorrow after work and the vet is 45 min. away (I plan to post about this situation soon, but this post sort of just came to me); paying bills; making my lunch for tomorrow; making sure I and the kids have something to wear tomorrow; writing checks to No. 1’s after school care and the sitter for No. 2 and No. 3.

Shortly before dinner, while I was still reading and editing and also while dealing with all the goings-on of a five-member household, I started to feel bitter about the fact that I had to bring so much work home. In fact, I was angry that I had all this work with me.

“I’m just going to skim through these at work tomorrow,” I told The Mr., which we both knew was not my style.

“Go ahead and do what you have to do,” he told me.

But I don’t want to, I whined to myself. And then I remembered that I’m not that kind of editor, I’m not that kind of employee. So here I am, doing what I would have done at work tomorrow. I know I’m saving myself an incredible amount of stress, but again, I’m angry. It has a lot to do with the situation surrounding this work, which I won’t go into.

The thing that’s really making me think though is this: If I feel this way about not being able to do the things I want and need and feeling like my time with my family is being compromised, then how exactly do I plan to manage any freelance work that might come my way? Freelance work that I have been desperately searching for for a long, long time. Freelance work that I have practically been begging for.

But, I have resolved that any freelance work will be in a different context. I won’t be giving up an entire Sunday to do it on an incredibly tight deadline—well, maybe, but if that were the case, I’d be getting a hefty paycheck for it, I’m sure. Which brings up another point. Yes, I’m salaried, and yes this is something that comes with the territory, which is why I’m not getting all that pissy about it. But if it were freelance and I had to work all day on a Sunday, there’d be extra money involved.

Destructive behavior

2006-10-13T16:32:00.000-05:00

Is it really true that anticipation of something perceived bad is really worse than the actual event?

I was looking on my calendar at home the other day and saw scrawled on Nov. 1 “Dr. C, 9 a.m.” I cringed. Dr. C is my endo. It would be a gross understatement to say that I’ve not been eating so good lately.

When I set up the appointment for November, I really thought that I would be on a better track than I was earlier this summer. Unfortunately, I’m on the same track: eating whatever I want whenever I want, checking my sugar maybe only once a day, not exercising, always taking my meds.

I keep saying that as soon as the baby starts sleeping through the night (yes, she was sleeping through for a long while and then she stopped!) it will be easier for me to wake up before dawn for my daily walks, which I truly, honestly miss. (Right now, it’s a struggle to wake up before 6:30 a.m.) And it seems that better eating habits will follow since exercise seems to motivate me in that regard.

I will face the music. I will not cancel my appointment. I will tell him the truth. I will try to remember how to have rules. I will get better at this.

A page out of Dad’s book*

2006-09-28T14:09:00.000-05:00

Last night while No. 1 and I were waiting for No. 2’s ballet class to be over, he asked me what we were having for dinner. He was sitting on my lap and I whispered in his ear “sloppy joe’s.”

He claims he doesn’t like sloppy joe, but I think he’s just like his mother: when he thinks he doesn’t like something or has already said he doesn’t like something, he feels obligated to maintain that persona even if he really does like it.

“And french fries,” I said.

“Well, I’m not eating it,” he said very matter of factly and defiantly.

“Well, that’s what’s for dinner and if you don’t eat it then you’ll be one hungry little boy.”

Fastforward a bit to me making dinner while feeding the baby in the highchair. No. 1 is upstairs playing with some kind of boat in the bathroom sink.

“No. 2,” I say, “Will you very quietly and very nicely go tell No. 1 that it’s time for dinner?”

When No. 1 comes downstairs, he comments on how good dinner smells and starts talking about how he’s going to eat the sloppy joe anyway.

“Well,” I tell him, “I decided that since you don’t like sloppy joe to make something else instead. I made crumbly burgers.”

“What’s a crumbly burger?” he wants to know.

“It’s a crumbled up hamburger with the ketchup built in!” I exclaim.

“Aw, man! I wanted sloppy joe,” No. 2 complains with a pout. (I just can’t win, can I?)

“Smells like a sloppy joe,” he says.

“Well, it’s a crumbly burger,” I tell him as I put his plate on the table in front of him.

“It tastes like a sloppy joe, too, but it’s good,” he says.

“Well, they’re similar, but this is definitely a crumbly burger,” I try to convince.

The Mr. walks in from work.

“Hey Dad guess what,” No. 1 yells. “We’re having crumbly burgers for dinner! It’s a crumbled up hamburger with the ketchup already built in!” he says as if having ketchup built in to something is some sort of reward.

“All right!” The Mr. says. “Crumbly burgers are yummy.”

“Crumbly burgers?” he says to me with a coy smile and a wink.

And now here’s the thing: he would have put up a fuss and a fight all evening if they were “sloppy joe,” but since they were “crumbly burgers,” he ate it all.

*Apparently, I used to refuse to eat onions (among other things). So Mom and Dad in their infinite wisdom told me that those weren't onions, they were leaks. And I, of course, promptly ate whatever had the "leaks" in it. Last summer when No. 1 and No. 2 stayed with Mom and Dad for four days, No. 1 claimed he didn't like onions. So, you guessed it, Dad told him they weren't onions, they were leaks. Naturally, he ate those. Not long after that, when I made my famous Swedish meatballs that happen to have onions in them, I quickly told No. 1 that Papa let me know how much he liked leaks so I made the meatballs with leaks instead of onions this time. The aresenal of parenthood groweth.

A conversation with God

2006-09-20T10:05:00.000-05:00

(Ahem.) I don’t remember having ever begged you for anything. Please correct me if I’m wrong. I do remember asking repeatedly for things (sometimes for me and sometimes for others), but I don’t ever remember saying the things I’ve said lately: “Please, please, please. I really, really want this and here’s why…”

I know and respect that you have a plan for me. I know and respect that you have and will continue to give me choices. I understand that I’m at this point in my life and in my career for a reason. I understand that I’m supposed to be learning something. I just wish I could catch one break, though. I want to do right by my family. I’m not asking for a windfall, I’m asking to break even. I’m asking to not have to worry about being able to pay for car repairs or extra curricular activities for the kids while still budgeting for groceries and heating costs. I’m asking to not have to continually ask my parents for financial help. I know that could be seen as stubborn, but I’m old enough that I believe there are certain things I should be able to do on my own. Yes, it’s a pride thing, but pain is temporary and pride is forever. (Sheesh, maybe I should heed my own advice there! But how temporary is temporary? It’s all relative, I guess.)

I found something that I want pretty badly. The description seems *perfect* for me and my schedule. I could be wrong because that’s been known to happen, and I certainly don’t intend to question you. But this thing could be an answer to my prayers. This thing could bring more than just money to me and my family. And it’s not like it would be a great amount of money either. In addition to helping out financially, this would certainly give me a leg up career-wise in a number of ways.

I know that I’m good at what I do. I know that I would do this thing very well. I know that I just need someone to give me a chance. I knew (I think) when I chose this profession that I would be a dime a dozen, but I know that with a chance I can also be a diamond in the rough (I believe that to a certain degree I already am). I know that this might not be “The Thing” you want for me.

I would really like this to happen to/for me. I’m asking ever so nicely and repeatedly. I’m almost begging, even though I don’t want to be a begger because beggers can’t be choosers.

Thank you for listening.

The Real Reason We Go To Weddings

2006-09-18T16:38:00.000-05:00

Friday night I sat outside in front of a gorgeous, peaceful waterfall. As the outdoor sanctuary filled with friends and family, I reveled in how much love was there. My cousin and her significant other had been together for eight years, brought a beautiful son into the world four years ago, and were now finally getting married.

Four bridesmaids, including my little sissy, preceeded the bride, who looked stunning. As I listened to C and D exchange vows they had written, I looked around and saw all the couples getting closer, holding hands tighter and exchanging smooches.

Yes, we’re there to love, honor and support our friends and family, but we’re also there for ourselves. To remind us how we felt when it was us up there, or to imagine what it will be like when it's our turn. I couldn’t keep my eyes off C and D—or my children. They were extra special beautiful and sweet to me in those moments. No. 2’s hair felt softer than ever, No. 1’s eyes and smile the most vibrant I had ever seen, and I wondered if I’d always remember just how No. 3's voice sounded.

I longed for The Mr. to be there with me (he was working; the wedding was out of town). I wanted to silently reminesce with him about the day that was ours. To chuckle about sobbing through my vows, to recount the moment the sun pierced the stained glass windows of the church and shone right on his face as he was saying his vows to me, to squeeze each other’s hands and feel each other’s skin, to gently kiss and whisper ‘I love you.’

Weddings are full of hope and faith and love. And renewal.

Re: Don't Bypass State Insurance Coverage Requirements!

2006-09-08T11:41:00.000-05:00

Dear Mrs. K:
Thank you for contacting me with your concerns regarding health insurance for small business owners, employees, and their families. I appreciate the time you have taken to share your views with me, and I welcome the opportunity to respond.

I am a sponsor and one of the strongest supporters of Small Business Health Plans (S. 1955) to provide access to quality, affordable health care to millions of Americans at no cost to taxpayers. SBHPs empower small business owners, who otherwise cannot afford health insurance, to offer "Fortune 500" company quality health insurance to their employees.

SBHPs allow national trade and professional associations, from the National Federation of Independent Business to the American Farm Bureau Federation, to respond to the needs of their membership and sponsor health care plans. In other words, SBHPs are a solution to a problem that does not discriminate by locale - it helps the small business owner in cities and towns as well as the farmer and rancher. Any small business owner can buy into these plans for themselves, their employees, and their dependents.

Unfortunately, on May 11, 2006, S. 1955 received 55 votes, but was denied the opportunity to come before the Senate for a vote since 60 votes were required to overcome the opponent's filibuster. This bill is similar to legislation that twice passed the U.S. House of Representatives last Congress on a strong bipartisan basis. Not only does this legislation have bipartisan support in both the House and the Senate, but President Bush has voiced strong support as well.

I understand your concerns with respect to preempting state insurance laws. Let me offer several observations in response:
1. 46 million people currently have no insurance. Most of them work in small business. Benefit mandate laws do not help you if you don't have insurance at all.
2. The state benefit mandate laws currently do not apply to big company health insurance. Yet that insurance tends to be high quality and almost always includes coverage in the areas protected by benefit mandates. Small business health plans would be just as good as current Fortune 500 plans; they would allow small businesses to get coverage on the same terms and conditions as big companies.
3. I am open to commonsense solutions that would allow states to keep their benefits provided it would not render the bill unworkable. I supported an amendment offered during the Senate debate of S. 1955 that provided the following: if 26 states covered a benefit then that benefit would apply to SBHPs, to protect that benefit in its adopting states. These benefits include those which have been widely adopted such as breast reconstruction, diabetic supplies, emergency services, mammography, maternity stay, mental health coverage and parity, prostate screening, and many others. With this amendment, the uninsured would have national pools set up under federal law with certain basic patient protections and coverages that are guaranteed.

I believe that now is the time to enact SBHP legislation to unburden small business owners from worrying about how to provide health care to their employees. This is real help for small business owners and their employees - quality, low-cost health insurance without any taxpayer expense.

Again, thank you for contacting me. If I may be of further assistance, please don't hesitate to write or call.

If you would like to contact me via e-mail, please visit http://talent.senate.gov/Contact/default.cfm.

Sincerely,
Senator Jim Talent

To love, honor and obey

2006-08-29T09:10:00.000-05:00

The other day when The Mr. asked why I stopped wearing perfume I had a very logical answer. When I started nursing the baby, I said, I didn’t want any interference. I want her to smell me, not perfume.

“Well, I like it when you smell pretty,” he said.

“I smell clean, isn’t that good enough,” I asked sarcastically.

He smiled.

A few days later when he asked why I didn’t wear skirts anymore, I didn’t have such a logical answer. I had a good excuse, but not a logical answer.

“You see, when I wear a skirt, my thighs could light a fire just walking down the hall,” I explained.

"Wear pantyhose," he countered.

"Blech! Why wear pantyhose when I don't have to?"

“I like it when you..."

"Look like a girl?" I interrupted.

"Yeah,” he said. “Not like frilly pinky stuff, just an occasional dress or skirt.”

“Oh. Ok.”

So today, in honor of my beloved and adorable husband, I am wearing body splash and a skirt. (Thank God it’s not hot and humid today!) I love you sweetie. And I love looking like a girl for you.

The day of surgery

2006-08-25T12:35:00.000-05:00

5:58 a.m. Shit. Today of all days my alarm doesn’t go off. Thank my angels that No. 2 came to bed with me about an hour ago and I’ve been in and out ever since.

6:05 a.m. BS is 97. Geez. I really thought and hoped I’d be higher than that. I only took half my Lantus last night and had a big glass of whole, chocolate milk before bed. OK, we’ll just have to deal with it. Five hours until surgery…this is going to be rough. Open an 8 oz. Sprite and down the hatch.

6:50 a.m. BS is 150. That’s good, but I really thought that soda would have taken me over 200. This definitely won’t hold me over until 11 a.m.

8:02 a.m. BS is 90. Well, shit. I’m dropping. I’ll never last until we get to the outpatient center. One, two, three, four big sips of white grape juice. Ahhh. Just one more sip for kicks.

8:31 a.m. BS is 143. Good, the juice worked. Hopefully it will carry me through. Knowing me and fruit, I’m hoping to continue to climb. We leave to take No. 3 to the sitter and No. 2 to school. Take one more sip of juice just for good measure.

8:59 a.m. BS is 173 and we’re on the road to the outpatient center.

9:24 a.m. BS is 133. Still good, but I dropped 40 points in 30 minutes, which isn’t so good. **big sigh**

9:57 a.m. BS is 108. We’re at the outpatient center a full 45 minutes earlier than they told us to be here, but I’m glad. I’m checked in and they know I’m diabetic.

10:25 a.m. BS is 89. OK, time to act. The soda and the juice are making me crash, which is exactly what I feared, Exactly what I knew would happen. I go to the registration desk and talk to the lady who checked me in.

“My sugar’s not low, but I’m going low,” I told her. “I’m 89 now and I was 108 half an hour ago.” She says OK and I walk away. She gets right on the phone and I hear her telling someone my name and my sugar situation. Roughly two minutes later, a nurse calls me back.

Sherrie Perry starts an IV and checks my sugar with blood she got when she started the IV.
“73,” she says, and we look at each other knowingly, both thinking “good catch.”

“They should have had you come in on a day when they do surgery in the mornings,” Sherrie Perry said.

“Oh, I asked for a Thursday because my husband is off on Thursdays,” I said.

Now that you mention it, though, that seems like it would have been a great idea since I am sugar impaired. Since the physicians’ assistant knows I’m diabetic, knew how long I’d have to go without eating and was the one who scheduled the surgery, seems like he would have been the best candidate to have said something like “Gee, I know you asked for a Thursday, but we do early morning surgeries on Tuesdays. Do you think you could come in then?” I don’t even know if they do early morning surgeries, so I could just be getting bent out of shape for nothing.

10:40 a.m. Another nurse comes in with about the biggest syringe I’ve ever seen…a 25 gram syringe filled with 50% dextrose. Sounds like fun, I thought.

“You should just have your hubby come in and kiss you. That would sweeten you up,” she joked.
She slowly squeezes in just half of the solution. It makes my elbow hurt and the nurse covers up my arm with a warm blanket, which immediately makes it feel better.

11:08 a.m. BS is 144. Nice. That worked well. Hopefully that will carry me through. Sigh and relax.

Meanwhile, The Mr. and I talk about our lunch options. Steak N Shake, Ruby Tuesday, Applebee’s and Bob Evans are all top contenders.

11:30 a.m. The Mr. says my face looks flush.

11:33 a.m. BS is 102

11:53 a.m. EKG done. Second IV in.
“Give me my meter so I can check my sugar one more time before I go in,” I tell The Mr.

11:54 a.m. BS is 88. Push the little red button to call Sherrie Perry.
“I’m 88,” I tell her. “Thirty minutes ago I was 102.”

She walks off and I hear her rattling off my numbers to someone. Massive-syringe-nurse comes back. 12 more grams of dextrose. It makes my elbow hurt worse than the first time. The first dose lasted about an hour; this one should get me through the surgery, we all think aloud.

I get some nice sleepy drugs and next thing I know I’m seeing ceiling tiles and saying “I’m waking up.” “Good,” the anesthesiologist tells me, “because we’re done.”

“I want to see it,” I begged.

They shove a specimen container close to my face and I see a blob stuck to the side of the container. Someone hands me my glasses and I get a better look at it. About the size of a pea and about the color of baby flesh—very light pink.

“Can I take a picture? A picture, I want to take a picture. There’s a little digital camera in my bag…”

But they wisk it off before I can have my Kodak moment, and before I know it, I’m talking to Debbie.

12:30 p.m. They wheel me into recovery. Debbie is there taking my vitals.
“Will someone check my sugar, please?” I ask her. I think I asked twice. It was a mild sedative, but I was still super loopy. “I’m just fascinated by modern medicine,” I say to Debbie. “Why did you want to be a nurse?”

12:35 BS is 131. Wonderful. Debbie gets me some peanut butter crackers and a Diet Pepsi. My left hand is incredibly floppy and tingly. My hand and arm up to my elbow are covered in yellow goop that makes my skin feel tight.

“So, I’m thinking no sit down restaurants,” I joke to The Mr. and holding up my arm just a bit.

1:30ish p.m. We finally drive away.
“Food. Now.” I instruct.
“What do you want?” The Mr. asks.
“Something close.”

After a junior Whopper and onion rings, I’m still hungry. (Well, you didn’t eat breakfast, The Mr. says.) On our way out of town, I get a large chocolate cone from DQ.

3:30 p.m. We’re home. I pump and dump and we go after the kids.

6 p.m. Dinner. Hardly any carbs. I had planned to have biscuits (No. 2 chose breakfast for dinner since it was her first day of school), but they didn’t get made.

6:30 p.m. I’m wickedly tired and go rest on the couch.

7:30ish p.m. I do another pump and dump. The baby's not happy about the formula bottle I fixed her (won't take the bottle from Daddy either), but does take some juice from a bottle.

9:13 p.m. I’m ready for bed. Better check my BS. It’s 122.

10 p.m. Take 15 units of Lantus (normally take 20).

6 a.m. Friday morning, fasting is 89.

Taking diabetes management into my own hands

2006-08-23T16:48:00.000-05:00

I didn’t realize that I had done this until after I had actually done it. I have been managing my diabetes on my own since I was diagnosed essentially. But what I did today I think is the definition of being a patient-advocate. This is sort of minor, but I think it exemplifies how we simply have to be aware that doctors know best, but don't always know me best.

As you’ll see from my last post, I’m having surgery tomorrow. I was nervous enough about managing my sugar level when they initially told me that the surgery likely wouldn’t be until late morning. The physicians’ assistant didn’t seem to know much about diabetes. Example, when I told him that my fasting the morning of my original appointment was 85, he seemed to think that was “low.” I don’t remember his exact words, but he said something to effect of not wanting me to be “that low.” I don’t want to bad mouth the doc on the eve of the event, but 85 is pretty darn good in my book. Seems like it’s almost right smack dab in the middle of exactly where I should be. But anyway, I digress.

So someone from the doctor’s office called today to ask a bunch a questions (which I had already answered, by the way, but why not be thorough) like if I had a family history of cancer or stroke or diabetes and all that stuff that I’ll likely get asked again tomorrow. (But, again, thoroughness is good.) She told me where to park and asked if someone was coming with me and told me about not eating after midnight. And, oh, by the way, the surgery is at noon. Ok, Ok, sounds good, see you tomorrow.

Waaaaaiiiiittttt just a stinkin’ minute. If I don’t eat after midnight, which will actually be not after 10 p.m. because that’s when I go to bed, and the surgery isn’t until noon, that’s more than 12 hours since I’ll have eaten. Even NOT being on insulin I just don’t think that’s such a swell idea. I can’t just not eat.

So I called the doctor’s office back and spoke to one of the physicians’ assistants. She told me that it’s marked on my chart that I can’t eat because “you wouldn’t want to throw up during surgery.” Well, no, I wouldn’t, but I’m not going to be under general anesethesia, I countered, I’ll just have a local and probably some versed. Surely I could eat a piece of toast around 6 a.m. I mean, that’s a full six hours before the surgery. No, she insisted, nothing to eat. But since I can have clear liquids until 6 a.m., I should have 6 oz. to 8 oz. of regular soda or juice before then, she told me.

I’m really, really nervous about going low, I told her. And with soda or juice, I'm nervous about an eventual crash. Well, if you’re feeling “a little weird” you can always come in early and we can put you on an IV. Well, sure, because I could just hop right over…your office is 45 minutes from where I live. **big sigh**

So, the plan is that I’ll probably not have such a sensible dinner (which wasn't the original plan), take half my Lantus tonight, skip the Metformin in the morning, have my Sprite at 6 a.m. (Yuck!), get ready, drop No. 2 off at her first day of preschool (Mom, is it a school day, yet??), and high tail it to the doctor’s office where we’ll likely be about 45 minutes earlier than they told me to be. Hopefully, this will help us get started sooner than noon, which they told me might be likely if I show up early.

The Mr. wants to know if I’m taking him out to lunch afterwards. Ah, yeah, and I’ve already got Steak N Shake on my brain. I'll probably eat one of everything. Can't tell you the last time I went more than a couple of hours without eating.

Random Friday Things

2006-08-18T15:16:00.000-05:00

Random thing number one: I’m having minor, out-patient surgery on my hand next Thursday. This might sound totally bizaare, but I’m actually looking forward to it. OK, so I’m not literally looking forward to surgery, but I am looking forward to being rid of this ganglion cyst that’s on my thumb. I discovered it a few months ago. I don’t even remember when or how. My nurse practitioner made the diagnosis and said that if it’s not getting bigger and doesn’t bother me that I don’t have to do anything about it. So that’s what I resigned myself to—not doing anything about it. I mean, really, who looks forward to surgery? Maybe just the dentist from Little Shop of Horrors. Well, now this cyst is constantly in the way. Typically it’s when I grip something, such as a jar or a can, or when I’m driving that it bothers me. It’s not painful, but it’s definitely noticeable and definitely uncomfortable. I really tried to ignore it, but I can’t seem to. Seems weird to me to make a fuss over such a small thing, and, honestly, after I scheduled the surgery I started having second thoughts mainly because I felt like it was such a small thing and I shouldn’t make such a big deal out of it. But then, I remembered how much it bothers me and decided to just get rid of it. Funny side note: I won’t be able to get it wet for a few days because I’ll have stitches, so I told The Mr. this morning that we’ll have to shower together. Teeheehee.

Post-script number one to random thing number one: Trying ever so diligently to keep my blood sugar in optimal working order in preparation for said surgery. Which, by the way, likely won’t be until late morning. Preparing also for wacky blood sugar and severe hunger next Thursday. I want a king-size serving of a chocolate-icing-covered fudgy brownie so bad right now. *sigh*

Post-script number two to random thing number one: Day of surgery is also No. 2’s first day of preschool. I will miss picking her up, but will get to drop her off. Considered postponing the surgery for a week, but then we’re messing with magazine deadlines and that’s an ugly thing to mess with.

Post-script number three to random thing number one: Local anesthesia will likely affect breastmilk. Asking pediatrician today (here’s to hoping I don’t forget) if I need to pump and dump or if the local won’t really affect the milk. Buying formula for the first time in about seven months.

Random thing number two: Jealousy is an evil, evil beast. I have found lately that I’m not as included as I suppose I would like on certain things that go on at work. I’m nosey by nature and I know that I’m not being excluded on purpose necessarily. I guess I’m just disappointed that I’m not as chummy as some others are. On the flip side, though, a former employer once made my life a living hell and I swore that I would never again get involved with office gossip nor office politics. So I suppose not being included is exactly what I get for not wanting to be involved. Still hurts.

Random thing number three: I am just barely under two hours post lunch (around an hour and 45 minutes). I tested slightly early because I’m taking No. 3 to the doctor to have her ears checked out. I was 52. 52! That’s the lowest I’ve ever tested. I am starting to think that I’m developing a slight case of hypo unawareness. I even asked my friendly Diabetic Mommies this week because I tested once at 57 and didn’t even feel low. I mean, I felt like I was getting low, but not like I was already low. So how do I feel right now at 52, you ask? Perfectly normal, thank you. No shakes. None of my normal tell-tale low symptoms. (I just scarfed down a granola bar, in case you’re wondering.) I do have a weird sun spot, though. Sort of like what I have when I’m getting a migraine. Wondering if there’s such a thing as a false low. I mean, I know the meter can misread a high based on not washing hands or something of that nature. I was 98 post breakfast and had a decent snack. Had basically no carbs for lunch, though: pork chop and a big salad. This is what I get for trying to stay in optimal control for Thursday’s surgery.

Post script to random thing number three: The low hit me in the car on the way to the doctor. That’s when I figured it would. *sigh* The baby has an ear infection. Hopefully, this will fix her sleeping problem. Also, the pediatrician said I won’t have to dump the milk, but to double check with the anesthesiologist.

Random thing number four: I thought I had more random things. hmph.

Love letters

2006-08-09T11:32:00.000-05:00

Courtesy of my six-year-old son. Sometimes folded. Always on my pillow at bedtime.

Signs of Food Addiction

2006-08-04T13:06:00.000-05:00

According to recovery experts, you may be at risk if you answer yes to any of these questions.

1. Have you ever wanted to stop eating and found you just couldn't? Yes.
2. Do you think about food or your weight constantly? Yes.
3. Do you find yourself attempting one diet or food plan after another, with no lasting success? No.
4. Do you binge and then "get rid of the binge" through vomiting, exercise, laxatives or other forms of purging? No.
5. Do you eat differently in private than you do in front of other people? No.
6. Has a doctor or family member ever approached you with concern about your eating habits or weight? No.
7. Do you eat large quantities of food at one time (binge)? Yes.
8. Is your weight problem due to your "nibbling" all day long? Yes.
9. Do you eat to escape from your feelings? Yes.
10. Do you eat when you're not hungry? Yes.
11. Have you ever discarded food, only to retrieve and eat it later? No.
12. Do you eat in secret? Yes.
13. Do you fast or severely restrict your food intake? No.
14. Have you ever stolen other people's food? No.
15. Have you ever hidden food to make sure you have "enough"? Yes.
16. Do you feel driven to exercise excessively to control your weight? No.
17. Do you obsessively calculate the calories you've burned against the calories you've eaten? No.
18. Do you frequently feel guilty or ashamed about what you've eaten? Yes.
19. Are you waiting for your life to begin "when you lose the weight"? No.
20. Do you feel hopeless about your relationship with food? Yes.

Facing the music, or the longest post ever

2006-08-01T14:02:00.000-05:00

My CDE used to tell me I was the poster child for diabetes management. Well, not in so many words, but she did say something to the effect of wishing her other clients were as dedicated to the cause as I was.

This was, of course, when I was pregnant, when I had a specific goal in front of me: no big babyness, no birth defects, no excess amniotic fluid. I seem to be like that with most things. Specific deadline=dedication. Must be why I seem to excel in journalism. And also why I haven’t sat down to write The Great American Novel yet. . . no deadline.

After the baby was born I tried very, very hard to stay on track, but there is about a six to eight week gap in my paper log books because I simply quit testing, quit tracking. I more or less quit diabetes. And since then, no matter how I’ve tried to stay on task for more than a day or two, I revert back to bad habits (read: Taco Bell and king size Twix last week for dinner).

When I saw my endo for the first time, the baby was about four months old. He had good things to say to me and about my management—“What you’re doing isn’t broken,” he said. I was terrified, though, of what my A1C was going to be. It was 5.9. But since I hadn’t had it tested in over a year, I really didn’t know where I was coming from. (I asked my perinatologist somewhere in my third trimester if I ought to have it checked and he said the pregnancy would skew the results so it would be a worthless number.)

I was tempted to cancel my next appointment with my endo based on how poorly I had been managing my disease. I had recently learned that he is considered an expert in our area. When he entered the room I felt oddly like I was in the presence of greatness. And more oddly, I felt inferior—I stumbled over my words, made excuses for my behavior. It was like being in the principal’s office after putting stink bombs in the bathroom. You know it’s wrong, but you do it anyway because it feels good in the moment.

We talked about my eating habits and my meds and my post-meal numbers. And we talked about carbs. Check out our conversation in progress:

“I generally have about 40 to 60 carbs for lunch and dinner, about 30 to 40 for breakfast, and about 15 to 30 for snacks,” I relayed.

“Well, you really don’t need a snack do you?”

“Are you absolutely insane, man? No snack?! Haven’t you read my blog?”

Ok, so I didn’t say the last part, but, frankly, I’d rather take more insulin than give up any food.

After discussing Byetta (which I will likely start when No. 3 has finished nursing) and deciding to start me on Metformin, he sent me to the lab. **big sigh** Needless to say, I knew my A1C would definitely be higher than 5.9. But certainly, I thought, not higher than the 7 I was when I was diagnosed.

Surely, I thought, even the minimal management I was eeking out over the last three months was better than the no management I had pre-diagnosis. The dry, unemotional voice of my endo’s nurse telling me “7.3” proved me wrong. What I hadn’t considered was that my disease had progressed. Something I realized I would have to deal with forever.

I hadn’t really factored the increased insulin resistance into the equation either. I’m actually taking more Lantus now than I was at the end of my pregnancy. When Dr. C wrote the prescription for Metformin he told me to decrease my Lantus from 20 units to 15 units on the first day I took it. Well, after taking the first ½ pill and still getting a 168 after dinner, I kept my night time Lantus at 20 units. And the following night? I increased my Lantus to 23 units after clocking in at a lovely 330 after dinner. I think I’ve narrowed that one down—no more potatoes or milk for me. ((loud weeping sounds at the thought of no milk!))

For-ev-er. Like the kid in The Sandlot. It used to be such a far off thing, and I guess to a certain degree it still is. I mean, really, I remember when 30 seemed old. But the realities of this beast hanging around and being generally unpredictable are starting to set in. I’ve thought about this recently and decided that I likely had somewhat of an extended honeymoon period during my pregnancy. I was extremely diligent and in incredibly tight control (man, I really wish I would have had my A1C tested during my pregnancy) that I think I was still in a fog after the baby was born. I really think I thought that if I just kept on keeping on then things would be fine and dandy and that I would never have to increase the amount of medicine I was taking and never have to deal with any of the funky stuff The Big D hands out on a daily basis. I literally have had to learn things over again. I’m dealing now with all the emotions that I should have dealt with around the time I got pregnant (just two months after being diagnosed).

Dec. 5, 2005, was my first D deadline. That’s where I had to get to have a healthy baby. To have a healthy me? Every day has to be its own deadline.

A quick kidism

2006-07-25T08:51:00.000-05:00

No. 2 and I were lying in bed last night snuggling and chatting while No. 1 was in the shower. No. 3 was asleep downstairs in the pack 'n play, The Mr. was off fighting a grocery store fire. As we were chatting, she casually advised me to "think about not putting anyone in time out anymore." When I laughed, she told me it wasn't funny.

What has the presidency come to?

2006-07-20T16:02:00.000-05:00

I'm about drawn to tears. I have supported President George W. Bush through a host of criticisms. My argument mainly is that his personality is so no-nonsense, so down home (so what if he said "shit" about Hezbollah and Israel?) that Americans just aren't used to it. Seems to me that we have to have something to complain about.

But the stem cell veto. . . I can't support that. I wish he could live just one day in the shoes of a diabetic or a parent of a diabetic child, or a person with Parkinson's, or the spouse of someone with Alzheimer's--all diseases that have the potential to be cured with the help of stem cell research.

So many others have said it better than I could ever hope to: Mr. Bush, get your head out of your ass.

A kidism

2006-07-10T12:37:00.000-05:00

Yes, I know it's not Wednesday.

So, over the weekend after giving No. 2 a shower, I was cleaning out her ears. She's pretty sensitive about them. Well, that's actually an understatement. Her entire first year of life was plagued with ear infections. At six months, the doctors were ready to "tube her," but she was too young. At the first sign of winter, her ears clogged up and she got her first set of tubes around her first birthday. Second set came around her second birthday.

Anyway, so she's being squirmy and screamy while I'm cleaning the waxiness out of her ears. Being the good mom that I am (no, my arm isn't breaking as I'm patting myself on the back), I tried to make the most of it.

Pulling out a loaded Q-tip, I said something to the effect of "ewww, look how gross that is."

The screaming and crying immediately stopped so she could (rather defensively) say, "I didn't put that in there."

What would Dr. Freud make of this?

2006-07-03T17:00:00.000-05:00

I have the weirdest sensation of guilt and joy going on right now. Well, actually, it's joy quickly followed by guilt. And then joy again.

On Saturday, the Mr. and I took our older two children two hours away to my parents' house. And then came home. Without them. (The baby stayed with us because I'm still nursing her.)

The woman who watches them during the day while we're at work took her week's vacation this week and drove her family to New York to visit her family. Three kids in a car from Missouri to New York. And one of them is only nine months old. I suppose her nerves will be frayed by the time she gets home. I know mine would be!

But I digress. Last night was the first night home without the little boogers. I felt so relaxed. I felt so unscheduled. I felt quite peaceful. That's the joy part. I'm feeling pretty happy and well, peaceful, these last two days. And I have until Thursday (when Mom will bring The Big Kids home and we will subsequently commit her to the looney bin after having her nerves frayed by my wild ones!).

Here's the guilt part: I don't really feel like I miss them. Last night at 8:30--a full 30 minutes past their bedtime--the phone rang and I thought, "Oh, sh*t! I forgot to call them before bed." It wasn't like I was busy or anything either. Just sitting on the couch reading through some old papers.

So for part of last night and this morning I alternately beat myself up and then scolded myself for beating myself up because even though I'm not counting the hours until I see them again (yet) I have realized that I really, really, really need time to refresh myself. I will be such a better mom for them when they come home.

I should do this more often.

(Re)birth of a passion

2006-06-26T09:04:00.000-05:00

wounded soldiers low res
Originally uploaded by Michelle2175.

I accidentally found photography in high school when I needed to fill an elective spot. Much like I found journalism, but that's a post for another day.

The Mr. used to tell me that I should just wake up and put the camera around my neck first thing. There was a time that I couldn't take enough pictures. And then I sort of dropped off. Lately, though, I can't stop again. For a while I was getting three or four rolls of film developed every week or two.

And then, Dad bought me this amazing camera. A digital SLR that allows me to take 100 pictures at a time and not have to worry about getting five or six rolls of film developed to get those few perfect shots. The kids have OD'd on picture-taking; they used to beg me to take their pictures, now they run from me when I have the camera in hand!

My latest assignment: toys.

Food for thought

2006-06-23T16:10:00.000-05:00

Chocolate really does make my world go 'round.

I've been saying this for who knows how long, but never had any tangible evidence until right this second.

This morning I was restless and uninterested in working. Took several painful hours to work through one project.

This afternoon, I have a bag of Hershey's Kissables sitting in front of me and a Diet Pepsi to boot. Guess how much work I've gotten done.

Kidism Wednesday

2006-06-22T09:57:00.000-05:00

OK, I know I'm posting this on Thursday, but it actually happened on Wednesday.

Last night I took my No. 1 with me to WalMart to pick up a few things for a BBQ we're going to tonight. On the way home, I got dinner for me and The Mr. from McDonald's. I know, so bad, but it's freaking hot and humid here and I'm not in the mood to cook (boiling a pot of water for spaghetti heats up the whole darn house). I got milkshakes instead of sodas because I had a hankering for chocolate. Again, really bad, I know.

So No. 1 and I are passing the strawberry and chocolate goodness back and forth from the front seat to the back seat because, really, you can't wait until you get home to drink that stuff. It wasn't long, though, before I cut us off so we could save at least some to go with dinner.

After we pulled up in the driveway, I grabbed the WalMart bags and the food and asked No. 1 to carry the milkshakes inside for me. Sure, he says.

As we're walking in front of the car (he in front of me) he says very matter of factly: "I might have to hold the straws with my mouth."

Something I'll never understand

2006-06-20T09:04:00.001-05:00

In an e-mail:
Hi, my name is Michelle and I'm an associate editor with XYZ Magazine. I'm working on a story about farmers and diabetes and I'd like to talk to you about your research and the work you do with farmers and diabetes. Please let me know a convenient time for me to call you for a phone interview.

In a reply:
Hi, Michelle. I'd love to talk to you. Here's my number. Call me on Monday at 8:30 a.m.

On Monday:
Long, detailed interview about farmers and diabetes ensues.

Associate editor to source:
You've answered all my questions. Is there anything else we should talk about?

Source:
No, we've covered it all.

Associate editor:
Great. Would you spell your name, please?

Source:
Oh, God! You're going to quote me?

Associate editor's brain:
Well, duh! There must be something inherent in some people's brains that totally misses the part where a reporter calls an expert in a field for information about a story she's working on, and it doesn't even cross the expert's mind that he/she will be quoted in the story!

Heart strings

2006-06-16T11:33:00.000-05:00

Thursday is training night for the volunteer fire department The Mr. is part of. Although the fire fighter Olympics are Saturday and The Mr. suspected last night’s training session would be chock full of preparations for that, he came home and said they began with a meeting.

It was about Tuesday’s accident. Chief told the crew that if anyone needed to talk about it or see someone or whatever they needed to do to work through what they saw he would support them. I know you see it all the time, Chief told The Mr. Yeah, he said, and you learn to disconnect, but it still gets you.

And then the conversation turned to the media. The Mr. had told me that some members of the press were at the scene on Tuesday. The extrication hadn’t happened yet and everyone there was determined that no one would film it. And rightly so. There are just some things that people don’t need to see.

Well, as of last night’s meeting, members of the press are no longer allowed on the scene of an accident in our county because one of the reporters who was there apparently printed what The Mr. called graphic, gorey details about the accident. (I haven't read the story yet, so I don't know if that's true.)

That’s freedom of the press, I said.

And here’s where it gets ugly. You see, The Mr. and I are pretty much on polar opposite sides when it comes to the media. As a member of said industry, I have my fairly set in stone ideals on how things should be. Sure, I get completely disgusted with a lot of the crap that journalists do to get the story or to make someone cry, but it’s my right to turn off the TV or put down the newspaper (I refuse to watch Nancy Grace, Ann Curry and shows like Dateline and 48 Hours; they literally make me want to vomit). The Mr. just thinks that these people should be kicked in the pants and all their First Amendment rights revoked. He watches FoxNews and listens to Glen Beck.

But think about the family, he said.

The family doesn’t have to read the paper, I retorted. What if no news channels or newspapers or magazines reported anything about 9/11. That was gorey and graphic.

Yeah, but you didn’t see any of the gore, he said.

I watched people jumping out of a 110-story building to their deaths. I heard the sounds of people falling on the roof of the lobby of those buildings, I said referring to a documentary I watched.

But you didn’t see it.

Doesn’t matter. Don’t you think I can imagine what happened?

It’s different. It was national.

So what?!

What if it was one of your family members, he shot back.

No, I wouldn’t want something graphic printed about someone in my family, but they have a right to print the facts, I argued.

Well, they aren’t allowed on the scene anymore.

That’s fine. They don’t have to be allowed there, but they still have the right to print the facts.

Whatever, let’s just drop it.

Wow, I thought, an early concession. Right on! I’m getting better. Usually I’m the one who gives in because I get to the point where I don't even want to talk to him about what's for dinner.

And then it hit me. This one had become personal. He didn’t see a Jane Doe this time. He didn’t see just another accident victim. He saw me.

The stuff of headlines

2006-06-14T14:14:00.000-05:00

Having grown up in the funeral industry and now being married to it, death, dying, autopsies, embalming mishaps and all things related have long been typical meal-time conversation for me. I’m not squeemish, to say the least. At the dinner table, I can pretty much expect the same answer when I ask The Mr., “So, how was your day, honey?” It’s often a fairly detailed description of the extraordinary measures he had to take to embalm someone or the details of the cosmetics he used on someone who needed a little TLC.

Nothing shocks me really anymore. So and so committed suicide by doing “x” or a really young person just died of cancer or a heart attack. It’s just almost old hat for those things to be part of our daily conversation. Shop talk, really.

Take yesterday, for example. It was about 1 p.m. and The Mr. called to say he was on his way to the medical examiner’s office with a Jane Doe. A woman had crashed her car on one of the rural highways and was trapped under the dashboard. Although someone stopped to help, the car caught fire and there was nothing the bystander could do to save her. The Mr. was called out there primarily as a member of the County Coroner’s team (who happens to be his boss), but managed to also help as a member of the rural, volunteer fire department he belongs to.

“That’s terrible,” I repeated continually as he told me what happened and how they couldn’t identify the woman and were going to dispatch a highway patrolman to the home of the person the vehicle was registered to (whose birth year was 1925 and obviously wasn't the driver). Imagine finding out from a stranger that someone in your family had just died so tragically.

Although I know God has a plan, the tragic death of a person still upsets me. It certainly makes me value and treasure the lives of my family so much more.

So when The Mr. called last evening, which he often does before he comes home just to say hi or that he’s on his way, I really thought nothing of it.

“You’re never, never going to believe this,” he said in a way that I thought something funny might be coming.

“Really? What is it?” I said.

“They ID’d the woman who crashed her car.”

“Oh, yeah?” I said knowing now that it was not something funny and was likely going to be someone we knew or knew of.

“It was the daughter of the man we buried today. She was rushing to the funeral.”

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. That’s just terrible. Terrible,” was all I could muster.

Five Random Things

2006-06-12T12:22:00.000-05:00

Random thing No. 1: I finally painted the downstairs bathroom this weekend. And when I say finally, I mean it’s been half-painted for about a year. Let me just put the size of this bathroom in perspective for you: a regular-sized bathmat is just slightly too big to fit between the bottom of the commode and the pedestal of the sink. Yeah, took me about 20 minutes to paint the darn thing.

Random thing No. 2: I started using a pink pen for my log. For some reason, the other day I thought I ought to bring some color into my log. Maybe it will make me feel better about ugly numbers.

Random thing No. 3: When I first discovered that I love to write—which was in sixth grade, by the way—I used to keep a piece of paper with what I thought were good titles for books written on it. I remember it as one of those small, yellow, legal pads with titles like Castles Made of Sand and Why Me? Well, I have written another title down. It’s a pretty good one, actually. I’m not revealing it, though, in case someone else thinks it’s a good title and takes it for their book. I’m thinking it’ll be for my autobiography.

Random thing No. 4: I cleaned out the closet in my son’s room on Saturday. It was overflowing with gift bags and shirt boxes that I was saving for wrapping presents. I went through it with a when-was-the-last-time-I-used-that attitude and wound up getting rid of tons of stuff. I discovered that I have a really horrible habit of keeping old shoes. I used to keep the kids old shoes thinking that they would be good hand-me-downs, but I’ve decided that shoes are something we ought to get new. At least when we’re kids and our feet are growing at a marathon pace and we’re still learning to walk. So I put most of the kids’ old sneakers in a bag to give to one of the charities in town. I did, however, keep the big kids’ first pairs of shoes for sentimental reasons and some nice sandals that can be re-worn just fine.

Random thing No. 5: It is officially “deadline drought” season at work where we have no deadlines between approximately the end of April and the middle of July. This is the time when the field editors go searching for stories that will supply the magazine for the remainder of the year. However, for non-field-editors like me, this is a season that is both welcomed and shunned. It’s great to be able to catch up on stuff that had to be put on the back burner throughout the busy season, but it’s so, so easy to keep that stuff on the back burner and really take it easy for a while. The days can really drag during the summer.

Stop the presses! There’s a cure!

2006-06-09T08:59:00.000-05:00

According to the June issue of Prevention magazine, type 2 diabetics can be cured—that’s right, cured!—in just three weeks.

Here is the text of the article:

3-week diabetes cure

“Beating type 2 (T2D) by getting tough about your diet (and exercising) works better than drugs,” says researcher Christian Roberts PhD. In his small, controlled 3-week study at UCLA, 6 out of 13 overweight or obese men with T2D finished diabetes free, with normal blood sugar levels. How? With meals that were low in fat (12 to 15% of calories), moderate in protein (15 to 25%), and high in carbs (65 to 70%). Participants also walked 45 to 60 minutes a day. Eating low-fat foods and no refined carbs—absolutely no toaster pastries or brownies—was critical to their success, says Roberts, who predicts that sticking to the diet long-term may undo heart damage already started by earlier diabetes.

Obviously, my endocrinologist had his fingers crossed when he recited the hypocratic oath and is clearly in his profession to make money off people who aren’t self educated. Because surely, surely if there was a cure he—if not all the major TV networks—would have alerted me to it.

First of all, how in the world can 13 people be representative of a population of millions? Thirteen people doesn’t even represent my little town of 12,000. Furthermore, 6 out of 13 patients isn’t even HALF of the study participants. Six people! Six people he claims are now diabetes free. That’s a load of hog wash as my mother would say.

This is exactly the kind of crap that leads Americans to walk around with blinders on. Some poor sap is going to be diagnosed with type 2 diabetes and think, hmm, well in three weeks I’ll be cured if I just stick to Dr. Roberts’ plan. On day one after those three weeks is up, that guy will quit paying attention to his blood sugar levels—thinking that he's cured, remember—go on living the way he was pre-diagnosis.

I am willing to bet a large sum of money—and I’m about as poor as they get right now—that just one toaster pastry or brownie would send the blood sugar levels of those six people into orbit.

They’re not cured. They’re in control.

Vacation is so good for the soul

2006-06-06T09:12:00.000-05:00

In case you've been wondering where I disappeared to, the family and I took off to the desert for a week. Mom and Dad flew the crew to Phoenix where their dream home is. I took an extra day off yesterday hoping to get things together around the house, but instead I spent most of the day downloading the 200 pictures I took with my new digital SLR that Dad gave me. Took this beauty from Mom and Dad's backyard.

Sam I Am

2006-05-26T09:18:00.000-05:00

"I saw Sam the dog this morning," I said to The Mr. when I returned home from my walk this morning.

"Oh, really?" he said. I'm not sure he really knows who Sam the dog is, though. I mean, I think he knows that there's a dog named Sam that I occassionally see on my morning walks, but I'm not sure he really knows the significance of Sam the dog.

One morning last winter shortly after my diabetes diagnosis I was taking my morning walk. And since it was winter and somewhere between 5:30 a.m. and 6 a.m., it was still pitch black dark. I felt safe, but it's still dark and I'm still a woman walking by myself. It helped that I had a dog with me. Sure, he is pretty docile, but strangers don't know that.

Since I'm not quite a morning person and my walks tend to allow my mind to wander, I was off somewhere else when I hear the kind of yell that stops you in your tracks while simultaneously making you jump out of your skin: "SAM! NO! SAM! STOP!"

Well, Sam didn't stop, but I did. I turned and saw a large, black dog bolting toward me and Tanner. I was torn between wondering if this dog simply wanted to meet Tanner or was about to maul us. My heart was racing and my whole body got flush and tense in anticipation of an attack.

Turns out she just wanted to meet us. Sam is a big, black Lab who is well behaved when not on a leash, but when she sees another dog you can forget about it.

Tanner and I would see her frequently and I would talk to her person--sometimes her mom and sometimes her dad. The dogs would sniff and say hello and I would always pet Sam and say my hellos to her.

A few days after Tanner left, I saw Sam and her people walking quite a bit ahead of me. Sam, as usual, was being well behaved off her leash. I wanted her to see me, though, so she'd come and say hello, but she didn't.

This morning, just as my walk started, I saw Sam and her dad. I stopped while they crossed the street toward me and I practically mauled Sam saying hello. Her dad said something to Sam about me being alone today. I told him that Tanner had run away. We talked about Tanner and continued walking; I stopped at least once to turn around and love on Sam again.

Apparently I'm going through a little doggie withdrawal. Which I think is pretty clear from the dreams I've had the last two nights in which Tanner came home.

Turns out I am a dog person.

Finding my way without Tanner

2006-05-23T11:27:00.000-05:00

I felt truly naked on that first morning walk without Tanner.

He had gotten out before, but always come back fairly soon. I used to chase him down, but realized he was just going on our walking route, so I decided to let him come back on his own. Often, one of the police officers (all of whom know us well because we live across the street from the station) or a neighbor would guide him home.

He just loves to run, that's all. He's a lab/hound mix and Just. Loves. To. Run. He has worn a path around the house from literally running circles around it.

The Mr. is a dog person. I've always been a cat person. So, in the natural order of things, we had cats. But I started to feel like The Mr. was being left out of his love for dogs. So I put a plan in place to surprise him with a new pet, but then decided that he really ought to be involved in the process. So we did some research and found the perfect dog. He was at a shelter not far from our house and they had named him Cheez-It. Seriously.

In the scheme of things, this was not the ideal time to get a new dog. I had just had our second child and she was barely two months old. Nonetheless, I took both kids to the shelter in the middle of winter to meet Cheez-It. He had effectively been an outside dog his entire life. I asked questions about letting him be an inside dog, how he would act around cats and the myriad of other non-dog-having-mom-related questions. Several days later (after the shelter checked our references) The Mr. brought him home.

He was amazing. He was shy and timid around The Mr., but we quickly figured that he was likely abused as a puppy (this was based partly on the fact that he was adopted from said shelter as a puppy and returned when he was just six months old, and also based on his reaction to several normal situations he observed). He followed me around everywhere. He wanted to be in the room I was in, even if it was just for a matter of seconds. We started to joke that clearly, Tanner was my dog, not my husband's.

He took well to the kennel, loved being inside, got along great with the cats and the kids. I had no problems leaving him in the same room with the baby on the floor; I never worried about him. He loved to wrestle with The Mr. and the kids. He would get down on the floor and stretch his legs toward the wrestlers and throw his head around and howl ever so slightly. He was playing too and we all knew it.

And he loved to take walks with me in the mornings. Ironically, one day last week while we were walking I was thinking that I ought to put his collar and ID back on him. I'm not exactly sure why it came off, actually. He probably got a bath and the collar just stayed off. I'm not even sure where it is.

So when The Mr. called last Thursday to say that Tanner had gotten out while he was mowing the lawn, I thought "well, he'll be back." But when I got home after work and he still hadn't returned, I began to worry. He never stayed gone this long. I was lost, really. I didn't know what to do, but held out hope that he would be standing at the front door waiting for me by the time I was ready for my walk on Friday morning. (I almost took his leash with me just so I could feel him near me.)

But Friday came and went, as did the weekend and now it's Tuesday and Tanner is still gone. I looked in the paper for any announcements of a found dog. Nothing. I drove down the street where I thought he might have gone. Nothing. And in a true sign of defeat, I put a flyer up on the community bulletin board at the nearest grocery store. I honestly expected there to be a message on the machine yesterday when I got home. But, nothing.

My gut tells me that he's with someone and not smushed on the side of the road somewhere. My gut tells me that someone recognized that he's a kept dog (he was wearing a body harness) and is trying to keep him safe. My gut tells me that he's inside someone's house. My gut tells me he feels like he's in jail (or is that just me feeling helpless?).

Part of me thinks he'll come back, part of me doesn't. The Mr. said that if he doesn't come back in the next couple of weeks that we'll get another dog. But I'm not sure I'm ready for that. He's too much a part of me and this family to simply replace on a whim. (I think The Mr. is trying to help me fill a void.) How will we ever find The Perfect Dog again?

I've lost pets to death before, but never literally lost one. Where do I put this?

2006-05-17T15:47:00.000-05:00

It's taken me just over a year, but I'm finally so pissed off at diabetes that I want to slam it into a wall and beat the living daylights out of it. I can just imagine repeatedly punching it in the stomach, cocking my arm all the way back to Texas and ramming it into D's nose, grabbing it by the ears and repeatedly pounding its head into the wall until blood just spews from its head. I feel so hollow and like I'm drowning and suffocating at the same time. I want to scream and cry uncontrollably and get a snotty face and hyperventilate until I purge this thing from my body. I hate it I hate it I hate it. And I want it to be gone.

I know I'm not the only one out there who feels like this from time to time. How do you deal with it? Right now, I want to eat a fast food restaurant followed by a Baskin Robbins. Then I think I'd like a good cry followed by a nap. And then I think I'd like to do it all over again tomorrow.

You really can't go home again

2006-05-16T20:29:00.000-05:00

My parents have sold their house. They closed yesterday. *insert big, sad sigh here.*

This is the house I grew up in. The house I snuck out of when I was 15, and subsequently got caught sneaking out of (but only once or twice). The house where I made love to my husband for the first time. The house I saw morph into an elegant work of art. The house I always thought I'd be able to go back to.

I can't bring myself to take the keys off my key ring.

Their new condo won't be home. It just won't. It will just be this place where they live. Yeah, all their furniture is there, but it's not home. Going home won't mean the same thing anymore. I'll always identify that house as home. I imagine in five years I'll drive by and wonder who lives there (The Mr. and I still drive by the first, dinky 720-sq.ft. house we ever owned and we haven't lived there in almost five years). In 10 years I'll walk up to the door and ask if I can come in. I'll look at my old room and remember playing with Barbie on the window sill and listening to the radio with the window open. I'll remember staying up late writing on my typewriter slash computer, and marking the days on the calendar that my boyfriend and I made love.

And when I leave, although I have my own home where my family is making its own memories, I'll still be in mourning. Mourning the drive up the tree-lined hill that always made me feel so happy. Mourning the way I always skipped down the front steps, the familiar creaking of the floor boards, scoping out the neighborhood from that second-floor window. Mourning the comfort it gave me when pets died, when I trashed Mom's car on the way to high school graduation, spending every Christmas Eve in front of the fireplace and during weekend visits from college. The mourning of an era.

A sort of kidism

2006-05-16T09:24:00.000-05:00

My daughter, who loves, loves, loves sweets (just like her momma) said to me the other night as she was eating birthday cake (her daddy's!) and ice cream in one of those something's wrong voices:
"Mom, my ice cream's cold."

I officially hate this @$%&* disease!

2006-05-15T13:12:00.000-05:00

I don't know what took me so long, frankly, but The Big D finally broke me.

I'm so exasperated at doing everything right and getting the most bizaare numbers and being surprised by high numbers.
*Normal fasting, normal breakfast, normal post-breakfast reading, normal snack, normal lunch, wacked out post-lunch reading.

I'm tired of going low two days in a row for no apparent reason.
*See aforementioned normal, normal, wacked out rant. Someone needs to tell my pancreas that a 140 reading at 4 p.m. does not constitute an eat-a-handful-of-Skittles low at 6 p.m., and that a Kudos "granola bar" laden with chocolate and sugar at 2 p.m. does not warrant an eat-three-cookies-from-the-Great-American-Cookie-Co. low at 5 p.m.!

I'm sick and tired of testing my sugar three times with the same drop of blood and getting three different readings.
*Today's post lunch readings: 183, 204, 187. (None of which made ANY sense at all seeing as I had no snack this morning and a normal lunch. My only guess is that I'm still hanging on to some birthday cake from last night, but that's another post for another day. A 9 a.m. meeting got in the way of my post-breakfast reading.)

I'm tired of being hungry all the time.
*Today's lunch consisted of a sandwich on extra fiber bread and a rather large salad--my typical lunch. I feel as if I haven't eaten all day--my typical day. I hate knowing that I will stop for a snack when I leave to go feed the baby even though I've already had a granola bar (the good kind, not a Kudos).

I'm tired of having to get up at 5 a.m. because that's the only time of day I can find to exercise. (I'm not tired, however, of actually exercising because I quite like that.)
*Averaging six hours of sleep a night really makes me crabby.

I'm tired of feeling low when I'm actually not.
*The shakes have Got. To. Go!

Interview meme

2006-05-11T13:05:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Julia, I've done a thorough review of my brain to come up with answers to her questions. Sorry it took so long, but I had to do a lot of digging for this one!

1. Pretend you're stranded on a desert island. You already have shelter, water, batteries, an abundant food supply that doesn't revolve around coconuts and even a cabana boy/girl to minister to your, erm, needs. However, you need some intellectual entertainment. Give me your top five desert island: books, movies, albums (NOT compilations of your own making) and tell me why these make the cut.
Books: I don’t read books much, which bothers me, but nonetheless I do actually read. Instead of books, I would like a steady supply of short stories. Lately, I’ve found myself drawn to The Georgia Review. I also really, really, really like Lorrie Moore. She’s witty and I can relate to many of her characters. Furthermore, magazines, even back issues, would be great. Time, Newsweek, Parents.
Movies: Shawshank Redemption (perseverance, triumph), Steel Magnolias (just cuz I like it), Coal Miner’s Daughter (just cuz I really like it and like the actors), Terms of Endearment (great introspective into mother-daughter relationship. And cuz I really like it). I need a funny movie, too. Geez, these are all tear jerkers. I cracked up watching Fun with Dick and Jane, so I’ll go with that one (hilarious, especially the ackowledgements, and gave me some ideas as to what The Mr. and I can do if we ever get that desperate).
Albums: Air Supply (can sing every song), Pink Floyd's The Wall (just cuz I really like it), Billy Joel's greatest hits double album, a Garth Brooks album that I would have to blindly choose since I like all of them, and some other country album that I would have to blindly choose since I like country so much.

2. Now, pretend you won the lottery. It's a huge amount, although not sickeningly huge. After you've given away your chunk to charity, paid off all your bills, set up savings/trust funds for kids and self and given money to deserving family and friends, you're left with $5 million, which you must use to build a house. Where would it be? What would it look like? Tell me how you'd furnish it and then describe your first party there.
Well, The Mr. and I have an agreement that if we ever have $1 million in the bank at one time that we’ll pack up and move to Colorado. I’ve never been there, but he loves it. So, we’d build a house in Colorado somewhere. It would have a mountain view and definitely a lake, creek, or small river. It would be one of those new-fangled log “cabins” that’s actually more like a mansion that happens to be built out of rather large logs, aka big, fat trees. There would be abundant trees and it would require either a very long walk or a short drive to our nearest neighbor. I would furnish it ruggedly. I’m a practical person as it is, so I’d go with practical furniture that would fit well with a family. No museum pieces, please. And I think earth tones with rich, dark highlights. Nothing country, nothing floral, absolutely nothing overly girly.
The party: family and friends, probably pot luck, nothing fancy.

3. If you could have dinner with five people from history, living or dead, who would they be? What about five fictional characters? What would you serve at each dinner?
These questions are always hard for me to answer because while I admire a lot of people, there are very few that I would crawl over myself to be in the company of.
Excluding people I can already have dinner with like my parents, my husband and my kids…
Real people: Maya Angelou—perhaps I could absorb her talent; Dorothea Lange and Annie Leibovitz—again, hoping to absorb talent; the aforementioned Lorrie Moore. Although I met and spoke with her in college I think now that I’m older and not so intimidated by folks who are better than I would be a much more appropriate time to actually pick her brain.
Fictional characters: the first and only fictional character that comes to mind is Murphy Brown. She’s real, she’s a journalist, she seems practical and is no holds barred.
For each dinner, I would somehow find out what type of food or what specific dish that person likes and try to make that. I would have something chocolate, of course, for dessert.

4. Describe your least favourite and best characteristics.
Least favorite characteristics: I’m self-conscious to a fault, I’m very hard on myself (which can be good and bad), I’m a binge eater, I tend to be controlling and anal-retentive (again with the good and bad thing).
Best characteristics: I’m a great friend, I’m very thoughtful, I’m passionate, I can usually see both sides of an issue, I’m frugal.

5. And finally, answer James Lipton's Ten Questions: (And I don't want to hear that this is cheating. It's MY interview, I'll ask what I want. So there.)
What is your favorite word? Right now, I think it’s “sweet”
What is your least favorite word? hate
What turns you on? strength
What turns you off? whininess, indecisiveness
What is your favorite curse word? Probably sh*t or crap. I don’t know. I use a lot of curse words.
What sound or noise do you love? rain
What sound or noise do you hate? Fingernails scratching a hard surface like a chalkboard or a wall
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Nursing--delivering babies.
What profession would you not like to do? Trash hauling, although I hear they make incredible salaries.
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? I love you. You lead a good life and did exactly what I wanted you to do.

Here are the instructions: Leave me a comment saying “interview me.” The first five commenters will be the participants.I will respond by asking you five questions.You will update your blog/site with the answers to the questions.You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

A heavy burden

2006-05-02T16:21:00.000-05:00

The Mr. and I had one of those moments over the weekend that only spouses can have. I said something along the lines of "You better remember this when I'm 90 and you have to take care of me." He joked about the state of us when I'm 90 and, without thinking really, I said, "I hope I live to 90."

And then it just hung there. Those words--I hope I live to 90--had only ever meant geez I hope I don't croak from old age before then. Post diabetes, those words have so much more depth. My fate is now in my hands, so to speak. It's not like contemplating the immediate effect of your actions: I step off the curb at the wrong time and I get hit by a car, so be careful or you'll get hit by a car. It's contemplating that Twix bar I ate last night and my subsequent 150 fasting blood sugar: how many minutes/hours/days did I take off the end of my life for that? It's so far in the future that it's easy to push aside.

But as a PWD and a professional procrastinator, I have realized that I have to set a good example for my children, who one day I dread will inherit this fateful disease as it runs rampant on my mother's side. They know that I get up way before they do to go for my "morning walk," and they know that too much sugar and fat are not good for anyone's bodies. In fact, the last time we went to McDonald's my six year old asked to not have french fries because there is too much fat in them (isn't he great?!). I hope that by showing them a healthy lifestyle, diabetes will never be a part of their lives. And IF it does become part of their lives aside from what they already deal with from me, that they'll be able to live well past 90 because I was able to give them a solid foundation.

Truckin’

2006-04-28T12:26:00.000-05:00

I’m on an exercise streak of sorts. Ok, so it’s only been two days, but it’s two days of waking up at 5 a.m. to do this. I’ve always said that if I don’t exercise first thing in the morning, it won’t happen. Well, after the baby was born I just couldn’t get up early enough to do it. A week or so ago I walked two days in a row in the evening. Just didn’t do it for me the way my morning walks have. Sort of sets the tone for the day instead of erasing what I did all day.

The good thing is that now I’m itching for it. I had to force myself out of bed this morning, but once I was up and walking it felt so good. It’ll be hard to work it in this weekend (my husband works this weekend and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna get up early just for a walk on a Saturday), but I’m determined to walk at least one day this weekend, if not both. I used to allow myself to skip one day a week, but I think if I skip a day so soon into this that it’ll be easier for me to not be consistent.

I love the effects of my walks. In addition to some me-time (so what if I have to get up at 5 a.m. to have alone time, right?!) I’m moving faster, I’m more focused, I feel better all around. And my blood sugar rocks to boot! Yesterday, my fasting was 100, went to 92 after my walk and I was 105 two hours post. I actually went low yesterday right before lunch. I was 66. Hadn’t been that low in quite a while. (Lowest I’ve ever recorded is 57. Didn’t even have symptoms until I checked, but that’s a post for another day.)

Today’s numbers: 114 fasting (had Sonic for dinner), 86 after my walk and 78 two hours post (woo hoo!). I had a snack at the two hour mark to avoid a low and another snack about an hour and a half after that (hungry!). Two snacks, but neither was chocolate. Go me!

I’m really pushing myself hard, too. Not letting me ease into this at all. Read: no shortcuts on the route, no walking slow. I’m so spent when I get home, but feeling the effects of a good stretch afterwards and seeing such good numbers AND finally feeling like I have some discipline and self control just make it all worth it.

I sort of on purpose started in the middle of the week. I didn’t want to have to muddle through five days of getting up early and then hating myself for skipping a day. This way, I’ve done it twice, and feel great and want to continue over the weekend. All good makeup for keeping it up Monday morning.

Won’t be long and I’ll be able to ease off on some of this insulin, I suspect. Right now, I’m at 15 units of Lantus. Which isn’t much, but it is considering I was taking 20 units when I was pregnant. I’ve always had a little guilt about that, although I’ve read some other folks saying that breastfeeding actually increased their insulin resistance. I hope I’m in that camp.

Wow, this is a pretty boring post, but just wanted to share my walking streak with the D world. Could use some virtual cheerleaders to keep me going…!

Living the retirement life

2006-04-20T22:01:00.000-05:00

I must admit to a small amount of teasing when Mom and Dad began living the epitome of retirement: driving from their home in St. Louis to their home in a retirement community in Phoenix in an old RV and joining the 40s and 50s Club to "meet young people" among other novelties.

Then there were the rock shows. And I'm not talking about Paul Anka. There was so much rock collecting and rock polishing that I even gave Dad a book about rocks for Christmas. He loved it.

So when Mom told me that I needed to find out my right-hand-ring size because they were making me a ring in one of their classes I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. I thought that was pretty cool, but kind of put it out of my mind, really. I had a note on my desk for several weeks reminding me to find out my ring size, but I just never got to it. I guess, honestly, I didn't take the ring very seriously. (Bad me!)

Earlier this week, Dad said he had put the ring in the mail. He had meant to give it to me last time we saw each other, but he forgot. I was excited to see it and so incredibly flattered.

So when this amethyst (my birth stone) beauty showed up, I couldn't wait to show it off! I quickly took pictures of it this morning so I could put it on the Web and literally show the world. I e-mailed pictures to friends and showed it off to everyone at work, all of whom said in awe, "Your Dad made this?"

"Yeah," I said. "Isn't it cool?"

Today's Kidism

2006-04-12T17:59:00.000-05:00

And how 'bout that...it's Wednesday.

My three year old: Mom, what are we having for dinner?
Me: Um, I think I'm going to make toasted ravioli.
My three year old: Well, I just want ravioli without any toast in it.

I hope you know...this means war!

2006-04-11T12:29:00.000-05:00

I'm living by the book today. Meaning, I checked my fasting sugar (94!); then ate breakfast; ate nothing until I checked at 2 hours post (125!); then had one--just ONE--snack of a granola bar; didn't eat again until lunchtime, which was an hour ago; and won't eat again for another hour although I still feel terribly hungry; I will have one--just ONE--snack and I won't stop for a king-size Twix when I leave to feed the baby today; I will have a decent dinner and I won't snack before dinner; and I won't snack after dinner although I know I'll still feel terribly hungry all day.

See, my favorite pants are getting a little snug. As I was sitting on the couch last night snuggling with the baby at 8 p.m., still dressed in my work clothes, I said "I need to take my pants off." To which my husband replied, "That's the best thing you've said all day." Chuckle, chuckle. Anyway. I've been here before. I watch my clothes get smaller and my waist get bigger and instead of inspiring me to eat less, I actually eat more.

So I'm trying to be proactive. Last week I walked two days in a row and it felt so good. So good. I have already told myself that I WILL walk tonight. I will get hot and sweaty and I will really have to convince myself to go because I have a ton of other stuff to do, but I WILL walk tonight.

I just can't figure out this constant hunger issue I'm having. I know I need extra calories because I'm still breastfeeding, but I feel like no matter how much I eat it's not enough. And often I can hold it together most of the day, but by mid- to late afternoon I lose it and eat everything in sight and still feel ridiculously hungry. It's a strange hunger feeling, too. It's not like a high blood sugar hunger. It's just this hollow, mildly hungry feeling. Like I need a snack to hold me over the next hour until my next meal. But when I have that snack, it's like I never ate it. I'm just never satisfied.

Anyway. So I'm hoping to whip myself back into shape mentally by not letting myself eat so much today. Hopefully my favorite pants won't be so tight after a few weeks of this.

I'm inspired

2006-04-05T12:18:00.000-05:00

Inspired by Photo Friday and Tuesday Tidbits, I have decided to implement my own come-back-and-see-me ploy: Kidisms. I may eventually make this a regular, say, Wednesday feature, but for the time being it will be random as I have difficulty predicting when my children will say the cutest thing ever.

So, today's kidisms:
"I'm going to the restaurant, Mom." --my three year old on the way to the "restroom" this morning.

"I have a horse to see a man about." --my six year old randomly at dinner the other night.

The need for conformity

2006-04-04T12:54:00.000-05:00

Something's been bothering me lately. As I delve deeper into the diabetes community, I'm finding that some people are keeping their disease a secret. Not from everyone necessarily, but from most people. And not like a dirty little secret, but something more personal. Which it certainly is; however, something that should be shared. I don't go parading my disease around like a medal, but I certainly don't keep it to myself.

Case in point: Two weeks ago, I traveled with some co-workers to our main office. First, four of us drove two hours to the nearest airport where we flew another two hours (after waiting on the tar mack for almost 90 minutes while the plane was de-iced, but that's another story entirely) for a spring planning meeting. I was the designated driver, and as soon as my three colleagues joined me, I immediately told them where my candy was and informed the new one that I was diabetic (two of them already knew). To me, this is common sense. Sure, I was wearing a medic ID bracelet, but how much better was it for all of us for me to just put that out there and let people know the quickest route to combating a low?

I felt like I had people in my corner watching out for me the entire trip. They knew I needed to eat and to take care of myself. But they were responsible enough to let me be responsible for myself. They just kept it in the backs of their minds in case something happened. Like, a car accident or a pass-out low. They would then know, they could tell the right people 'Hey, she's got diabetes.'

Furthermore, I believe that by telling people about my life we can learn from each other. Maybe I don't want it to come up in a job interview, but I'm not going to get bent out of shape if it does. As I posted several months ago, my sitter's husband had recently been diagnosed with Type 2. I believe I was able to help him with a number of food choices and overall diabetes awareness and education. I believe I helped this man. Had I not been open about my own personal health, chances are we never would have discussed his diabetes. I don't think I saved his life, but I certainly offered him more information than he already had. AND, he felt comfortable enough to start asking me questions.

So, I'm not just bothered by this, I think I'm actually concerned about the well-being of my fellow PWD. Not just your physical self, but your mental self. I understand the desire to be normal and to Just. Not. Have. To. Deal. With. This. Stinking. Disease. But I also understand the therapy involved in talking. There have been plenty of times I've talked a friend or my child or my husband through something that I have never been through. And that talk helps both of us. May even help me down the road when I actually do encounter that situation.

I'm concerned about the why behind keeping it quiet. Why do we have to make it such a big deal? Why can't we just lay it all on the line and let people know what we're going through?

Another case in point: I am also a person with depression. And I'm not afraid to tell anyone that fact about me either. There is such a stigma attached to depression. But the more we talk about it and the more we let the world know that it's OK to be different, the more people who need it will get the help they need. (The more we tell Tom Cruise to shove it, the better the world will be.)

Depression and diabetes are part of me. They are part of what makes me me. They don't define me. It's my sense of humor, my passion, my work ethic and my desires in addition to diabetes and depression that define me. And I'm not ashamed of any of it.

What about you? How do you define yourself?

Quotes that rule me lately

2006-03-30T12:18:00.000-06:00

From Forrest Gump:
"Mama, what's my destiny?"

From Scrubs:
"Sometimes the best way to lose something is to want it too bad."

Cleaning Up

2006-03-28T15:45:00.000-06:00

I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve posted, but it’s simply a reflection of how ridiculously busy I’ve been at work and home. So here are a few of my thoughts over the past (eek!) two weeks.

Not what I expected: I flew for the first time post-diabetes last week. I have flown since Sept. 11, but not much compared to how much I used to fly. I asked my fellow diabetic mommies what I needed to be prepared for in terms of going through security with needles, took out plenty of breastmilk from the freezer, and tried to think of anything that would fall into Murphy’s Law.

I made it through security on the way out with no issues. I was happy to not have had to explain why I was carrying syringes with me. On the way home, though, as I stuck the breastpump through the security x-ray, the man looking at the monitor said: “Ma’am is this a C4 pack?” I swear he said C4. And I thought, but of course, because I always travel with explosives. I think the mere mention of the word “breast” set this poor old man off because he quickly sent me on my way.

The Lesson: I’ve never tested well. Especially not standardized tests. I will grudgingly admit to earning a 720 combined on my SATs and a 19 and a 21 on the ACTs. Despite those terribly awful scores, I was a very good student; my GPA climbed each semester in high school and college. However, as I mentioned, I’ve never tested well.

We made this point very, very clear to all of the college counselors we met with. My high school counselor got a special call from Butler University telling me I had made it in thanks to my written essay, and I’m sure in part to our persuasiveness and explanation of poor testing skills.

So, several weeks ago, after sending a mass mailing to publishers in Missouri looking for freelance copy editing and proofreading work, I got a bite. I was thrilled! I was to go to an FTP site and take, you guessed it, a proofreading test. I really thought nothing of it. I was certain I would ace it. I was so certain, in fact, that it was quite a blow to my ego when I barely got 83% on the test. I could have kicked myself. If I averaged 83% at my job as a copy editor and proofreader, there’s no way I would still be employed here. But these tests are designed to make you fail. They’re designed to find out where your weakness is. Mine is taking tests.

I took a shot in the dark and asked the company to give me a second chance, going so far as to tell them to send me their toughest, nastiest challenge just so I could prove to them that I was better than a B-. After several agonizing days, the answer was no. That, coupled with spelling “editor” wrong on my address labels for that entire mailing, sent me a clear message: No. 1, stress is really no good for me; and No. 2, even the best of us makes mistakes, so I must pay better attention even when I think something’s a cinch.

The fury of Mother Nature

2006-03-14T10:40:00.000-06:00

After Hurricane Katrina blew over the Gulf, I started asking myself this question: If I had, say, 10 minutes to leave my house and take with me whatever I wanted, what would I take with me? What are my most prized possessions? This, of course, ensuring that my family was already safe.

I would take pictures. I've always loved photography and I love to take pictures (my husband used to tell me that I should just wear the camera around my neck all day) and it's important to me to have a record of our lives. So, I would take pictures. I even thought about how I would get all those photo albums out of my house because they can be pretty heavy and cumbersome, you know. I would put them in every suitcase I can find. And I frequently back up my digitals on CD, so I would make sure to grab those, too.

Grabbing all those albums crossed my mind on Sunday afternoon as I stood in the living room with the baby strapped into The Ultimate Baby Wrap, and the big kids standing in front of the door hanging on to a teddy bear and a baby doll. With a super cell and possible tornado bearing down on us in our 120-year-old house, we figured the brick and cinderblock fire station across the street was a better hide out.

As my husband grabbed a battery-powered radio, a flashlight and his firefighting gear (in case the house blew away and he was called to help), I stood there clutching my purse, my diabetes supplies, and a diaper bag with one change of clothes for the baby and enough diapers to maybe get us through the night (in case the house blew away). I momentarily thought WAIT! I want those photo albums. But we walked out the door with all that was really important to us and I quietly mourned for a loss yet to come.

We and the house are fine, by the way. But some other folks in our area weren't so lucky.

What would you take with you?

And the magic number is...

2006-03-10T15:40:00.000-06:00

My A1C was checked yesterday for the first time in a year. Last year at this time it was 7 and yesterday it was 5.9! I'm so psyched. I have a feeling that it was even lower during my pregnancy, but I can get back there.

So my first-ever appointment went very well. The doctor and his nurse seemed surprised that 1) I had essentially referred myself there (no doctor told me I should go) and 2) that I had every last blood sugar I ever recorded with me. Again, pretty proud of myself on both of those counts. He checked my feet, asked me if I had any pain, blah, blah, blah. We discussed alternative treatments, although he prefaced with saying that "what you're doing isn't broken." He suggested going on orals, even though I said I didn't think that was approved for breastfeeding women. He checked, and the one drug (Glucophage, I think) he was thinking about was considered "probably safe" for breastfeeding women.

A lot of what we discussed will essentially be up for consideration when I'm no longer breastfeeding. It was nice, though, that he took the time to go through some of that stuff. He seemed to take a very laid back and open approach to me and my diabetes. And I was happy in a way that I wasn't scolded for my hefty eating.

He did, however, sort of leave some decisions up to me whether or not I wanted to change to orals. I told him I was there for his opinion, that I would do what he thought was right for me. So we discussed my problem areas (fasting, post-breakfast and insatiable appetite most likely due to breastfeeding) and changed my Lantus regime slightly. Instead of splitting my dose, I now take one whopping dose in the evenings. Our hope is that it will help with my fasting and post-breakfast reading.

My follow up isn't until July, which makes me feel more confident that he thinks I'm doing a good job. I told Mom last night that I felt like I sort of wanted him to be harder on me because I did admit to not-so-good eating choices. But then I realized that he probably wants me to realize that I need to change those habits for myself and not because someone tells me to. And, it's possible that I'm being a little too hard on myself. I have a way of doing that.

So, I've been on a high all day from my fabuous A1C results!

Today's the day

2006-03-09T09:21:00.000-06:00

I meet with my first-ever endocrinologist today. I'm excited, actually. I'm not entirely sure why, though. I think it has something to do with the fact that I was in such tight control and accountable to so many people during my pregnancy and now I'm only accountable to myself really. So I think that's one reason I'm excited to see him. I gathered every last blood sugar reading I ever recorded to bring with me. I know he's not really going to care less what my post-breakfast reading was on October 4, 2005, but I'm bringing the records anyway. Partly because I'm proud I still have them, partly because I'm proud of how far I've come. Looking back, in the beginning I had some pretty high fastings (248, 212, 152) and some pretty high post-meal readings (269, 224, 230). Throughout my pregnancy, though, I was 98% in range. I was always, always under 90 fasting and most of the time under 120 post-meals. Often, under 100 post-meals.

I'm also fairly scared. I have more or less fallen off the diabetes wagon lately. I'd say I'm about 70% to 80% in control, but I fudge enough that I really worry what my A1C is. I keep thinking, though, that it can't be much worse than 7, which is what it was a year ago when I was diagnosed. At that point, I didn't care at all what I was eating. Now, however, at least I'm good 70% to 80% of the time. Still, I'm not nearly as diligent nor in control as I was even just four months ago. I think in the back of my mind I'm hoping that this doctor will give me one of those looks and make me take ownership of what I've done and make me realize that I can't go back to living the way I was pre-diabetes.

I'll really only have one question for him, but it is a big'un...my post-breakfast readings are going way too far up. I can't figure out if it's some kind of insulin resistance or if my body is somehow reacting to all the crap I eat at night. Will have to ask about breastfeeding too. I've never breastfed almost exclusively. I breastfed my older two children, but when I went back to work I wasn't able to pump and therefore only breastfed the kids when I was at home. This time, though, I pump at work and leave to feed the baby. I know that has something to do with my insatiable appetite, which is making me eat almost everything in sight. Hopefully, he'll have some suggestions for that. My CDE has mentioned putting me back on Novolog, but I really don't think that's necessary. I don't know, maybe the doctor will agree.

Anyway. I'll have plenty up update on tomorrow.

The only constant is change

2006-03-07T13:53:00.000-06:00

And you'll notice that my blog has changed. This is the third time, yes, third time, that I've changed the outward appearance of my blog. I guess I get bored easily.