A Stick In The Spokes

Jessica and Brendon have neighbor friends who are brother and sister as well. They are the perfect pair of pairs and we often trade houses to play at.

Today it was our turn to host and all was going well, until Diabetes came out to play. He wasn't invited, but we weren't given much of a choice.

While the wheels of play were turning smoothly, D decided to grab a stick and jab it in the spokes causing Brendon to get tripped up.

Brendon and his friend, B, made up a contest to see who would get to the whiffle ball first in order to determine whose turn it was to use the catcher's mitt. Brendon had lost. He has been a sore loser many a time and comes around after a mini lesson in how to lose gracefully, but this time he lost control and wouldn't listen to reason.

I assumed he was low and so I checked him. And I was right. He couldn't get a grip on his temper, so I had to send him to his room to calm down after I treated him with juice.

B's sister got upset at seeing Brendon get so out of control and wanted to go home. B said he would stay until Brendon was ready to come down, but I told him he should go home too because by the time Brendon was ready to play again, it would be time to leave anyway.

When B was leaving, he said to give the catcher's mitt to Brendon. Nothing touched me more than that gesture. He knew that Brendon wasn't feeling well and he knew it would make Brendon feel better to borrow the mitt for a day.

Wow, I am just absolutely in awe of the compassion B had exhibited. When we return the mitt on Wednesday, I'll have to tell his mom she's got an amazing young man.

The Trick To Keeping A Piece Of Childhood

It's warm yet comfortable. Early in the summer evening. I'm watching over salmon and marinated cauliflower on the grill while Jessica calls to me to watch her on the swing. She's about to perform an astounding stunt and I watch with bated breath as she begins to swing...starting from a dead stop. To her that is something to be noted and remarked upon by mom. So I call to her saying it was a great trick...what a super job she did.

Jakey is on his brother's hand-me-down bicycle riding round and round in circles teetering left to right on training wheels. I ask him to do a stunt. He sticks out his tongue. To have to take your mind off of pedaling the bicycle and command your brain to stick the tongue out is a serious deal to a four year old still trying to develop his sense of agility. I clap and tell him that was so dangerous. He smiles proudly.

Brendon is practicing his bat swing. Batting gloves, aluminum bat, flip flops shoving socks between his toes, he's ready to rock and roll. He asks mom to pitch to him. I plate the fish and vegetable and get myself situated on the lawn. I wind up for the pitch, and throw. He swings and misses. Soon though, he hits a line drive, nearly knocking my block off. My mom mode disappears, and in it's place, my tomboyish ways arrive. They haven't been around since the early 80's and need a bit of time to get oriented. Soon those tomboy instincts take over as I wade through the brush and bramble in the woods bordering our yard and search for the lost baseball. I find a volleyball and finally the baseball and make my way out with both.

Jess and Jake want to join in, so we take turns throwing, catching, pitching, hitting while dinner gets cold on the kitchen counter.

Instead of being a mom and calling them in to dinner, I'm out there in the thick of it and there is no place I'd rather be. But, Jess, and Jake fight over who gets to bat and they give chase into the house. No need to call them in now.

Brendon and I make our way inside. We all sit down and eat our meal. And I'm happy I managed to keep a little piece of my childhood that I could take out and use on a relaxing summer evening.

I Lived Through It

OK, I'm satisfied with my segment on dLife. Three hours worth of filming yielded 2 minutes worth of showtime. And thankfully Brad the cameraman knew how to make it all look good.

It was definitely an experience and one that I'd do again if asked.

Who Knew Candy At Midnight Was So Good For You

I had a chance to meet Lea and her son Noah yesterday. Pretty much whatever she wrote is what I was going to write.

But let me add that I was REALLY happy to meet them both. When I first came upon Lea's blog (through Penny's) I felt like I was reading what I, myself, wrote and felt that certain connection when you can really relate to what's being written.

She and I talked on the phone to set up a place and time and had a great, fun conversation, so I was excited that we would have a good meet.

I wasn't disappointed. She was easy to talk to, she has the kind of humor I appreciate, and we both shared things that no other mom we knew could share with each other. It was good that the connection through the blogs carried through to us speaking in person.

Now, Noah is a real character (he does an awesome Oprah impression declaring her friendship with John Travolta). I love him. He and Brendon got along seamlessly and as Lea described on her blog, the squeal that came out of him when he discovered that Brendon has the same Cozmo (right down to the color) was hysterical. He and Brendon got such a kick out of it. And Noah was more than willing to demonstrate how the meter works that he has connected to the pump. We have it too, but just never got around to using it. Now Brendon is hammering us to get it hooked up so he can use it too.

Another thing is that Noah keeps his pump in his pocket. You all know the issue we had (written in a recent post) about Brendon not wanting to use a pump pack anymore. Well, after seeing where Noah keeps it, we took off his pack right then and there and he popped his pump into his pocket. (NOTE TO PENNY: The pockets will be in definite use for the lighter fabric shorts, pants, pajamas...and Lea is interested in using them as well).

I thought we got along well enough to suggest to Lea that she and I should get out for a "mom's night out" and that the boys should get together more often.

I was honored to meet them and hope they will become friends that we can see more often.

Mr. Foot Long Hot Dog Inventor

Bud Light has a two series of radio spots called "Real Men of Genius" and "Real American Heroes". Everytime I hear one I laugh like a loon (to steal a description from Kerri) and I always look forward to hearing a new one.

I found a website that collected all the spots where you can listen to them. Click here.
In the meantime, watch this clip I found on Youtube. Apparently they've filmed commercials as well:

The Winds of Change

Brendon had an endo appointment today and with all of the worry about his high numbers lately, he managed to come out with a 7.6 A1C (up from a 7.4). I was hoping at best for an 8 because I thought he'd be higher. Whew....

Since his last visit (over 3 mos. ago), he's grown 1 3/4" and gained 5 pounds. Since he weighs too much, we now have to cut back his carb intake and bring it down from 290 grams per day to 250 grams....and completely cut out fast food (no brainer).

From day one we've dosed him after he eats because at 2 1/2 years old, he wouldn't eat everything we served him. But now at a strapping 7 yrs old, he DOES eat everything, so the endo suggested we dose and correct him before he eats.

The endo asked if we'd be interested in swapping a CGMS with a few other families. Of course we're jumping at the opportunity. I guess we'll find out more about it down the road.

I haven't gone to an appointment in about a year as Jeff always takes him, but I feel like the appointments are like Parent/Teacher conferences where the teacher (endo) gives her impression of how the student (parents) have performed. As a child I was such a cut up that I'd go to bed (at about 6 p.m.) and pretend I was sleeping before my parents got home with bad news. But they'd always come back with rave reviews about my behavior and school work performance. So with the endo appointments, I always expect a bad evaluation from the endo, but it always comes out good.

What a relief!

This Isn't How It Was Supposed To Go

I've just corrected Brendon. He was a 278 at 11:00 p.m. I checked him at 8:00 because he said he felt low. He was a 135. Brendon has been complaining he feels low for the past few nights at 8:00. And each time I check him, he's been fine. But when I check at around 10 or 11, he's in the 200's. So we have to raise his basal rate.

Today we were interviewed by a reporter about us being on dLife. Apparently it's a big deal that a family in a little New Hampshire town is going to be on national TV.

Brendon says, "First we're on TV, now the newspapers are coming to our house. Next we'll be in the movies."

When I was being interviewed by the reporter, I began to tell her about when I was in the waiting area at Children's letting a newly turned 1 year old Jessica run around after midnight while nurses were wrestling Brendon down trying to get an I.V. in his arm.

I got to the part where Jeff came out to get me and brought me back to Brendon who was once again laying in a dead heap on the gurney.

My throat tightened and my voice faltered and I began crying when I told the reporter about Jeff telling me that Brendon is very sick, but they know what's wrong with him and he'll get better...he'll be OK. I said to Jeff, he has diabetes, doesn't he. Jeff said yes. The reporter was jotting down her notes with a look of sympathy on her face as my own face was contorted, red and wet. I didn't think those emotions were so close to the surface anymore. Perhaps that is where they'll always stay even when I think they've been driven down deep.

All of the above is not something I ever counted on happening when I gave birth to Brendon. He was supposed to be healthy and untouchable. I expected maybe a broken arm or some stitches. But never diabetes. Never a chronic illness. But it's here to stay...and it's something we live with.

I don't know how to finish this post. So I'll just end it here.

The Theme Is: Balls

The girls and I had a ball chatting about this, that, and diabetes.



The boys had a ball chatting about this, that, and NEVER diabetes.


Here are a couple of goofballs:


At the end of the night, the boys called out to two players to get their glove and ball signed.



And last but not least...Ryan, Sandra's husband...the mystery man. No pics of him allowed here, but he did let me get a couple of shots of him that he allowed to be posted.

What is he going to pull out of the bag of Cracker Jacks?


Just a peanut.

Highlights From The DOC Get Together

Brendon and I met Sandra and her family, and Mel.
Brendon got reacquainted with Nicole.
Brendon and Joseph talked baseball the entire time.
I don't think they mentioned diabetes a single time, but I could be wrong.
Pictures were taken.
Autographs were gotten.
All had a great, fun time.
Joseph asked Sandra if they were going to pass through New Hampshire on their way home.
Sandra and I were practically crying the entire time the boys were talking and being a couple of goofballs.

I'll post pics soon.

Oh yeah! Now I know what Ryan looks like. He allowed some special pictures to be shown on my blog.

More later.....

Snack Attack

I'm trying to get control over Brendon's need to constantly have a snack in hand (and mouth...and stomach).

He could eat a full meal, and an hour later need something to eat again. He basically wants to graze throughout the day. And then a battle ensues.

"I want a snack"

"No, you just ate."

"I'm hungry, I want a snack."

And so the argument continues until it escalates into him throwing a temper tantrum and me sending him up to his room to cool down. Soon after he comes down, he steals food.

It's like this all day long, every single day.

It's almost as though he doesn't trust that another meal will come to him. The only way to keep him from wanting to eat is to keep him occupied constantly which is not realistic.

It isn't the kind of food he eats. The problem is the frequency. I want to prevent him from gaining excess weight without hindering his growth. I also want to get a grip on his glucose numbers. They never get a break from coming down because they're always being elevated with the constant eating.

I've tried all sorts of things like giving him combinations of fat, protein, and carbs to curb his appetite.

Anyway, nothing seems to work.

I'm going to log everything he eats and at what times and test him more often. Maybe he's eating reasonably and it just seems like a lot because of how often he eats. Maybe the quantity is fine. I know the kinds of food he eats is fine, so I'm not worried about that. We don't keep junk food in the house and more often than not he snacks on fruit.

I'll just keep plugging away at this and try to come up with a compromise that works for both of us. I hate that eating has become such a tension filled issue. I have to see if maybe I'm the one who's being unreasonable.

Turn on, Tune in, Drop out.

Turn On:

Tune In:

Sunday, July 29 on CNBC (the episode my family and me will be on)

Drop Out:

I don't know if you want to take a hit of LSD, but how about just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

Quality Over Quantity

Well, during my conversation with Brendon on our way home from a support group meeting Thursday night, I thought I'd have a lot of material to work with in writing a post. But when it came down to formulating it in my head, I realized that there wasn't much to write and nearly decided to scrap it.

Then I realized, 'oh but there is plenty of material'. Just because there isn't a lot to write, doesn't make the post all the less important.

This is Brendon's style. A lot of substance with little filler.

On our way home from the support group meeting, Brendon asked me why we had to go. I told him that it's nice to gather with people who are going through the same thing we are because it helps to know we're not alone in dealing with diabetes. And I said, even if we feel OK about things, maybe we can help other people who don't feel OK. I finally asked him isn't it nice for him to play with other kids who understand what he has to deal with.

He said to me that he likes playing with the other kids because he feels comfortable with them. He also told me that he feels comfortable with kids who don't have diabetes, but who know he has it. He didn't however feel comfortable around kids who don't know he has diabetes. I asked why and he replied that sometimes when they're walking in the hallway at school, older kids will come up to him and point to his pump pak asking if it's a cell phone. He said "I just tell them it's nothing and keep walking."

The little he said says a lot to me....who makes him comfortable and uncomfortable. To him, diabetes is a very intimate thing and only his inner circle has the privilege of knowing about it. He feels comfortable with them because they understand and he doesn't feel the need to explain it to them.

They just let him be who he is without diabetes being the focus.

I know educating people who are curious goes a long way in those people accepting differences in others, but hell, it's hard enough managing and living with diabetes all day long every single day. It's exhausting. Having to be an advocate is just another boulder on shoulders that are carrying enough on his 7 year old frame.

Sometimes a person just has to go through the day and just be. Just...simply...be.

Quote by Jakey

"I have a peanuts and tenticles"

BREAKING NEWS: Bush To Get a Lobotomy

Butt first the doctors need to get his head out of his ass.

Brendon Needs Advice From the DOC Men Who Pump

On the way back from our support group meeting last night, Brendon gave me a revealing take on how he feels about being diabetic. One of the things he revealed is that he wishes no one could see his pump because it makes him uncomfortable when kids he doesn't know at school point out his pump and ask him if it's a cell phone. He said he brushes them off and tells them it's nothing. (the rest of what he said I'll save for another post).

So, my question from Brendon is this:

How and where do you attach your pump?

He has a pump pak that goes around his waist and the pump stands out prominently.

How do you make it more discreet?

Thanks!

A Little Rain Never Hurt Anyone

The kids have their friends here to play on a rainy day. But the weather doesn't stop the boys from doing what they love best:

Yesterday...All My Troubles Seem Like They're Piled On Top Of Me

Diabetes is ripping me up this morning. More like gouging...shredding me. And those aren't apt descriptions in the least.

I have a support group meeting today that I will be hosting. We typically take turns. Yesterday, I received two emails. One member sent me an email saying that her husband's co-worker has a seven year old son who was just diagnosed last month and is interested in attending.

And then the man who started the group, Steve, sent me an email asking me to contact a family whose seven year old daughter was just diagnosed and to send information about the meeting.

Do you know what the first thought that went through my mind was when they told me about this boy and girl? Great! Now Brendon has a couple of kids his age who may attend the meeting. Not: How devastating for those families. I'm ashamed of myself for not having thought that first.

I popped off a couple of upbeat emails to the families like I was informing them of a fucking Tupperware party. I offered them my number so that they could call me if they wanted to talk further about what they were going through, but that was about it. I don't know why my emails weren't more heartfelt and sympathetic. I was robotic and matter of fact in my tone. What's happened to me?

Yesterday, a package was delivered with some pump paks Jeff ordered for Brendon. Jacob wanted one too, but we told him that they were for Brendon's diabetes. He said, "when I have diabetes when I'm older, I get one too?" Jeff told him he won't have diabetes when he's older. Jacob wanted to be like his brother and was feeling left out, so Jeff gave him an extra belt that he could wear. And proudly he wore it. Why doesn't someone rip heart out and do the flamenco dance on it because it couldn't be worse than how I felt at that moment watching Jakey walk around with it on like it was a badge of honor.

Jamie posted about Dani asking if she'd still have diabetes when she was older. What made it all the more heartbreaking was that she is too young to understand the gravity of having it, yet something in her little instincts tells her that diabetes is unnatural and that her body must be shed of it.

Brendon's numbers are in the upper 200-400's again. I can't even tell you how much we've raised his rates. But I think he's having a major summertime growth spurt like when you see a pipsqueak at the end of the school year and by the time summer ends and school starts, people are shocked at how head and shoulders big he's gotten. I've written about this growth spurt pretty recently, but let me tell you he's enormous now. His best friend was here playing yesterday. They're a month apart in age. They used to be the same height. I noticed that Brendon is now nearly a head taller than his friend. Insulin seems to have no effect on his numbers right now and I HATE when we can't subdue diabetes.

My heart is heavy and is having a hard time finding it's way out. I'm trying to find a way to soldier on just as all the DOC kids do.

Sometimes playing some sad music helps, so I'll be listening to this all day long:

Barney Channels Tupac

Disclaimer: Contains F-bombs.

Do you think Barney's doing this for ratings?

Ellen Has Left The Building

(cont.)

The girls and I were panicked. Poor Ellen. Where was she? What had we done? We set out to corrupt the most pristine girl and set her up instead to be raped and pillaged. Damn us!

The girls and I were fiercely loyal and protective of one another at parties. There was the distinct chance of being taken advantage of at any moment (I don't think there was a reported rape on campus ever...but the fear our mothers instilled in us was strong). So for Ellen to have gone missing set us on a course that we would not fail to falter from even if it took us to the ends of the earth and back.

The five of us left the frat house and asked every group of college kids we saw if they happened to see a lone, staggering girl anywhere. Or if they had seen a girl being dragged away against her will.

Sure they saw staggering girls, but none were alone and none seemed to be dragged along by anyone. The night was still young, btw. But no one was being dragged against their will, though.

We went to the Sigma Pi house where we had meant to move on to from DKE and asked if Ellen had shown up.

A frat brother said he had seen her and that she left with one of the brothers.

Oh no. Here it was. Teresa and I were devastated. Poor Ellen had been taken away and was probably being pillaged at that very moment. (Drunkness does wonders for providing dramatical emotions)

I told the girls that we should go back to our dorm rooms to call security so that they could help us look for her.

We raced back to our rooms. I unlocked the door and turned on the light. I was stunned and shocked and I sobered immediately upon seeing Ellen...in bed...with one big dangly earring in one ear, and the other big dangly earring sitting on the night stand. I called for Teresa and she came in and looked just as stunned as I did.

WTF...

We looked at each other and had the same thought:

We pulled the covers off of her to see if she was stilled clothed. And she was. Thank you God!

The other girls came in and we all stood around talking about how relieved we were that she was safe.

Ellen was stoned cold passed out. Nothing was going to wake her, so we decided to grill her for details in the morning.

Morning arrived and Ellen was the last to wake. The poor girl was...not even hung over!! That blew me away...but, I digress.

I called the four other girls in and we asked Ellen what happened and how worried about her we were. Here is Ellen's account of what happened:

Shannon told me to stay in the hallway so that she could look for all of you. So I waited and waited and went off looking for everyone. I couldn't find you at all, so I asked one of the brothers if he had seen you guys and he said "Yeah, they left". I was so fucking pissed that you guys would leave me so I said 'fuck this' and left the house. I figured I could find you all at Sigma Pi, so I went there and asked a brother if you guys were there and a brother said "Yeah, but they left". I was so out of it that Brooks (a Sigma brother) said he'd walk me home. He brings me up to the room, walks me to the bed, I lay down, and he took off my earring and put it on the night stand. He pulled my shoes off, pulled the covers up to my chin. Then he kissed me on the cheek and said 'I love you, Ellen' and turned out the light and walked out of the room. I was like did I hear him right? Did he just say he loved me? I didn't even know he knew my name.

Oh what a night.

"We're Getting Ellen Drunk Tonight"...

...,Teresa said to me in a conspiratorial whisper. "Yeeaahh", I replied. She knew I would be game. I was pretty much game for anything back in the day.

Ellen was softspoken. She loved her Catholic religion. And we loved her to death. But she needed to loosen the fuck up. Teresa and I were just the ones to do it. We didn't have a plan in place, but once we were at the party and the drinking commenced, we improvised. It worked out perfectly but nearly ended in disaster.

Teresa, Ellen, the other three girls and I went to the DKE house to attend their weekly Thursday night party (I attended a suitcase college where Thursdays were the ultimate nights to have parties throughout the frat houses and off campus apartments). We were DKE party perennials and there's was always our first stop. The brothers were our buddies and it was always a good time, with good music, but pissy Rolling Rock in kegs. Nevertheless, RR would do the job and do it well.

At every party we went to, Ellen's M.O. would be to milk the same jumbo plastic cup of beer all night long. She sipped just enough to look included, but we had never seen her get good and plastered. For some reason Teresa and I felt the need to initiate her into the sisterhood of piss-your-pants-drunkeness.

Down in the basement, the six of us had our beers and stood in our naturally formed circle as we danced and looked around at everyone while having forgettable pointless conversations.

Teresa and I eyed Ellen taking baby sips from her cup and we ordered her to chug with us. The three of us leaned our heads back as the beer emptied down our throats. In reality, it emptied down Ellen's throat....Teresa and I just acted the part. Ellen was nearly finished with her beer when she took a breath and grimaced. We continued dancing and when she looked away, Teresa and I dumped our beers into her cup.

We ordered her to finish all of her beer. "Hey", she said as she looked into her cup with a puzzled expression, "I thought I drank more than that...what the..."

"Empty the cup Ellen". And so she did. After a couple more chugging episodes like the first one that transpired, Ellen was feeling no pain.

At one point the six of us split up to shmooze with other people we knew and one of us decided to move it along to another frat party. Being that Ellen needed some assistance in staying upright, I needed to keep her in one spot while I gathered the rest of the girls, so I brought her upstairs and propped her up against a wall in the hallway. I looked her in the eye, told her we were going to another party and ordered her to stay put while I looked for the other girls. I told one of the frat brothers I knew and trusted to keep an eye on her until I got back. He said no problem.

After the girls and I found each other, we came up to fetch Ellen...but she wasn't where I left her. I asked that so called trusted frat boy where she went and he shrugged his shoulders and turned back around to the girl he was chatting up.

I asked around and no one saw her leave, so the five of us girls ran around the house calling her name, entering rooms and even looking in the attic (it was a big old run down shabby Victorian mansion and had a shitload of rooms). We were panicked. She was nowhere in the house. Ellen was certifiably missing..... (to be continued)

It Takes a Village....

During the first weeks when Brendon was diagnosed, I had all sorts of fears and worries running through my head.

Some of my worst fears had to do with his social life. He was 2 1/2 years old at the time, but I couldn't help but look years ahead at the time when he'd be old enough to be on his own at a friend's house and how that would be handled.

The years have come upon me already and he's been to friends' houses on his own without me hovering at the ready to test him and treat him if needed.

Thankfully, his friends' parents are more than willing to take on any task that is needed to ensure he's well taken care of.

And being that Brendon is so capable...able to test, count carbs, and dose himself...my worries about him being on his own are a distant memory.

I feel like we were meant to live in this neighborhood. We have a babysitter who is Type 1 at one end of the street, at the other end of the street, his best friend whose mother used to babysit her nephew who is Type 1, and a boy, Steven, on the other side of the neigborhood whose father owns an ice cream joint.

Brendon was invited to Steven's house yesterday and his mother asked if it was OK if she brought Brendon along to get some ice cream. We of course said yes and Jeff told her that typically, a half cup of ice cream is 15 carbs.

She dropped him off at home at the end of the day and informed me that they measured out the ice cream and the packaging said it was indeed 15 carbs for a serving. She's also a nurse and knows the importance of being as accurate as possible with carb counts.

First of all, how friggin cool is it to have a friend whose father owns an ice cream place, and second, how fortunate am I to have neighbors who are compassionate enough to take Brendon under their wings and make sure he's well taken care of.

Soul Sisters

In a couple of weeks, I will be heading down to good ole New Jersey and as part of my visit, I will be seeing my best friends in the world. I spoke to one of them today. I got her to join Facebook and I was trying to guide her through a talk on the Wall. She got impatient with learning the process, so we gave up and she told me to call her instead. We had the best conversation after not having spoken for a year. She is one of six of us who get together at least once year...and talk to each other about as often.

It doesn't matter how much time has gone by because we could pick up where we left off as though a day went by rather than a year.

I can't express to you how much I love these girls. I really honestly believe they are my soul sisters. We've known each other for 18 years and we all met on the same day at the same time.

It was the first day of college, and I had met up with my dorm roommate who I knew from high school. We had decided to be roommates after discovering that we'd be going to the same school.

The dorms were divided into suites with 4 rooms on one end of the hallway and a common area seperating the other 4 rooms. Our RA lived in the 4th room on my end of the hallway.

In the other 2 rooms were 4 girls who I didn't even dream would have the impact on my life that they've had all these years.

There were Teresa and Andrea in the room next to mine and Ellen's and the third room housed Tina and Pattie.

I remember walking with Ellen past Teresa and Andrea's room and taking a quick peek inside. Teresa was standing on a chair hanging up a poster and Andrea was sitting crossed legged on the bed watching her. I thought they must be at least Sophomores because it was against the rules to hang posters on the walls with pushpins and here she was, breaking the rules.

God was I a friggin pansy ass, LOL.

The RA called a meeting for the floor to talk to us about rules, what her role was, and to introduce ourselves to each other.

After the meeting, we retreated to our rooms and Ellen and I were trying to figure out where the hell the student center was so we could go there to eat dinner. I don't remember exactly how it all worked out, but somehow the six of us got together and had our first of hundreds of meals together for the next 4 years. I don't think a day went by that we didn't at least have dinner together. We were an immediate family.

But, we couldn't have been more different from each other. I think our common bond was that we all had a sense of humor where we could make each other laugh like crazy. And somehow, with the different needs we met for each other, we all managed to stick together one way or the other.

Teresa-aka Mother Teresa because she always took care of everything and us. She was my partner in crime when I was hankering for fun and mischief. We'd make each other laugh constantly. We didn't know how to have a lousy time with each other.

Ellen-She is the sweetest, nicest, person. She is the only person I know who is truely without a mean bone in her body. She's religious and rarely drank....until the night Teresa and I got fed up with her and decided she was going to experience the drunkest night of her life.

Andrea-She was a wild girl. She was fun and funny and provided us with constant entertainment with all the predicaments she got herself into. She lives close by me now.

Tina-She was/is miss goody goody preppy girl. Perfect clothes, hair, skin, boyfriends. She lived a charmed life.

Pattie-She was the studious one who paid her way through college with beauty pageant scholarships. She was Homecoming Queen during our Senior Year. We laughed and had fun. We were each other's "wingman" at parties.

Everyone on campus knew us to be an inseperable group.

There was another group on campus made up of guys who we'd party with, hang out with, go to games with, and eat dinner with often. They were the funnest bunch of guys anyone could experience sharing time with.

I can't wait to get together with the girls and catch up with each other's lives, see how big our children have gotten and have a generally nice time together.

Kid-Tested. Mother-Approved.

Brendon likes using the One Touch Ultra Mini and prefers to use it over the regular one. So I went out and bought two more of them so we have extras to stash in my purse and overnight bag.

Consider this to be the most boring post in the world ;)

Six Magic Words

I don't give away my heart easily.

But I'll let you in on a little secret: there is a way, but only one way, to get a hold of it and keep it without any effort at all.

I'll let you know what you have to do after I tell you about who uncovered my secret and how he came to find it:

On Friday, someone had unwittingly captured my heart by saying six magic words. My heart opened as easily as Ali Baba opened the cave containing riches when he uttered the magic words open sesame:

I picked up Brendon from his last day of art camp yesterday. He carried a box to where I stood waiting for him in the driveway.

I peered inside to see the kinds of treasures he created, and I asked him if he had the extra glucose kit he kept there for the week.

He said yes, and before we could turn to walk to the van, a boy shouted Brendon's name and said these six magic words:

Do you have your glucose kit?

That was it. As soon as I heard those words my heart opened up and I wanted to just go up and hug the boy who asked that question.

Brendon nonchalantly shouted yes to him. I thanked the boy for asking while being so impressed that he would be concerned enough to do so. When I later asked Brendon if he knew him from school, he said no because he's older and goes to the second elementary school in town. The fact that the boy was concerned about someone he himself hardly knew impressed me even more.

The now not so secret way to capturing my heart is to have concern and compassion when it comes to Brendon's diabetes care...even just a little bit. That is all it takes.

Spoiled

I almost feel guilty about being fortunate enough to drive a half hour to the east and hang out at the beach.

I love where I live. I have the mountains to the north, the beach to the east, and Boston to the south all within an arm's reach away.

But, I'm taking full advantage of my good fortune and will shortly be taking the kiddies to swim in the ocean and play a game of catch on the sand.

I predict Jessica will hunt for tiny snail shells and collect them in a bucket; Jacob will bury my feet in the sand; Brendon will boldly ask the first child he sees and involve him in throwing a football around. And the three of them will hold hands and jump the tiny waves of the New Hampshire coastline.

There's nothing like the salt air, pounding surf, and being kissed by the sun to ease a troubled mind.

Directions to the beach:

Make a right on Abbey Road and keep driving east 'til you hit the water. Put on some sunscreen 'cause Here Comes The Sun. We'll go seek some shade in the Octopus's Garden.

Have a great weekend everyone.

Do You Think He'll Hate Me When He's Older?

"This is a neckawiss, this is a bwacelet, these are eawings".

(Jake informing me of the identity of each item...at 6 o'clock this morning...sigh)

"Ahhh, I've Got My Pump Back"

You couldn't have felt his relief more if you were Brendon himself.

The shots he'd been taking since Saturday hadn't hurt him a bit and he never complained about getting them. In fact, he took it so well that I asked him what he'd rather have, shots or his pump. "There are no stupid questions...just stupid people". Dumb mom....why'd I even bother asking? He wanted his pump of course.

I didn't realize how spoiled I'd been until we had to give Brendon shots again after over 3 years.

During his first year of diagnosis, I HATED HATED HATED having to manage his diabetes. Living by the clock, drawing up and measuring quarter unit increments...sometimes quarter units were too much for him....fuck. Jessica and Jacob were babies and needed their mom every second of the day, but I had to leave them crying and needy while Brendon needed such time consuming immediate attention. That was the hardest most painful time of my life....you've all read the stories I've written before...you know the rest.

The pump crapping out came at the time when he was starting Art Camp. Because we put him on Lantus...and because he needed a shot everytime he ate...and because I wouldn't be there to dose him when they had their snack...he wouldn't be able to eat it with the other kids. For a seven year old VERY SOCIAL boy, that is monumentally disasterous. He wants in on everything and hates to be left out (don't we all?).

I offered to give him some rolled up ham and cheese to bring in, but he didn't want to be different and bring in something when no one else was going to.

On that first day at camp, each child, including Brendon, picked out their snacks from the teacher's stash, sat at their assigned seats, and ate their snacks....while Brendon colored and drew....his snack untouched.

On the second day, I again offered to pack him some ham and cheese, but he refused it. The teacher told me she gave him a no carb snack so that he could eat with the rest of the class....a snack of ham and cheese. Then she told me she gave out little cupcakes to each child and Brendon had an incident where the cupcake "accidently" touched his lips. Whatever he could do to get a smidge without it affecting his blood sugars (his teacher and I looked at each other knowingly, hehe).

All along he had been talking about not being able to wait to get his pump. When I hooked him up after receiving it from the UPS guy, it was like I gave him back his right hand after having it cut off. He could live "normally" again without giving life a second thought.

The shots were given over the course of only a couple of days, but when you've been living a certain, easier way, and have to return to when things are a bit more difficult, the difficulty is magnified so much more.

And mom is very relieved also. You don't know what you got 'til it's gone (what Big Hair band sang that line?).

Man, did these few days make me realize how exquisitely spoiled I've been all of these pumping years.

Look At What Ninja Boy Got Past His Mom

Yeah, I didn't notice until we got to the dojo.



Side note: The original title was going to be "Look At What Ninja Boy Got Past His Mama-san". Being that I'm a stickler for proper spelling and shit like that, I Googled Mamasan to see if it should be Mamasan or Mama-san. As a result, I found that it is not a good idea to refer to myself as that. (Incidently, either spelling is correct).

It's OK To Laugh, Right?

The human body is a wonderous, beautiful thing, and I don't have a problem whatsoever being blunt and matter of fact while discussing its many functions and uses whenever my three highly curious children come to me with their ideas and questions. However, I think I need to do a better job at fielding questions. I have no good sex ed speeches prepared and I have the immature tendency to laugh at ANYTHING which is not conducive to my authoritative parenting role.

Jacob likes to be buck nekked whenever possible and so it's inevitable that he explores his body. Hell, he's male and even if he wore a suit of armor, it wouldn't stop him from exploring.

Anyway, he comes to me while pinching his little baby testicle through his sac and asks me what it is. I tell him it's his testicle. He thoughtfully repeats the word. Then he asks me what's inside of it. I tell him that when he is a husband, it will give his wife babies.

He caught me offguard, O...K!

Suddenly he screams like a girl who's had her pigtails yanked and runs away yelling "THERE'S BABIES IN MY TESTICLES!!!"

I laughed hysterically. I was too weak from laughter to correct this misconception.

Later he comes to me nekked once again (I honestly dressed the kid, and do so all day long...he's allergic to clothes apparently) and he must've discovered the other one becauze he wants me to confirm that he has two testicles. Yes, you have two testicles...that's a natural fact.

He couldn't have been more ecstatic to know that he has not only one testicle, but two of them! He brags to his brother and sister: "I have two testicles in my peanuts!! You wanna feel them?" They recoil and run away (his siblings, not his testicles).

I laugh myself to tears. On a side note, I haven't got it in me to correct his mispronunciation of the thing he holds so dearly...I need him to stay my baby just a little while longer.
______________________________________________

While driving on that fruitless strawberry picking day, Brendon slightly raised his middle finger and asked if that meant a swear word. I said yes it does. He of course asked which swear word it meant and I told him I didn't want to say it out loud. He enthusiastically offered up a guess and asked in a whisper if it meant fuck. I was honest and said yes it does. I felt very mature for not laughing.

Once we got home, Brendon valiantly stuck his pinky up in the air and declared that the gesture had the same meaning in China as did the middle finger in America. Intrigued yet skeptical, I asked him who told him that. His best friend, C did. I just let it go. Let him believe it...what's the harm?

Jessica caught wind of the pinky information and at breakfast the next morning, she held up not one pinky, but BOTH pinkies up in the air and declared that this means it's a pinky swear and that it meant a bad word in Japanese.

As I laughed at her "pinky swear" mistake...for crying out loud girl, pinky swear is a promise, not a curse word...she thought I was laughing at a different mistake and said no no no, wait wait wait...it means a pinky swear in CHINESE not Japanese.

I didn't have the energy to get into the difference between swear as in curse word, and swear as in promise and whether it was even a legitimate gesture at all!! I was laughing too damned hard.

Rockin In The Blog World

Kerri so kindly nominated or awarded this to me (my brains are fried and I'm a little confused, so just go along with it...K?):



I hereby nominate/award this to the following:

Jamie (She has rocked my world from day one. I'm convinced she's my Canadian sister separated at birth. She never fails to lift me up when I'm down.)

Nikki Knuckleball (She's who I wish I could be...but I'll leave it all up to her. She's not afraid to speak her mind, she's tenacious, and I love the way she dresses.)

Anne (She doesn't let Type 1 diabetes get in the way AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, she completed the Coeur d'Alene Ironman Triathlon (2.4 mi. swim • 112 mi. bike • 26.2 mi. run) Need I say more?)

Jamie, Nicole, and Anne please pass it on....

Lucky 7 Ends With a Shot of Lantus

So much for 7/7/07 being a lucky day. But first, here's what happened to Jeff and Brendon at the Fishercats baseball game last night:

As they're walking to the ticket counter, a man approaches them with 2 tickets and says "I'm not selling these, I'm just looking for a father and son to give them to. Here, take them. The seats are right next to where I'm sitting." So Jeff takes them and he and Brendon sit next to the guy and his 20 year old son.

The man tells Brendon he'll catch a ball for him. Brendon is excited at the prospect.

Jeff and Brendon go to get some hotdogs and come back to their seats. As Jeff is making his way to his seat, he feels something land on his arm with a big thud. As he's relaying the story to me, I say "A ball landed on your arm?!!"

Brendon chimes in and says no, "It was a squirrel!" and laughs hysterically.

A squirrel came out of the air from no where and landed on Jeff's arm, scurried for a few seconds and ran off. He was stunned and wondered where the hell it came from as did the other spectators sitting around him. They were all looking up and couldn't figure it out because there is nothing near them where the squirrel could have climbed up.

OK, so a little later, Jeff hears beeping and is getting annoyed that someone won't shut off their cell phone or pager or whatever it was.

He takes Bren to the bathroom, and he still hears the beeping, so he has him take out his pump and sure enough, it's run out of batteries.

So they go to an EMT on duty at the ballpark, but he doesn't have a AAA battery, so the EMT accompanies Jeff to the exit so that he can make sure he gets back in. Jeff stops at a little souvenir shop near the exit and asks if they have any AAA batteries. They say they don't sell them.

Jeff spots a remote control for the monitors to view the game and asks what size it takes: It takes AAA. The EMT says he needs them for a medical emergency and Jeff takes one to pop into the pump.

Jeff and Bren return to their seats and the guy who they were sitting with who gave them the tickets hands Brendon a baseball....that he caught! The man didn't lie. The man's 20 year old son said, "I've never gotten a baseball at a game before." I think he was jealous.

Well, the pump starts acting up again, but they finished out the game, saw fireworks and came home.

I won't go into detail, but basically the pump's battery cap is crap. I tried another cap that is supposed to be used for the meter attachment we have for the Cozmo that we never use. But that didn't work.

We of course called the company and told them to send us a meter rather than just the cap.

They'll send it out on Monday to arrive on Tuesday. After midnight last night, we woke Brendon and told him he has to get shots for a couple of days everytime he eats something. He doesn't remember what it was like to get shots like he did for that first year he was diagnosed. Last night, Brendon got his first shot in over 3 years. 15u of Lantus. He took it like a champ.

He Growed Up

Watching your kids grow is sort of like watching the grass grow. You don't see changes happen minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day. It takes being away for a while, and then coming back to notice how tall the grass grew.

Being that a parent is with their child day in and day out, you don't really see changes unless you compare pictures of them taken months or years apart.

On Brendon's last day of school, I could've sworn he looked different. He looked older, like his face was thinning a bit, his neck grew a little longer....was he up to my shoulder already?

Of course I chalked it up to my mind playing tricks on me because he was ending one grade and would soon be a big shot second grader. So I figured my brain was casting illusions of him noticeably changing due to power of suggestion.

A couple of weeks ago, Brendon's numbers started skyrocketing. It was all I could do to keep him no more than 250. At night, I would correct him 100% where normally, we would typically give him a 50% correction if he needed a correction at all.

Bouncing with lows of 250, to highs of 400, I thought it was bad infustion sets, maybe the pump wasn't performing properly, or even the insulin was bad, but those were all soon ruled out.

Jeff had raised his basal rates throughout the day, but with little effect. We're always hesitant to change his rates because Murphy's Law dictates that as soon as we do that, his numbers will flip back to normal and with the raised rates, lows would occur.

But because the bump up in rates barely made a dent, Jeff raised them some more to a full unit spread throughout the day.

So far, his numbers have been where we wanted them. So far, his numbers haven't flipped back to where they once were. I think his body went from one stage of growth to the next so that his insulin is permanently fixed for now. I suspected that it might be a growth spurt large enough to bring him to that next level.

I measured him in the doorway where the kids' heights have been marked for the past couple of years. And what do you know. He grew an inch and a half in just a couple of months. Most of it I believe occured in the past month.

Diabetes is a rotten awful condition. But sometimes it gives a neat little portal into the body that provides eye witness to changes that people wouldn't be able to experience otherwise. Although, I'll settle for a tape measure.

My July 4th In Pictures

It's 10:30 at night and the day is still continuing with a stellar view from my front porch of fireworks being lit off by my crazy neighbors across the street.

I Will Prevail Dang It!

So much for a pleasant day spent strawberry picking. We went here first as it was on a list of farms that had strawberries as their crop:



And the place was a little too creepy for my taste. It was in a bucolic setting with an old red barn housing hay across the street. It had a charming garden in the back where it seemed not big enough for people to just come and pick their own strawberries. The New England charm of the home and property did nothing to ease this overactive, horror movie saturated imagination of mine. I walked up to the house and knocked on the door to see if anyone could tell me whether we could just pick a bushel (is that a lot?) of strawberries. No one answered or seemed to be home even though the garage door was open and an old hunting dog ambled out.

And it was sooo quiet.

I started thinking of the updated version of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre where Jessica Biel knocks on the door of an old Victorian and a legless man in a wheelchair answers the door. Instead of being repulsed and run away, she enters the house only to be felt up by him after obliging his request to help him with his colostomy bag in the bathroom.

Yeah, I didn't need to repeat that scene here, so I scrammed.

I then returned home and found another farm that I called this time and they told me I could indeed pick my own. When I got there, I saw this:



And then I checked the time and saw this:



But it didn't stop me from smiling:



Because there is always tomorrow (and I didn't feel the need to say "Fuck" one single time!).

Love Is A Many Splenda Thing

Thank you to those of you who stuck through my last post to the end, overcame your offense to my crude f-bomb littered rant and still took the time to sympathize and comment. I truely feel the love ;)

Today I plan to take the kiddies strawberry picking. I took them a couple of times in the past and they loved it. It's ideal for Jess and Jake because they're low to the ground and can take on all the labor, but it's especially ideal for Brendon. It's just enough activity to bring down his blood sugars, and the red juicy treats have just enough carbs to keep him from dropping, but not so high that I have to keep track of what he eats as he picks.

His numbers have been wicked high over the past couple of weeks. I thought I had done lousy jobs on infusion set changes. Jeff, who usually does the set changes, has been working all night and sleeping all day, so I'd taken on the responsibility and thought I was doing a poor job at it. But then I had Jeff keep his eyes pried open one morning when he came home from work so that he could change a set, and low and behold, Bren's numbers were still crappy.

They haven't been lower than a 250 throughout the day. They've been as high as 405 (yesterday). I'm HOPING it's a combination of a growth spurt and the seasonal change. The insulin is good, the pump is working fine. The sites are good too. We've also cranked up his basal rates. He's pretty resistant all day until around 8 p.m. every night when he drops really low. Yeah, something is going on with that body of his. We (HE) needs to just ride it out while Jeff and I load him with insulin to keep the highs at bay.

Back to strawberry picking:

Brendon wanted to make flags to commemorate the 4th O' July, so I suggested that we make a flag cake using the strawberries along with some blueberries to create Old Glory. Jakey wanted to make cupcakes, so I suggested we make them decorated with sprinkles to replicate fireworks! Because of Bren's highs, I'll make everything with Splenda so that he can eat without having those spikes carry him even higher.

How domesticated can we get? Maybe I'll buy sparklers at the huge gigantic firework warehouse down the street from us. Granite Staters LOVE their fireworks for sure. We have a virtual firework display right in our house and tree laden neighborhood. People literally have their hoses primed in case something catches aflame.

Oh, it will be good times tomorrow for sure.

How Did I Fall Into This Gig?

I'm about to sit in front of the TV with my coffee, 2 baskets of laundry, and Kelly & Reeg to keep me company while I fold and separate clothes as the kids run around fighting and kicking a soccer ball, and I yell at them to be quiet because their father is sleeping because he worked all night last night and they don't want him coming down all angry because they're making too much noise and he can't sleep, and then I invoke the Brady Bunch Rule by telling them I said not to play ball in the house.

This is all happening just this morning...I have about 11 more hours to go until they're in bed.

And I chose to be a SAHM why?

EDIT: I need to add some complaints. I'm having a hard day today. I'm hoping that writing them out will help provide some relief.

The dog fucking smells BAD. She rolled in something outside and I called the groomers, but got the answering machine. I hope I can get her in today.

Jessica's whining and screaming is getting on my last nerve.

Brendon wants to go for a walk and I'm trying to get the kids to get dressed and ready to go. Their transition times suck (triathlon reference).

The noise the kids make is getting to be unbearable.

Alcohol is losing it's effect (not that I had one....YET). One beer isn't doing it for me...I'm wound up tighter than a nun's who-ha. I don't want to drink more. I don't want to be a classic alcoholic SAHM. No wonder why 1950's and 60's housewives relied on martinis and Valium to get them through the day.

The house is a fucking wreck. I'm literally locking the kids out of the house so that I can clean up without them coming up behind me undoing all that I did.

I didn't even shower today nor will I because leaving the kids unattended is inviting impending fucking doom.

Jessica is crying because Jacob has her walkman.

OMFG it's only 10:38 a. fucking m.

Writing all of this out provided no fucking relief whatsoever.

Maybe it'll help if I say fuck out loud about 100,000 times.

Thanks for bearing with this rant whomever chooses to read it.