While You Were Sleeping

January 26 2012

Posted in: Daily · Tags: Jedi, type 1 diabetes

His number was 85.

Before bed, when I checked Jedi’s blood sugar last. His number was 85. I wasn’t too concerned at the time, because I know by now how it goes. I adjusted his insulin dose a notch lower, then dispensed a cup of apple juice and a cheesestick for a snack. Afterward, he headed to bed where we said our goodnight. If you need me, I reminded, you know where I am.

Passing by his door a short while later, I stopped to listen. His snores said he was asleep.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t sleep. That 85 that was of little concern at first continued to fester with what ifs. There I laid awake after midnight with that number like a neon sign bright on the ceiling above me. It’s always so hard to know for sure, even with a pattern of history to rely on. I had to check, to be certain. But I didn’t want to wake him. Especially so late.

I didn’t want to wake him.

Procuring a hand from where he had it placed under his pillow, I hesitated while it instinctively clenched then relaxed again. Fumbling through the dark with his diabetes supplies, while he was sleeping and oblivious, I poked the tip of his finger with a lancet. I drew what I needed. And the boy, so used to it by now. He didn’t even flinch.

The meter beeped and I tiptoed out of his room to the light, my little secret kept safe.

His number was 144. I returned to bed and was finally able to sleep.

Breakfast for Dragons

January 25 2012

Posted in: Daily · Tags: Abby, family

Upon walking in, I took notice of all the elderly couples eating their breakfast at the tiny tables. Their white hair and shaking fingers attempting to open the package of plastic silverware. No other children aside from Abby were to be found. After that, my attention then turned to the cinnamon rolls featured on the menu.

This morning was a treat, and my dad prodded me to order whatever I wanted. Pancakes and milk for Abby. Orange juice, sausage biscuit, and two of the cinnamon rolls.

Abby and I went to find a place to sit, but not until I made sure my 78 year old father didn’t need any additional help. The life he’s lived I’m sure I don’t know even half of. We found our spot and settled in, waving my dad over when I noticed him searching. The tray with our breakfast assortment wobbling with his uneven gait towards our direction.

He’s a great dad, their grandfather. A good man. This past year, he’s stepped in when others haven’t. And unfortunately, his age is catching up to him.

We spread out our morning meal and I went about cutting my daughter’s pancake into small bites. It’s very rare for my dad to go anywhere with us without my mom. But she wasn’t feeling well that morning. Her age, though a decade younger, catching up with her, as well. I looked over at him as he opened the lid to his coffee, bringing the full cup to his lips with both hands.

My dad, my daughter, and I. And my daughter’s dragon.

A dragon that tried to eat my cinnamon roll. I’m glad I ordered two.

Fight for Your Right to Awesome

January 24 2012

Posted in: The Kids · Tags: boys, conversation, Jedi

Jedi had just finished showing off his newest feat of awesomeness when he looked at me for recognition. Not offering it fast enough or with the required amount of enthusiasm, he took the matter into his own hands.

“Why didn’t you say anything about what I just did? Did you even pay attention?”, he interrogated, already perfecting his irritation and angst.

“Oh, sorry. It was awesome”, I praised half-heartedly, snapping out of whatever daydream I was finding myself in.

Clearly noticing my indolent disregard, a problem that he will most likely delve into during therapy sessions later in life along with the overwhelming confusion that can come with an ounce of fake praise, Jedi sulked before continuing. I swear I could see him kick his feet, “You didn’t mean that. You’re not supposed to say that, anyway.”

Pretending to be annoyed, I defended, “Yes, I did mean it. It was awesome. Wait, what am I not supposed to say?”.

“Awesome. You can’t say that word. You’re not allowed.”

“Why am I not allowed to say ‘awesome’?”

“Because it’s not a word for girls”, he said. And then, “Only boys can say awesome.”

That’s not awesome. Awesome is a descriptive word for so many occasions. I would be lost without awesome. Like Jedi, he’s awesome. And you know I’ve been saying awesome as much as possible, even more than usual. Because I’m a girl and girls are awesome. Awesome does not discriminate.

Pants Are Where It’s At

January 23 2012

Posted in: Me Myself · Tags: life, stay-home momdom

Being that I am a stay-home mom myself, I’m familiar with the dress code. Or lack thereof. Mostly containing such staples as yoga pants or sweats. Old t-shirts. Slippers to flip flops. Hair in a disheveled ponytail. There is some room for preference, but the main loose style remains the same. Comfortable. Like we just woke up, or about to go back to bed. With a glass of wine and a box of chocolate.

I kind of wish that stereotype held true to my real life.

Just like I wouldn’t go out without a bra, the same goes for pants. I don’t feel right leaving my house without pants on. I have an affinity for pants. Pajamas are surely the more comfortable alternative, but I can’t bring myself to wear them in public, no matter how far. Not pajama jeans. Pants, people. It’s where it’s at.

Maybe this is my own personal hangup. I should embrace my role, become one with the uniform. They say everyone else around me is doing it. I’d fit right in. Maybe never changing out of your pajamas is the key to happiness.

There was a woman, new to the scene, waiting at the bus stop with her daughter. While I was in a pair of pants, there she confidently stood in her pink fleece pajamas adorned with monkey faces. And I was jealous. Not only was she was more comfortable in that moment than I, but the convenience was a revelation. I have no idea what her day entails, but I imagined her seamlessly slipping back into bed for a few more hours of gainful, restful sleep.

Never have I been able to go back to bed after sending my boys off to school.

Clearly, I’m going about this gig all wrong. I blame my pants.

Sleeping Super

January 19 2012

Posted in: The Kids · Tags: boys, Buzz, good

The Incredible Hulk. Spiderman. Iron Man. Captain America. Wolverine.

I have a 5 year old boy who wants to be a superhero.

He spends his days hulk smashing and climbing invisible spiderwebs in an effort to save the world. People in his pictures are colored green, blue, and red. In the bath, he’ll take his shampoo-lathered hair and stretch it into Wolverine-inspired side horns. Over the years, he has acquired a collection of super alter egos, each with it’s own distinctive look and plastic freeze-framed mask to match. He changes in and out with the speed of Superman. His imagination is nothing if not wild.

Even when it shouldn’t be.

“Put the Incredible Hulk on for bed”, Buzz insisted within moments of turning the sheets down for the night, his feet fighting for footing in the green and purple faux-muscled fabric disguise.

“No, we’re not wearing that to bed. You know you need to wear your pajamas”, I told him. Because even superheroes take off their mask for a good night of rest. My pleas were only met with encouragement, however, as his little sister helped fasten the closures in the back. The trusty sidekick.

Suffice to say, he wore the Incredible Hulk to bed. And the world slept a little safer.

But at least he took off the mask.