Archive for the ‘Daily’ Category
January 26 2012
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.
January 25 2012
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.
January 17 2012
Taking advantage of the wet powder sheeting the ground before it disappeared in the following day’s spring-like forecast, I promised my kids some time to play in the remaining snow. Within our advancing initial steps, we bent down to grab a handful and set our sights on any nearby target. The first shot in the friendly winter war.
I had only a single rule to follow: Don’t hit anyone in the face.
With each tag and a mark of evident precipitation left in its place, a telltale hit. Traipsing through the snow, a cast of footprints trailing behind. It was mayhem of flying snow and flinging laughter. It didn’t take long, however. As then, I breached my own command. Admittedly, a striking lucky shot.
Bam! Oops. A smashed snowball square at Jedi’s face.
His eyes froze shut for a brief moment before he turned to me, cold crystals clinging to his lashes. I was ready to apologize, concealing my amused surprised, instead prepared to deal with the ridiculous fallout. To wipe the snow away from his wet cheeks. But then he laughed, the greatest kind of laugh. Infectious as it was. And so did I.
“Revenge!”, Jedi declared as he rose, scooping more snow into a compact mound. Believe me, he got it.
Apologies were still said, though unnecessary. Because accidents happen. Even moreover, sometimes rules are supposed to be broken. Especially when they’re your own. It’s when an act of fun can reign profound. In that moment, it proved to be a very good kind of oops.
January 16 2012
The alarm rings from my son’s iPhone first thing in the morning, before the sun is even awake to shine. I open one eye begrudgingly, enough to reach for it under my pillow and swipe it to snooze. The next 10 minutes I lie there, breathing in the quiet air and restful eyes for as long as I can.
The alarm rings again and I think, I really need a cup of coffee.
Not yet, however, as I now have to fumble through the haphazard process of getting ready while still half asleep and rush our way out the door. Not to forget gloves and scarfs and hats and zipped up coats, no one else bothered by the cold but me. Someone remind me again why I say I like winter, as the fierceness of the cold whips at my face.
And I think to myself as my breath freezes in midair, I really need a cup of coffee.
But first, back home, I need to pick up discarded coats and gloves. There are dishes to wash, beds to make, and the first toys to put away. Then, at long last.
I pour myself a cup of coffee.
With deadpan precision, the phone rings. After I hang up there, I remember I need to make another call. I glance in circles, forgetting where I placed my cup. It doesn’t matter, because my participation in a game of Candy Land has been requested. Then coloring and a search for Mickey Mouse on YouTube.
Finally, I take a drink.
It’s cold.
I sigh and think to myself, I really need a cup of warm coffee.
