R.I.P. Goldilox

Well, Goldilox II died today. She was a good fish. And Jessica took Goldi's death better than I thought she would. So did Jake.

I unplugged the filter as though I were unplugging life support. I then scooped her out with a soup ladel and placed her in a measuring cup. Jess and Jake both peered in:

Jake: "EWWWW!!"

Jessica: "Can I see it? Is Goldi's eyeball coming out?"

Me: "We're going to flush her down the toilet and send her to her old friends."

Jake: "I want to flush her!!"

I thought I'd need to explain about the cycle of life and death to teary eyed children, but no need. They declared how cool it was to see Goldi swirl around the toilet as she was sent to her watery grave.

I had just changed the water in the bowl today, too. She was looking a little wonky...floating and swimming sort of lopsided. And then she settled at the top, her gills and mouth opening and closing. I figured maybe she was in a bit of shock from me not taking enough care to match the water temp to what she was in previously.

I shook the bowl a little, she perked up and swam to the bottom, crashing into the gravel below.

That was not a good sign.

She finally settled into the deadman's float that fish do.

Leader Of The Pack

"Are you Brendon Lewis' mom?"

"Yes, I am."

"My son talks about Brendon all the time. He can't stop talking about him and the football games they play at recess. Oh! And we saw you in the newpaper. How is he doing?"

"Brendon is doing great with his diabetes. Thank you for asking."

She told me her name as we parted ways to gather our children who were sitting on the gym floor waiting for their parents to pick them up to go home. I asked her what her son's name is so I could ask Brendon about him.

A couple of days before, I heard Brendon talking to Jeff about the football game he started during recess one day.

He was tired of playing catch all the time, so he decided to gather some boys to play touch football.

There were originally 7 players. Now there are 10.

He said they're all good except for the boy whose mother approached me. He throws lefty and although he throws the ball far, he can't aim it to who the ball needs to go to. So rather than quarterback, Brendon made him the kicker.

As long as a boy wants to play, he's got a place on the team.

That is what's special about Brendon. No one is ever excluded. Anyone will fit in as long as they want to play. He'll find a place for them.

There are also four cheerleaders. He asked two girls to be cheerleaders, and one day two more girls approached them asking if they could be included. He said for now there are four but there could be more later on.

If You Knew Me Back Then

I was rooting through some pictures when I came across some of me from high school. I was shocked at how high my hair was, because if memory serves me right, my hair never seemed to be big enough.

I was always fretting over getting it high, High, HIGH. I had a whole regimen of how I styled my hair. It took about 1 1/2 hours to get it to where I was somewhat satisfied. I was never fully satisfied with the height. The bigger, the better, IMO (back then).

But now looking at them, I was like, WTF was I thinking??????? How did I think that looked good?

Being in the damp sea air on the boardwalk down the Jersey shore was not friendly to a big haired girl's hairdo. So we brought banana clips to pull our hair back for a "neater" look.

Here I am in pink confection at my Prom:

Little Things Mean A Lot

(NOTE: There are some new D-blogs I marked on my blog roll. You may have come across some of them already, but there are others I'm pretty sure you have not. So please check them out and spread some OC love).

I'm sure parents often wonder if they have an influence over their kids. It's easy to see that we do when we specifically tell our kids what to do and not do. But, when the time comes to make their own choices and decisions, how strong will our influence be?

I wonder about that especially when it comes to Brendon since the decisions and choices he makes will always have a profound effect on his health.

I was preparing Brendon's backpack making sure he had all of his folders, homework, and his football that he likes to toss around with his friends at the bus stop and during recess. I packed a banana and a bottle of water for his morning snack.

Figuring he must be tired of getting some sort of fruit for snack all the time, I asked Brendon what the other kids bring in to see if I could pick up on some interesting ideas.

He said, "Nothing like what you give me."

"Well what do they bring in?"

He proceeded to tell me they bring in fruit roll ups, pudding cups, etc.

I was sure he thought those were more attractive choices, and I know how sports oriented he is, so I played down the virtues of those treats and said his classmates must get tired since they don't get enough energy from that kind of food.

He said no, actually the kids get really high energy and the teacher has to keep them under control.

I asked what he was like and he said, "I'm just steady".

Curious to know what his opinion was on what I give him as opposed to what his friends get, I asked if he liked what I packed for him or would he rather have snacks like the ones his classmates have.

As he swung his air-bat and threw an imaginary pitch, he said, "I like what you pack. I'd rather have what you give me." As he threw another imaginary pitch he said, "I need to be strong so I can throw fast pitches and throw the football far." And with that, he ran back and threw an imaginary pass.

Diabetes never entered his mind. Yet, that is what drives my decisions in how I choose to take care of him. And so those decisions are carried on by him when he picks the good stuff to help him throw those fast pitches and far spirals. He's helping to protect his body against diabetes without realizing it.

I'm thankful that he appreciates his body, what it's capable of, and what he needs to do to make it strong and healthy despite his diabetes.

Mostly, I'm thankful the little boy in him has his thoughts focused on how fast he can throw his baseball and and how far he can throw that spiral and that diabetes is tucked away for mom to take care of.

New Hampshire Drivers SUCK!

An incident occured a little while ago that prompted me to write this.

I love New Hampshire. But goddamn if I hate the drivers especially when it comes to driving through intersections.

No one knows who has the right of way and the lawlessness astounds me.

I was already in an accident because of some ditz coming the opposite way who thought she could plow through a left turn while I had the right of way to go straight.

That incident repeats itself with every driver I encounter coming through an intersection every time I go through one (without the accident part happening).

The part I stew over the most is when I see the offenders ranting at me from behind their steering wheel when I make my rightful way through the intersection whether I'm going straight or making a right turn.

When I have to make a left....holy shit! I happen to wait until it's clear for me to make that turn. What a novel fucking idea. I must be the one who invented that maneuver in the state of New Hampshire.

And today. Today is what prompted me to write this after years of stewing over NH's shitty drivers.

I was sitting at an intersection after picking up Jessica from school and when the light turned green, I proceeded to make a right turn.

I HAD THE RIGHT OF WAY, RIGHT?

Well the mother-fuckin' trucker coming the opposite way didn't think so and made a left turn at the same time I was making my turn.

I had to stop short to avoid him hitting me.

I had my turn signal on, so there was no guessing what my intentions were.

Well he continued on, I got behind him, and when I saw him looking at me from his side view mirror, I flipped him the bird.

And then he pulled over and stopped.

And I could see his angry face in the side view mirror.

And I was afraid to continue past him because I didn't know if he wanted to rumble or what.

So I inched up, and then sped past so he couldn't throw something at me...or something.

Fucker.

I expected him to give chase to this mom in her minivan, but he got held up by the line of cars passing him.

Goddamn that mother trucker.

The Fall Guy

I wrote about this a couple of weeks ago, but took the post down. I felt bad for the guy I wrote about and thought people would think I was a terrible person for what I let happen. But I'm feeling brave today, so here's the story:

First a little background:

I have a "thing" about pinching a loaf in public restrooms or even in other people's houses. I just can't do it. No matter how bad I have to go. I have a colon like a steel trap when it comes to holding it in for as long as it takes me to get home and do it in private. I want to just kick back, relax, and not worry if someone will walk in and hear me, or smell what's cooking. On a side note, I have a rule that if I'm staying at someone's house overnight or longer, then I will do the doo.

But there was a time when I couldn't hold it any longer and by my calculations, estimating from the time it kicked in to the time I would be home by, those were too many hours for my steel trap to stay shut.

It was back in the day when I was a working gal. I was one of a few women who worked as graphic designers on the night crew.

I had gotten the urge to go and knew it was too long before I would be able to do it at home. The men's and women's bathrooms were located at the front of the building. They were each single toilet bathrooms, so at least I could get some privacy without anyone walking in. Plus it was in a remote part of the building. The only risk would be someone coming in right after me. But what were the chances of that happening? So, I took a gamble and figured I could Navy Seal it in and out of the bathroom without anyone noticing.

I made my way to the front of the building without being noticed and did my thing.

Afterward, I came out of the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and saw two male coworkers having a discussion in the lounge right outside of the bathroom!

They didn't see me coming out, so I tiptoed out before they could notice me and made my way safely back to my computer.

Just as I sat down, my female coworker, Lois, got up and went on her way to the bathroom.

Now, she is just as phobic about going #2 as I am. Plus she's a clean freak. So I was hoping the air would clear before she got there.

I got to working on a project when holy hell broke loose.

We could all hear yelling from Lois, but we couldn't make out what she was all up in arms about, so we all got up to see what the matter was.

Lois: Who shit in the women's bathroom????

Derek Jeter (I can't remember his name, but he had an uncanny resemblance to him): I don't know. We were just here talking. I don't keep track of who goes in and out of the bathrooms.

Lois: YOU took a shit in the women's bathroom didn't you!!

Derek: NO!! I didn't shit in there! Why would I shit in the women's bathroom?

Lois: So you wouldn't smell up the men's room! You're so fucking inconsiderate!!

Derek: FUCK YOU!! I didn't shit in there!!

Lois: So help me God you are disgusting. You would do something like that. I don't believe for a minute that you weren't the one.

The argument soon let up. Yet, the entire time it went on I stood there letting it happen. Not once did I speak up and save him from her tirade.

Derek Jeter looked so perplexed and shocked and quite annoyed that he would be accused of something so vile and heinous as not only using the women's bathroom, but using it to save his fellow man from a stink bomb.

But, Derek Jeter was despised by all of us. He was a know-it-all and a braggard. He always rubbed us the wrong way.

So at the time I thought, "my God. What luck I have that Derek Jeter would be in the right place at the right time to take the fall for what I did."

What a relief (in more ways than that) it was for me to have not been found out.

The Reveal

This is the room for now. I still have to sort through the toys to match all the pieces together, hang some pictures, and either refinish the bureau or just paint over it. The latter sounds more attractive at this point.

I bought the curtains, roman shades, futon cover, pillows, rug, the damnable shelves that I had to assemble, and the containers on the shelves all at Target. Yay for Target!!

The toy strategy is that whatever can fit in those containers stays in the room. Whatever surplus stays in the basement until I feel like rotating them to give the kids a "fresh" supply of toys.

We painted all in one day amongst rantings along the line of:

Don't come in the room!
No, don't touch that!
The walls are wet stay out!
No, you can't help.
I don't know when we'll be done.
Don't you come in here!!!!
Aw Jake, you stuck your foot in wet paint!
NO!! Get back here, you're getting paint all over the kitchen floor!!
Give me a fucking break.
(Quotes by Jeff)

So while Jeff is trying to keep the kids in line, I'm calmly painting the window trim without getting impatient with the process, the kids' "involvement", or Jeff's rantings.

I wondered, why am I in such a good mood? Why isn't my blood pressure at boiling range? Why am I laughing at the funny things Jeff is saying? What is wrong with me?

And then it dawned on me: I was under the effects of my "migraine meds".

Ha! So that explained it. Nice, relaxing migraine meds.

Here are the pics of the "after":

Before (Grody To The Max)

I've begun the playroom transformation, and if all goes to plan, I should have the room all put together and ready for pictures to show the "after" by Monday.

Here are the before pics that I've finally gotten the courage to post.

Dreaming Big

I've had ongoing posts about clutter and my battles with it. I. HATE. CLUTTER. The playroom has been my arch enemy with respect to clutter and now I'm taking it down.

I'm getting sick of the playroom. It's at the front of the house and anyone coming to the door can just look into the window and see the incredibly disgusting mess.

I'm horrified when the Chinese delivery guy comes to the front door and peers through the window to see if anyone is coming to answer the door.

I had a hunky landscaper come to the door about a month ago asking for a "tape measurer".

I would like to have pride in my home. While the rest of my house is adequate...as long as everything is tidied up, it looks decent. The play room, no matter how neat it is, still looks disgusting.

Writing on the walls, stains all over the carpet, toys and bits and pieces to games scattered all over the place. Something has to be done about this atrocity.

I spent an hour in Target looking at shelving units to store toys, window treatments to provide privacy, and area rugs to cover up the carpet since we can't afford new wall to wall carpeting or preferably hardwood flooring.

But I hadn't brought measurements with me, so I had to make a return trip and found just about everything I needed. I just have to go back to buy a few things, but I've pretty much rounded up everything I need to make the room sing.

Givin' a shoutout to Target!! I love ya babe!

By the time I post again, I will have the after pics....AND the before pics.

What's The Plan, Stan?

Today, we went over the 504 Plan with the new school counselor, the nurse, the assistant principal, and Mrs. B (Brendon's teacher).

We basically reviewed the existing plan and made a few changes.

What can I say other than they went along with whatever we wanted and told us what they are now doing differently from last year.

The only time he goes to the nurse to get tested is if he's already in a nearby classroom for music or art. Otherwise, the nurse always goes to him.

They have a buzzer in the classroom to alert the nurse in case he's low and she needs to come to test and treat him.

There is a kit along with juice and tabs in the classroom, in the nurse's office (of course), and on the school bus.

In case of the school being evacuated and always at recess, there is a kit with all of the essentials that is taken outside and kept handy in case it's needed for a low.

A lot had to do with scenarios dealing with low blood sugars.

Not much has to be done about highs other than he's to be corrected during his lunch bolus and if he's above 350 at snack time in the afternoon. And if he's excessively high at any other time, the nurse will call me or Jeff to get our advice on how to treat it, if at all.

In a nutshell, he gets tested at:

10:30 am during snack time.
12:30 during lunch
3:00 before boarding the bus
Before gym.
After gym.
After recess.
And anytime in between when he isn't feeling right.

I think he's pretty well taken care of at school.

One Rock...Of Crack. Please?

I realized recently that a year ago I vowed to lose the last 20 pounds of pregnancy fat I had layering my ass and other various portions of my bod. One year later, I still have that 20 pounds of weight.

Glass half full = At least I didn't gain weight all year.

Glass half empty = I need to get my fat ass skinny again.

Crack is a pretty good weight loss enhancer, right? Except I'm ignorant of the ways to crack buying and wouldn't have a clue if I'm being ripped off, or even if I've bought enough. I'd be sort of like them:



I'll opt for working out, and Lean Cuisines. At least there's no guess work involved.

Oh, My Virgin Ears

Now this is a song I can sink my teeth into. It also sounds like a fun, tension relieving song to sing: (Warning: The song contains every cuss word imaginable)

The Sweet Of It

A man, who I'll call The Chairman, saw us on TV and expressed how moved he was to write to us and hoped his input would make a difference in Brendon's life:

"This is a Brendon fan letter.... And then it is a Lewis family fan letter for all which it presents to a world hungry for such definition."

He went on to write about how he took note of Brendon being a sports fan and gave printouts with information about successful athletes from his generation as well as about prominent businessmen who he was close with who all have/had juvenile diabetes.

He ended the letter by saying,

"As a member of the "greatest generation", thanks, Brendon, for allowing me to anticipate your autograph well before the "nextest generation" begs for it".


The best in human nature may be the one sweet thing diabetes inadvertantly brings to light.

Bibs Are For Bitches And The Crazy State Trooper

I was reminded of "A River Runs Through It" and after I took the shot, as I walked back to my car, I noticed a flyfisherman who was hidden by some trees to the right (photo taken in Bethlehem). See more pics below the post.

I hope everyone had a nice holiday weekend. I know I sure did.

On Saturday I headed to the coastal, frigid waters of New Hampshire and drove to my favorite beach up the coast near Maine.

I positioned myself in the largest, nonpopulated spot I could find only to realize there were a gaggle of kids sitting directly in front of me fighting over digging a hole.

Oh you kids weren't supposed to be here! Get lost!

And they soon did.

I read as I sunbathed.

Time didn't exist for a while.

But, I did want to get to the teeny tiny lobster shacks situated along a nearby harbor before they closed, and bought myself a nice, live 2 lb. lobster along with a little load of steamer clams and cooked them up for supper. A Corona topped it all off nicely, thank you very much. And I didn't even wear a bib!

Ooh, I know how to push the envelope, baby.

The next day provided a little more of a story.

I packed a lunch and took a leisurely Sunday drive up Interstate 93 to mountain country. I took in the breathtaking scenery and made my way through a mountain notch which is very disorienting. The highway narrows down to one lane as it cuts through a mountain range and because the skyline disappears due to the height of the mountains, it's difficult to focus on the road ahead.

But I got through it and was singing to some of my favorite songs when I saw a State Trooper leaning against the guardrail on the right side of the road with a radar gun.

Great. Juuust great. Considering I was doing 80 mph before I could brake in time, and I was the only vehicle within range, I was convinced I'd get pulled over.

The Trooper wanted to waste no time, so he calmly WALKED TO THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING HIGHWAY....AN INTERSTATE HIGHWAY WITH A 65 MPH SPEED LIMIT!!!!! And proceeded to give the hand signal to sloooow doooown.

Like him standing in the middle of a highway isn't cause enough for me to slow down!

He puts up his hand to halt me, and in the other lane, a red pickup truck pulls up along side me who he halts as well.

People, we're stopped in the middle of a major highway with a Trooper standing in the middle of the fucking thing!

He motions for the pickup truck to pull over to the side of the road, and motions for me to move along.

Well blow me down.

He didn't pull me over!

You know you're too far up north when State Troopers decide they can do whatever crazy stunts they want.

So I went along my merry little 80 mph way up to an exit for the little town of Bethlehem which is about 2 hours south of the Canadian border, turned around after a failed attempt at photographing wild turkeys standing along the side of the road, and made my way back home.

I capped off the evening with a tasty steak dinner, and I FINALLY finished reading a book I've been reading on and off for the past year. "Empire Falls", by Richard Russo. I highly recommend it.

Here are some pictures (click to enlarge).

View driving along Route 1A.

View from my beach chair.

Another view from my beach chair.

Sweet dreams Mr. Lobster.

Yummy!

My Sunday drive to the mountains (where I encountered the crazy State Trooper).

Aw, How Nice :)

Thank you, Jessica (Oh, The Joys), for choosing me, along with a lot of other deserving bloggers, to receive a nice award :)

Blue happens to be my favorite color ;D