I Will No Longer Blog

Nothing, not the Iraq War, Bush's fascist regime, nor China's occupation of Tibet, has moved me to take a stance more than the fact that Brooke White is still on American Idol.

When will the American people wake up and realize they have to stop voting for her in order for her to be booted off the show?!

Every night that she's been on the show has been the last straw for me, but it wasn't until her butchering of Neil Diamond's "I'm a Believer" that the straw finally broke the camel's back.

In protest of her position on American Idol's stage (playing either a guitar or the piano with that sun shiny smile plastered on her face) I refuse to publish another post on my blog until she's finally voted off.

Here is her rendition of "I'm a Believer":



I believe she must be voted off tonight!! VIVE LE VOTE OFF!

The Other Woman

When a person is desperate for survival, they'll do things they never imagined in order to cling to what little they have left of their minds, let alone their bodies.

In the prison camp where my grandmother was held during WW2, she befriended a woman who seemed to receive little bits of luxury...scraps of food (other than the cold potato soup they were served daily), soap, socks, chocolates.

How did she come across these things?

The Nazi guards gave them to her.

Why did they give them to her?

Because she was a woman....

My grandmother was lucky that the woman was generous with the Nazis as well as with her and would share the little treasures she received in payment with my grandmother. It made life slightly bearable and my grandmother didn't have to give of herself to those monsters. At least willingly. The woman, I think, didn't do what she did willingly to the point where she wanted to do it, but if what she received helped her cling to living, then she did what she had to do in order to survive.

He Doesn't Have Diabetes

Brendon didn't have diabetes yesterday. We cut back his basal so that he wouldn't drop deathly low as he played catch, explored some wet wooded area with his older cousin and his cousin's neighbor friend, played air hockey, jumped in the bouncy house, and fumbled with the keys to Guitar Hero.

He ate pasta and pizza that we barely dosed him for. Before eating a honking piece of birthday cake, he never heard us call out the words "Brendon come here, let me see your pump" because he didn't need to be dosed for it AT ALL.

Anytime we checked him, he was a sassy 70....at the end of the night, a nifty 144.

He didn't throw temper tantrums from his blood sugars plummeting or rising. He was a steadily happy boy.

He didn't have diabetes yesterday. It was nice.

The Birds And The Bees From Soup To Nuts

Well, he asked for it. He wanted me to tell him where babies come from and before I could answer, Jessica said they come from mommy's stomach. I've told the kids the Cliff's Notes version of baby making before, but he's getting older now and "magic" just doesn't cut it anymore.

"Yeah I know, but how do they get there?", he asked.

"The sperm meets the egg and says a fine how do you do and then POOF! a baby is made." (I improvised this line a bit).

"No, start from the waaay beginning and take it to the end", he insisted.

Ohhh...whew...well, uh. Hmm, how can I tastefully get into the bow-chicka-bow-wow without getting too graphic?

OK...here goes:

"The daddy puts his penis in the mommy's vagina...."

"Ahhhh!!!!", he screams as he ducks for cover on the couch and assumes the fetal position with arms and hands covering his head as though I just unloaded a hand grenade on him.

"And the daddy's sperm comes out and finds the mommy's egg in her belly and then they meet together and break up into a whole bunch of cells and they keep dividing until the baby is formed."

He came up for air when I started mentioning the cell division part and relaxed a lot more.

"Where does the baby come out?"

"Well, the baby comes out of the vagina, but for some women, like mommy, the doctor cuts open the stomach and pulls the baby out from there."

A bit like Alien...

"How big is a vagina?"

I close my fist and say..."A vagina is closed like this, but as the baby comes out, it opens up like this", as I spread my hands wide, "and the baby slides out."

"How does it open that wide?"

"Well, it's able to stretch open..."

He cuts me off and says, "That's weird." And resumes watching Cory In The House.

Quote by Jakey

"Don't tickle my lightsaber."
-Said while dressed as "Dark" Vader.

So Smart

Jessica: I know how to spell O.K.

Me: How do you spell it?

Jessica: O-K.

Brand Me A Losah

Omen #1: Black snake in our path when Jacob, Jessica and I made our way from the baseball field to the park during Brendon's Little League game. Jessica nearly stepped on it after I screamed "Ooh!! Look a snake! A snake!! See it! See it! Jessica watch it...you're going to step on it!!". I cringed the same way one might cringe in anticipation of seeing if the next step will land a foot in a pile of dog shit.

Clue #1: A clean, white partial tampon applicator sitting at the outside of my mini van. "Ew", I thought to myself when I went to check the time on the dashboard clock because, gawd, when is this game going to be over, "who the hell used a tampon around here?"

We all piled into the van after Brendon's game as the "terrorized" children claimed they were starving.

"Let's go to McDonald's", I mouthed to Jeff.

"That's fine", he said.

So we went our merry little way and as we're about to pull into the drive thru, Jeff asks if his wallet is in the van.

"Yeah, I saw it in my pocketbook." I rummaged for it, but couldn't feel it amongst all of the receipts.

Nada.

"Your wallet isn't in here, is it in the baseball bag?"

No it isn't I realize after I check.

"OMG, someone took your wallet! I swore I locked the van. I unlocked it when I checked the time, but I was sitting where I could see the van."

I took out $20 from my own wallet to give to him for the food and I noted how nonchalant Jeff was. Jeez, I can't believe he's so calm. It's nice, actually.

"Was anything taken from your wallet?"

"No, I just handed you some money. They only took your wallet. Let me check to see if anything is missing out of mine."

As I pick up my pocketbook, I see the tampon, in the other part of the applicator, sitting on the van floor.

"Oh shit, they unwrapped my tampon and messed with it!! And my credit card is missing!!! Oh shiiiit"

I pictured teen thugs (who I saw playing basketball on the playground) rummaging through my pocketbook and examining my tampon like chimpanzees examining some odd discovery...just short of sniffing and tasting it.

"Please let me find my credit card floating around my pocketbook."

I fished around the receipts and found my credit card. Which then made me doubt the accuracy of my memory of seeing his wallet in my pocketbook.

Man Jeff was awfully calm.

We got the food for the kids and shot home with the plan that Jeff would go back to the field to see if the thugs tossed the wallet somewhere after they finished pillaging it.

We got home and Jeff checked his truck.

"The wallet was in there."

"Ohh...so I guess I remembered seeing it the last time we went somewhere", which I believed happened a few days ago, but couldn't for the life of me remember where we could've possibly have gone because we never go anywhere.

"It was in your purse last night when we went to the support group meeting."

"Ohhh. So THAT'S when I saw it."

OooKaay.

Why Mama Lions Eat Their Young

I was sitting at the kitchen table during dinner the other night...alone, but with the kids...because Jeff was at a dinner soiré for work...and Jacob kept getting up from the dinner table to show me different tricks he could do with different parts of his body.

I kept telling him to sit down and eat....to stop climbing on the table....to sit on his rear end instead of standing on the chair....so on and so forth.

Brendon comes to his brother's "rescue" and says "Quit harassing the poor kid."

Excuse me??

"I'm not harassing him, I'm trying to get him to behave at the dinner table."

"You terrorize kids all the time. And you're mean to them. You really need to take a look at yourself, young lady.", says Jessica, who is 6 years old.

I was totally offended and she was WAY off point.

"I terrorize YOU GUYS??!! YOU kids terrorize ME!! THAT'S why I'm so mean! Now eat your dinner!"

--------------------------------------

This morning Brendon says, "I want to wear this shirt again", as he buries his nose into it and takes a deep whiff. "It doesn't smell. Here, smell it."

Never mind the lack of odor, what about the unidentifiable crust showing like a badge on the upper chest area??

"No! You're not wearing that again even if it doesn't smell. You can't wear clothes two days in a row. People will think you're poor." (Holy shit, I just used a line my mom used on me when I wanted to wear my gauchos every single day of my kindergarten career back in the good ol' 70's).

"But mom!! It's going to get hot today!"

We argued back and forth and thankfully I've kept up with the laundry this week so that he was able to find an acceptable shirt to wear.

It wasn't even 8 a.m. and I already needed a swig of hard liquor to calm my frazzled nerves.

I Couldn't Do This Alone

I don't think I could've gotten through a lot of this diabetes stuff for the past five years if it weren't for Brendon and Jeff. I mean, I'd do it. I'd have no choice and my motivation is to see my son be vibrant and happy, but I think I'd be more of a nervous wreck if it weren't for those two.

When I spoke to Brendon's school nurse on the phone the other night after calling her at home, she said she was so nervous, but didn't want to show Brendon because she didn't want to scare him. I told her we also try to keep our emotions in check in front of him because we don't want to scare him either.

She said, "You did so good!"

If I had seen Brendon in bad shape, or emotional from being so high, it would've been hard for me to get a grip if I could've gotten one at all. Seeing him play cards with her when I walked into her office, and then him relaxing back while I changed the tubing, and then watching him walk out of the office as he said to me "Thanks mom, I'll see you when I get home" with a big grin afterwards really helped me to not fall into a million useless pieces.

Jeff helps me to keep my cool as well. If I can't figure out a problem, or for instance I'm unsure of how much to correct Brendon at night, I know Jeff will come up with an answer that will allow me to relax and be rest assured that whatever we did won't have a disasterous effect.

He picks up where I left off...he starts what I can finish. I never feel burned out because of that. I feel frustrated at times because diabetes management sucks balls in general, but I never feel like I can't make it through the day...thanks to Jeff.

If we don't see eye to eye in what to do with any kind of diabetes management situation, I don't have to worry about him not respecting my point of view. And I totally respect his. We either come up with a compromise, or we try one idea first and if that doesn't work we try the other's idea. If THAT idea doesn't work, we bang our heads together and try to knock loose another idea.

We make a good team, Jeff and I.

I'm lucky that they are who they are. And I give thanks every day for the luck I have.

No Rage Against The Machine

Yesterday was a brilliant day for HI's.

When I picked up Brendon from school, he had started getting ketones, so we knew he wasn't getting the insulin he was supposed to be getting. By that time he was in the 600 range...or HI.

And then by dinner time, he was in the 300's.

I could've raged bolused during the day, but I was too afraid that there would be that one bolus that would "do the trick" and I'd be greeted with a nifty low.

A new issue arised.

Brendon was dawdling when it came time for me to insert a new infusion set and I was trying to get him to hurry up and settle down so I could change it. He had been riding in the upper 500-600 range for a couple of hours already, with ketones, and I wanted to get everything fresh and new.

"You've been very high and I need to get this done so I can get some insulin in you."

"But I feel fine."

"Even though you feel fine, it doesn't mean that you are."

"Well, why do you need to do this so fast if I feel fine."

"It's not good for your body to be this high. And the high might sneak up on you and make you feel really bad, so let's get this done."

He has to understand that what he feels physically and what the numbers read don't always jive, but he has to take action according to the meter number instead of how he feels.

I don't want him having a false sense of security thinking that he's "OK" as long as he's "feeling" OK. The number always has to take priority. My cousin has gone through major complications because he treated himself with insulin based on how he felt physically instead of testing himself to see what his body was REALLY doing to him.

So back to the rage bolusing.

Like I said, I was afraid to keep correcting him to get his numbers down faster because I didn't know which correction would be the one to drop him too low.

He had insulin on board from a snack he had at home, plus whatever he had on board from the corrections done at school.

By dinner time, he was in the 300's.

An hour after dinner, he was a 300. I called Brendon's school nurse because she was very worried and just wanted me to tell her how things were going.

By bedtime at 8:00 (about 2 hours after dinner), he was FINALLY at 145.

This morning at breakfast, he was at 108.

So for several hours, this kid put up with some mega high numbers.

He takes a licking, but keeps on ticking ;D

Cue The Lone Ranger Theme Song....

• Get call from Jeff while I'm unloading groceries saying go to school because Brendon is in the 590's and needs a new infusion set.
• I feel bad because I never bring my cell phone anywhere with me, so nurse had to resort to contacting Jeff.
• Grab new tubing to replace what was ripped out of cartridge while he played catch during recess.
• Vow to be more organized and less forgetful and make bringing my cell phone with me high priority from here on out.
• Show school nurse how to hook up tubing and load cartridge.
• Ask about her giving him a shot of insulin. Looking good.
• He's coming down, but not quickly.
• Go home, unload and unpack groceries...thank gawd it's a COLD SPRING HERE IN NH because the perishables haven't perished in the garage.
• Pick up Jacob at preschool.
• Get call saying meter reads HI. Bolus isn't working. Will pick up Brendon at school. Can't wait for him to come home on bus.
• Pick up Brendon and Jessica, drive home wait for kids to fight through getting mail out of mailbox.
• Hurry inside to set up set change.
• Brendon has to pee...of course.
• Comes in and takes sweet, slow as molasses time dropping his drawers.
• Mini-argument over where to place infusion set.
• Mom wins....of course ;)
• Change set.
• Voila! All done.
• Frig an A (whatever that Grease quote means).

Raise Your Voice About Type 1 Diabetes

If you've come here on purpose to see what I've written, or you clicked on a link that Google provided while you were doing a search, please take a moment to read this. It's about my son who has Type 1 diabetes and I'd like to raise your awarness about it:

From the World Health Organization:
Diabetes is a chronic disease that occurs when the pancreas does not produce enough insulin.... Insulin is a hormone that regulates blood sugar.

• Type 1 diabetes (previously known as insulin-dependent or childhood-onset) is characterized by a lack of insulin production. Without daily administration of insulin, Type 1 diabetes is rapidly fatal.

Without the daily administration of insulin, Type 1 diabetes is rapidly fatal.

-----------------------------------------------

Like any other kid: Brendon loves baseball...his favorite positions are pitcher, catcher, and 3rd base. He rides his bike. He writes notes to the girls he likes. He collects baseball cards. He loves school and especially recess where he plays touch football with a group of boys...every day!

Unlike any other kid: He is 8 years old and has had diabetes since he was 2 1/2 years old. We have to monitor his blood sugars all day long and through the night every single day by pricking his finger with a lancet device and applying the drawn blood to a test strip in a glucose meter to get a reading of his blood sugar levels. We also have to check him extra times during all activities.

If his blood sugar is too high, we have to give him insulin through his insulin pump to bring his blood sugar to a normal range (between 80-125). If it is too low (under 70) then we must give him a fast acting sugar like juice in order to raise his blood sugar. Other children need to receive anywhere from 2 to over 4 needle injections per day.

How many of you adults are afraid of shots? Imagine a child having to endure this all day, every day, for the rest of their lives. For the rest of their lives..........

With all of this monitoring and treatment with insulin, it is nearly impossible to keep his blood sugar in range. We are merely doing the best we can to prevent the immediate effect of death from a low blood sugar and future complications from high blood sugar.

He also must receive insulin everytime he eats food or drinks a beverage with carbohydrates in it. We must monitor his carbohydrate intake for that is how we determine how much insulin he must receive to regulate his blood sugar. Carbohydrates cause the blood sugar to rise.

High blood sugar, overtime, will cause complications like blindness, organ failure, limb amputations and many other body destroying complications. It is one of the only diseases that has the ability to cause destruction of nearly every organ and body part.

Low blood sugar is an emergency situation where if it isn't treated promptly will result in unconciousness leading to coma leading to death. The effects are nearly instantaneous. The cause of the bodily shut down is that glucose (blood sugar) is the only source of energy the brain receives. When the brain doesn't receive enough glucose due to low blood sugar levels, it begins to starve to death and in turn begins to shut down the body.

Brendon is lucky enough to have been born during the right time in history. If he was born before 1922 (when the discovery of insulin was first tested on a human being) Type 1 diabetes would be a death sentence within months...or if he was lucky he would die within weeks. I say lucky because to die slowly without any administration of insulin to help him survive is a miserable, painful process.

We do what we can to provide him with a near normal life. He plays with his friends, he does very well in school, and he loves to ride his bike. But, while he does these normal things, my husband and I (along with his school nurse and teachers and friends) are on constant vigil.

We can never take a moment to forget he has Type 1 diabetes. We can't take a break from his care. If we do, the effects will be devastating and even deadly.

Fancy Schmancy

I was watching the British version of "Make Me A Supermodel" when Jessica came in and started watching with me.

"They're talking fancy. Where are they from again?"

"They're from England. That is where Queens and princesses live."

"Does Queen Latifah live in England?"

"Uh. No. She's not a real queen."

Call Me Kevin Bacon.

Winters are prime time for blogging and blog exploring. I liken myself to a spelunker...entering one blog and seeing another to enter into and before I know it, I am hopelessly lost and have no idea how I ended up where I did.

Tonight I was reading a blog that I stumbled across while reading another blog which is one I found while reading a blog I regularly read. Follow?

The blog I was reading tonight had a post about a recent meetup with a friend at a hotel in France for breakfast. The blogger's friend is also a friend to my friend who I visited in France in November. The friend that the blogger met up with had visited my friend in France as well, but last year.

The blogger and my friend don't know each other, either. They are merely seperated by one person. Which is what makes it so crazy.

It blew me away that people I never knew existed at one time, who are halfway across the world, are meeting with people who have met with people I know who live halfway across the world. Follow again?

This blogging world brings me within 6 degrees of seperation from people who I would never have known existed if it weren't for my spelunking ways.

I am also grateful for the fact that it has also brought me in touch with others who I'd have no idea existed if it weren't for blogging.

How would I ever have come across the fact that Brendon will be OK as an adult living with Type 1 diabetes if it weren't for all of the people who are generous enough to share their experiences?

How would I ever have coped with being a parent of a child who has Type 1 diabetes if it weren't for all of the other parents who are brave enough to share the vulnerability that they can't/won't/shouldn't share with their children?

I have been lucky enough to form great friendships as a result.

With the burden we bear, I am especially lucky to be a part of a blogging community with all of us sharing information with each other to make our lives a little more convenient, a little less worrisome and to give us much more hope.

I am never alone even when I am.

Speechless....

Who in the H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS approved this at the ad agency? Who had the guts to show it to the client in the first place?? And what was the client smoking when he/she approved it and said:

"Excellent work! This will go a long way to put our company in high esteem with the public. I can see them knocking down our doors now to get our business!!"

Everytime I see this on TV I'm simultaneously revolted and amused.

It's All Where The Emphasis Lies

Just one more thing to think of to make me laugh at odd times during the day:

Brendon: Is Uranus pronounced Your-anus or Urine-iss.

Me (willing myself to be mature and not LMAO): Well, I think it's supposed to be Your-anus, but some people pronounce it Urine-iss.

Brendon: I thought so. Mrs. B pronounced it Urine-iss, but I thought she was wrong. I thought it was pronounced Your-anus.

Please end this conversation before I bust my gall bladder. PLEASE.

Me: Hey, go finish picking up your baseball cards.

Brendon: O.K.

Me (silently mouthing the words and ending it with a deep sigh of relief): Thank you.

Now excuse me while I go LMAO.

What Do You Do With It?

What do you do with the laughter that is swelling up inside of you waiting to leak out of every pore of your body? When is swells up:

While you're pumping gas

While you're grocery shopping

While you're in the middle of a very important meeting at work

Or when you are in any other public place where you are clearly not engaged in a conversation where something funny is being said that would cause you to laugh.

What do you do with it?

I needed to go shopping today, but opted to stay home. I can't control my laughter. Funny things I've read or heard someone say keep swirling in my head and I am laughing my ass off at the most inopportune moments.

The only place I feel safe laughing is in my minivan usually while on my way to dropping the kids off at school. I was breaking out in random fits of laughter on my way to drop off Jessica today. At first, it was making her feel self conscious, "Are you laughing at the hat I'm wearing? Why are you laughing?" And then she caught on and my laughter peaked her interest.

"What are you thinking about that's so funny?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

I break out into another fit of laughter.

"Mom, you can tell me, I'll keep it a secret."

"Really, it's nothing. It's grownup stuff."

"Awwww c'MON!!"

"Oh time to get unbuckled. The teacher is coming to get you."

As one of the kindergarten teachers, one of many volunteers who take the kids into the school, walks up to the van, I do all I can to draw a blank mind so I can't possibly think of anything that would cause me to laugh.

I love to laugh and truely believe it is the best medicine. But right now, it's really exhausting me....as I laugh while I write this.

The word uvula is busting my gut at this very moment.

Help me.