Mmmmm....Garbage Tastes Good.

I Suppose You'd Use a Dual Wave/Extended Bolus for These Food Items??

He Won Me Over

....At the moment I thought that, the cute guy in the muscle shirt came over and said,

"Is there a problem here?"

The drunken idiot looked up at him...I think the guy was shorter than me...and said, "Uh.....", and then looked back at me.

I said, "No, there's no problem here."

"No, no problem. Sorry to have bothered you." And the drunken idiot slunk off to another corner of the bar.

"Hi, my name is Jeff."

"I'm Shannon."

"So, blah blah blah blah."

"Blah blah blah blah."

"Ugh. I hate dance music. Do you want to go outside and get some fresh air?"

"Sure."

Jeff opened the door to the FRONT of the bar and let me out first.

Nice!

We walked into a little section smaller than a breezeway to get to the door to the outside.

Jeff turned to me and here's where I thought, 'Oh brother, now he's going to try to make out with me. So typical.'

But instead, he opened the door for me and let me through.

I had never had a guy open the door for me. I was impressed.

So we walked...holding hands!! I never had a guy hold hands with me before because he was so busy trying to make moves on me.

We talked while we walked. I kept looking back to make sure that if he tried to rape me, I'd know where to run back to.

There was a little park bench on the sidewalk where we sat and we talked some more.

And that is all we did. He didn't try to kiss me or touch me. He just talked TO me. And he seemed interested in what I had to say.

Not that I was the intellectual college student at this point:

"I watch TV a lot."

"OMG...me too!!"

"My parents are divorced and I have a brother."

"OMG...me too!!"

We talked some more and realized how much we had in common, LOL.

We decided to walk back and saw that there were no signs on the front of the buildings we walked along. How far up had we walked from? I guess I hadn't paid that close attention.

We stopped to scope out the situation when, from across the street, I saw a midget walk out from a bar and cross to the other side (Why did the midget cross the street? To get to the other side).

"You know", I said, "there was a midget at the bar we were in. Maybe he's the same one. Let's follow him and see where he goes."

"I don't think he's going back to the bar we were in."

"Well, let's just see."

So we followed the midget and saw that he walked through the entrance of one of the buildings. We walked through the same doorway he did and I was accosted by one of my friends. Yup, we found the right bar.

"WHERE WERE YOU????!!!! WHY DID YOU LEAVE WITH HIM????!!!! YOU COULD'VE BEEN RAPED AND KILLED!!!!"

She got very loud whenever drunk.

"It's OK. He didn't even try to make out with me!!"

"Really??!!"

"Yeah! It was so nice. We just talked."

At the end of the night, he walked us to our car (we DID have a designated driver, btw) and we exchanged numbers.

This one was different. He was a really good guy.

He called me the next day and for 17 years, we've talked every day since. With some sex in between.

Confession Time

Late one night, I went to the supermarket to buy a gallon of milk. As I walked into the breezeway on the way out of the store, the milk slipped out of my hands and dropped to the floor splitting the plastic container wide open. A mother-gush of milk started flowing all over the floor right near the exit door.

I sidestepped the milk lake and walked out of the place. I didn't even tell anyone what happened I was so embarrassed. I just went to another store and bought another gallon which made it home safely.

"Mommy, How Did You And Daddy Meet?"

This "how we met" story is for Jessica at "O The Joys"....who was intrigued by my mention of a midget being involved in my story....and anyone else who'd like to hear about how I nabbed myself a husband. I tend to "lighten" up the story for the kiddies when they ask me how daddy and I met. They know a version where we met at a party and daddy asked me out on a date. My family knows the same version as well.

But, you'll get the authentic version.

Characters:
Southern Comfort
3 Guys who looked full of themselves
A drunken idiot
and
A midget

Background:
It was June 21, 1991 and I had just finished my Sophomore year in college. I had also come out of a painfully rocky two year relationship amongst the usual jerks I was used to dealing with, so I swore I'd quit boys and partying when I went back to school in September and concentrate strictly on my studies. I was ready to go pure nerd.

The Story:

My college suite mate and I lived close by in neighboring towns and she invited me to go out with her and some friends. I agreed to go out with them. A friend of a friend knew the owner of a bar in Port Jervis, NY and could get us in without I.D.

At 20 years old, I wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to get into a bar without I.D.!!

On my way to meet her, I got this funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't butterflies, but very close to that feeling. My intuition told me that one of the most important things would happen to me that night, but I couldn't tell if it would be a good thing or a bad thing. I put the thought away and kept driving.

Fast forward to the bar:

We came in through the back entrance and sat at the closest available table. The owner told us if he saw us anywhere else in the bar, he'd kick us out. He was nervous about letting a bunch of underage girls into his bar. Who knows what the hell kind of trouble we'd deliver to his place.

My friend and I were slamming a shot of Southern Comfort when I noticed 3 guys walking into the bar.

I immediately thought to myself "Who the HELL do they think THEY are? Them and their muscle shirts. Puhleeze." So I turned my attention away from them and returned to drinking a rum and Coke sitting in front of me.

As I sat sipping, I saw one of my friends talking to a midget (who returns in the second part of the story). He was all up in her chest trying to convince her that big things come in small packages. She was amused, but not willing to hook up with him. I didn't even try to rescue her. It was just too amusing.

I sat there continuing to sip on my rum and Coke when I noticed one of the muscle shirt guys looking at me. I was given another shot of Southern Comfort and knocked it back. I glanced over at him again and saw him still looking, this time smiling. I thought he was kind of cute, but because of the shots and my rum and Coke, I had to make sure.

"A, see that guy over there?.... Do you think he's cute?"

"Yeah, he's cute."

"Oh yeah, he's totally cute", said another friend who caught on to what we were talking about.

I looked away. I wasn't interested in boys anymore.

I looked over at him again anyway and he smiled. I smiled back...and looked away. I told myself that I'm not making any moves. If he's so interested, he'd have to do all the work.

Another friend had to go to the bathroom, so I got up out of the booth to let her out. Before I could sit back down, a drunken idiot came over and asked if I wanted to go to a party with him. I told him I came here with friends and didn't want to leave without them. He kept badgering me telling me he'd take me to the party and then back to the bar again so that I could go home with my friends.

As he continued badgering me, I looked over at the muscle shirt guy who was watching the exchange.

I thought to myself, "If he doesn't come over now and help me out, he's shit out of luck."

to be continued.....

Where It's At!

graphjam

Rock Star Demands

The school year is coming upon us (yippee kiyay!!) and our 504 Plan is in place for the time being.

This sort of reminds me of the contract demands rock stars make for their concert tours. For instance, we demand that the school discards brown M & M's when served at classroom parties. It could totally affect his performance.

The school understands that this plan can be changed at any time which is cool. No one fought us on any of the points and in fact, there were quite a few of them that they came up with themselves.

So here's ours to share. If you have one you'd like to share, I'd love to see it. Maybe there is something we haven't th0ught of that can be added to ours if it applies to him and what he currently needs.

Referral to Special Education:

The 504 Team has determined that this student should not be considered, at this time, as educationally disabled under IDEA: Yes:___x_____ No:_________



Describe the reasonable accommodations that will be implemented:

1. Classroom will have blood sugar meter, glucose tabs and juice box available.

2. For fire drills and lockdowns an emergency kit for Brendon will be available.

3. A nurse will accompany Brendon on all field trips.

4. If Brendon is not feeling well he will have blood sugar checked in classroom. He is not to walk alone to nurse’s office for blood sugar checks. The nurse will be called to the classroom.

5. Brendon’s bus driver will have emergency kit to use if needed.

6. At snack time the nurse will go to classroom for bolus deliver via Insulin Pump.

7. He will have blood sugar checked and receive bolus delivery before lunch.

8. Blood sugar will be checked before bus ride daily.

9. On days where Brendon has PE class, his blood sugar will be checked both before and after class.

10. The nurse will provide teaching for staff and students on an “as needed” basis regarding diabetes. This will help keep Brendon safe at school, while respecting confidentiality.

11. The school nurse will communicate with Mr. And Mrs. Lewis as needed to inform them of high/low blood sugars.

12. Should any episodes of aggressive behavior occur, Brendon’s blood sugar should be checked immediately. If levels are significantly low, Brendon should not be disciplined. If levels are within normal limits, he should be held accountable.

13. Brendon would benefit from being in a classroom that is air-conditioned.

I don't think we're as demanding and nit picky as Nigel. Do you agree?

My Little Interviewer

Q & A with Jessica (age 6) interviewing her mom:

Q: If you do something illegal that you didn't know was illegal do you still get arrested?

A: YES!! Just because you didn't know that what you did was against the law doesn't mean you don't get arrested.

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

Q: Why are people different than bugs?

A: Because of genetics.

Q: What genetics? Us or bugs?

A: Genetics determines what we're going to be. (I think)

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

Q: When dad was a nerd in high school, did he have nerd girlfriends?

A: I don't know if dad ever had girlfriends in high school.

UPDATE: Jeff informed me that he did have girlfriends in high school.

And that they were in fact nerds ;) (I added in the last part. They had to have been nerds, I just know it.)

Stick A Fork In Me. I'm Done.

I hate diabetes and want nothing to do with it anymore. I'm done and fed up. Great numbers today up until this afternoon. I know what the problem was. But it's completely and utterly defeating to keep trying and trying and fixing and succeeding only to be knocked down again within in a couple of hours from feeling on top of the world.
Comments have been turned on again.

Take THAT Diabetes!!

Little by little Jeff raised his basals, working conservatively so that Brendon didn't swing the other way and crash. Yet, we still saw ranges in the 350's to well over 400 on a regular basis.

I was all about cranking that shit up and would correct him every chance I got, but he never went below the upper 200's.

Finally, Jeff did a major overhaul by raising his total basals by 3 units and adjusting his bolus ratios. Finally, FINALLY, his numbers have been excellent since last night.

Of course hindsight is 20/20, or at least an illusion to 20/20 when the D is involved.

For the past couple of weeks, Brendon had been complaining of achy legs and would ask me to massage them. I attributed the aches to his playing catcher in his baseball games.

The other day, he weighed himself and said he gain a lot of weight and is now 91 pounds. I can't see extra fat on him, so he must've had a big growth spurt.

Whether it's a growth spurt or not, at least his numbers have been awesome. But, the day is not over! We'll see how it goes over the course of the next few days.

Pulling Out The Velveteen Rabbit

I thought today was going to be a good one until he was in the 400 range again.

It was time to pull out Old Faithful...one of the hundreds of neglected needles we have stashed in the closet, but are always there just in case they're needed. They were once used all of the time...every day...several times a day until one day they weren't needed anymore. Yet, there they remained...waiting for his pump to stop working, or for some other mishap that they may need to rescue Brendon from.

It sort of reminded me of The Velveteen Rabbit:

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.

But the Skin Horse only smiled.

I plugged 403 into his pump to see how much it would dose him for...if anything at this point, his pump is great for calculations!!...and it mercifully called out 1 unit. Easy peasy.

I told Brendon he needed a shot and he asked, "With a needle?"

I told him yes.

He paced back and forth like a caged tiger and stomped off into the family room and plopped himself on the couch.

"Do it in the stomach."

"No, your stomach might be all used up."

"Where are you going to do it?"

"In the arm. It won't even hurt. It'll hurt less than an infusion set!"

"No, I don't want it in the arm. What about me? I want to do it."

"You want to give yourself the shot?"

"Yes, I've done it before."

He wiped the tears from his eyes and watched as I cleaned off a section of meaty thigh, and he pinched his skin while holding the needle in mid air....hesitating.

He was thinking too much. I could see the needle inching closer. Finally Jeff told him to do it quick.

Brendon in achingly slow motion pierced his skin with the needle and pushed the plunger down.

He saw a microscopic teeny tiny speck of a speck of blood and pointed to it asking "I think I see something. Is that OK?"

"Yes Brendon. It's fine. You did a good job."

To see him so worked up over a needle now at a big burly 8 years old when at 2 1/2 years old he was so nonchalant and cooperative about getting a shot somehow broke the hell out of my heart.

It's just one of those things I guess.

Now he's whooping, hollering, and laughing at a prediction his Dad made about a play the Mets made not too soon after that prediction.

"How did you know that, Dad? Holy mackerel!!"

I Don't Know

Is it that he's sneaking food and not dosing himself for it?

After being dipped in a lake, is it that his pump has gone a little haywire and isn't pumping the way it should?

Is he growing?

Are his infusion set sites all used up?

Is his insulin corrupted?

Did Jupiter and Saturn line up directly with orbit of the moon while the Sun did a backflip landing into a graceful pirouette?

Who the hell knows why, for the past few weeks, he's been sky high in the 400s and then dipping into the 300s and lo and behold delighting me with a sweet 200 range every now and then.

Fuck an A.

None of the standard "fixes" are doing the trick. We've upped his basal rates and bolus ratios. We've changed his infusion sets when ever he's been in the 400's. His insulin isn't expired.

I don't know what else to do.

That's Illegal

Jessica: Is it illegal to drive while you're blindfolded?

Me: Yes, it's illegal.

Jessica: It's a fun illegal, right?

Me: NO! It's not a fun illegal!

Lesson: There is no such thing as fun illegal!! (Well, there is, but would it be responsible of me as a mom to let her in on that?)

I Think I'm Extra Sensitive

I notice the little things and take it all in and keep it inside of me for a long time. When a child does something in the way of noticing that Brendon has diabetes and does something nice for him, I take notice. And my heart melts.

Last night at another of Brendon's games, I had him test his blood sugar. A team mate, was sitting beside him, watching from underneath his visor.

He didn't ask questions, and I saw him look away as though he were peaking at something he shouldn't, but couldn't help himself and went back to looking in his shy little way.

In the midst of testing, an unused lancet drop onto the dirt.

The boy saw it and instead of ignoring it, he quickly picked it up and handed it to me. He instinctively knew how important it was.

In his quiet, shy little way, he wanted to help his teammate who was nonchalantly...in a way, absent mindedly...checking his blood sugar. I smiled and thanked him for being so helpful.

To me, the smallest, tiniest gestures like that speak mountains. I've written about the small gestures other children have made toward Brendon, or the concern they've showed for him. They all hold a special place in my heart.

Maybe I'm so sensitive to those things because I know there are gestures out there that could instead be mean spirited and the concerns nonexistent.

10-4 Rubber Duck

Remember the movie Convoy? I heard the theme song on the radio tonight on the way home from Brendon's baseball game. God I loved that movie when it came out on HBO in the late 70's. Rubber Duck was so badass. He didn't bow down to the Man. Yeah! Stick it to the Bear, Rubber Duck!

I believe I'm going off the deep end.

I want to cry because I don't think I could take much more of being home with the kids. Is it September yet?

If I hear "Hey mom!" one more time, I don't know what I'll do. Maybe get a job with Gap so I can fold their jeans the Gapster way.

This is how brain my dead is...cuz I watched the whole thing and thought it was interesting. And then I read the comments people wrote about it and laughed my ass off.

I turned over a new leaf by deciding to write "laughed my ass off" instead of LMAO. Expect to see it in my upcoming posts and comments possibly on your blog!

In The Still Of The Night

Sitting on wooden bleachers in the summertime dusk, I have one eye on Brendon in the Allstar game and another on my rambling two.

The air is dryer than it has been for a while and a chill begins to set in as the sun simmers down along the tree line. The field lights flicker on to brighten the field where boys are adjusting their little protection cups, flicking away the bugs flying around their baseball cap visors and watching their coach give them encrypted hand signals for what to do next.

I can't think of a better night than that. When all is right in the still of the night. The boys are excited and attentive. The siblings who came along are all in another deserted baseball field clustered in a haze of cartwheels, running, tackling, inspecting something in the grass, starting their own clutzy game of baseball.

Jeff is umpiring in the field...I guess at first base. Another mom and I talk about how ignorant we are of terminology, rules, and basic knowledge of just about every sport. But we intently watch the game clapping when we think someone made a good play or scored a point. Oh...right...a run.

Jeff walked to the fence to give me a baseball-like hand signal: the pointer finger held out with one hand while the other pointer finger points to it.

I walk over to the dugout where Brendon is trying to guess whether a baseball is being hidden under the glove of another teammate. He guessed that it was and that it wasn't, thereby covering all of the bases.

His friend B, who wasn't playing in this particular game but whose father was assistant coach, was sitting on the other side of Brendon saying he thought there was a ball under the glove.

I took the test kit out of his baseball bag and began the assembly of the kit.

"What's that?", his teammate asks.

"That's for his diabetes", says B. "I had it done to me yesterday when I was at his house."

The boy watched intently as I pricked Brendon's finger, squeezing out the drop of blood and jerking my head to the side as Brendon yelled near my ear for his teammate on the field to "RUN, RUN, RUN, RUN!!!!!"

"What's that black thing?", another teammate asks as he notices what I'm doing and walks over to inspect.

"That's blood!!", says B.

"Why do you need blood?", asks the newest observer.

"It's for the sugar in my blood", says Brendon.

"Is that like a shot?", says Houdini, with the ball under his baseball glove.

"No", says B. "It doesn't even hurt! I had it done yesterday and it didn't hurt at all."

I was relieved to see he was at 116. He was safe.

I returned to the bleachers and sat to watch the rest of the game.

They lost by one point...or score??...10 to 11. It was a great, fun game though.

Brendon's coach walked over as I was testing Brendon yet again on a different set of bleachers as he ate his after-game hotdog, and told him how impressed he was to see him as catcher.

"Way to stop the ball, Brendon. Way to stop it. I liked the way you worked. You were real good out there. I want to make sure you get more catching time."

I looked at Brendon who was looking upward at his coach with a smile on his face, one hand in mine getting poked with a lancet, and a hot dog in the other hand waiting to be eaten.

All was right in the still of the night.

P.S. The game ended at 10:30 p.m.!!!!!

Email From A Fellow D Mom

I won't cut and paste her email here since I hadn't asked her permission. I do believe in privacy afterall.

I can tell you what it wasn't about. It wasn't about how I inspired her about diabetes or parenting a diabetic child or anything like that.

What it IS essentially about is that she's had many laughs about my use of the word Fuck and what a tension reliever it can be for her to say it privately. And she sent me the following video which absolutely made my day.

I was feeling down and blue today, but damn if the word Fuck doesn't cheer me up whether it's by saying it, writing it, and now watching a very educational video about the word! What a magical tension reliever it can be. She had perfect timing :) Thank you, my new friend :)

We're all adults here, right? (you better be...and make sure you're not at work...or if you are and can't help yourself, close your office door...or if you're in a cubicle, lower the volume and put your ear to the speaker). So, I think you can handle it.

It's funny as H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks (that means Hell).

Rant About Women's Feminine Hygiene Products

Women have certain hygienic challenges that many come face to face with during the course of their lives. It's just a fact of life and one that we'd all like to be kept PRIVATE!!!

None of us talk about it with each other.

I don't hold hands with my mom walking down the beach asking her what she uses to keep her hooha clean and fresh.

In fact, I don't even want to KNOW she has a hooha! My mom has Barbie Doll privates as far as I'm concerned!

Women and men alike have been subjected to watching commercials like a recent one where a woman is window shopping with a screwed expression on her face like she's about to shit her pants and the voice over asks: "Do you have a burning itch down there? Embarassing odor that no matter how often you bathe you just can't get rid of?"

Guess what voice over! It's none of your business!! Do you honestly think women are willing to come forth with their hygienic problems??? Women don't even want to show the cellulite in their thighs! What makes you think they would want to admit they smell like fishermen after a month out at sea??

Last night's commercial really did it for me. A woman is walking down the street acting all gay and peppy, looking pretty in her light, flowy, sleeveless dress enjoying the men ogling her when she steps in front of a cop car sitting in an alley.

She stops and faces the cop car

Lifts her arm

And smells her armpit!!!!! She rolls her eyes in ecstasy and continues on her merry little way.

WTF is wrong with you you advertisers for Secret deodorant!!!!

Do we see men asking each other what jock itch product they use for itchy balls as they scratch away?

Do we see men sniffing their pits and acting like they just smelled cinnamon buns?

So why the hell do advertisers think it's OK to subject actresses to do and say the most embarrassing things that could possibly be thought of?

End of rant...thanks for reading.

Batman...a Loser??

This is the longest movie trailer I've ever seen. You pretty much don't need to see the movie now.

Actually, it's a movie trailer spoof with a conniving Joker who must've taken makeup application lessons from Jessica and an ineffective Batman who is at the bottom of his game. He can't even get the girl! And he drives a really little motorcycle.