Returning to Normal

It has been a while, hasn't it? I've missed you! ;-)

We are getting back to normal (whatever that means!) since our Type 1 Diabetes diagnosis in late May. It is getting easier, day by day. We try to look for the positives.  For one, candy is her medicine for low sugar. Which adds a new dimension to mom-guilt when I eat the rockets....

Our daughter is learning first hand that you play the hand you are dealt, manage it and get on with the game. A negative attitude is a deal breaker and this is a great lesson. She has awesome role models with this disease, including her first crush. A cowboy named, Luke Branquino, who has Type 1. He's a steer wrestler. She blushes when she denies that she likes him. Adorable!

The worst part of this is the needles. When she cries about it, I cry with her. I hate it. Finger pokes at least four times a day--they hurt like a deep paper cut. When I do one on myself to support her, I instinctively pull my finger away. It hurts--no two ways about it. And the insulin--well, that hurts as bad as any other needle you've ever had. The two kids I know well with the disease are the bravest, toughest people I know. Hands down.

Type 1 Diabetes is an autoimmune disorder. Our daughter's body feels the pancreas is an invasive organism that it must fight and kill. It is about converted food energy in your blood. Carbohydrates are converted to sugar in the blood and that sugar feeds your cells providing the energy to do things like breathe, walk and move.

I thought we had a high carbohydrate based diet--after all we love fruit and bread in this house. But we soon discovered we have many, many low or zero carb meals. Foods in the same food category differ--some have carbs, some don't....Huh? What??

At first it was really confusing. And we "filled in" missing carbs with things like ice cream, cookies or crackers because we were desperate to hit the target number. Quite literally, our daughter has had more sugar based foods since her diagnosis than she had in her 7 years of life before that. That was frustrating, but a part of the learning. Now we have the tools to work with what she is eating instead of feeding the insulin.

I'm learning to let go a bit because this disease challenges and frustrates my control freak nature. The truth is you can't "control" this disease in a way that would suit a control freak like me. It changes constantly. In fact, her blood sugar level can change dramatically in a matter of minutes and go from high to low in 30 minutes or less.  

This is our new normal. I can't change what she has to endure every day...that is the worst blow of all.

Never More Than You Can Handle

A quick prick of a needle on the end of a finger changed our world a few nights ago.  As the doctor in the Emergency Room at the Children’s Hospital in Calgary spoke with calm certainty, my mind was spinning.

"The diagnosis for your daughter is Type 1 Diabetes." said in that matter-of-fact tone that only doctors and customer service reps seem to have. It echos in my ears and head. I'm silenced in disbelief.

“Are you sure it’s that? Could it be something else? The symptoms are so vague and your diagnosis is so simple. How can that be? You are wrong. And you are an idiot!” I scream at full Mommy volume in my head.

"Get out of here! Take your stupid diagnosis with you!" I glare. Outwardly, all that he sees is my eyes burning with tears and me swallowing hard to hold back my rage.

I am raging inside. At the doctors who can do a simple pin prick on the finger and deliver life altering, devastating news. I am raging at the evils of this world that make such a disease attack an innocent child. I am raging that she lays drained of all energy and normal colouring and can barely speak.

 “Type 1 Diabetes. Why her? She’s so clever and funny and just the best little girl ever. What did she ever do to warrant this? Why not ME? I’ve done many things in my life that I’m not proud of. Give me the damn disease and just let her be a kid. What did I do wrong?” Thought after thought come to mind. It’s a flury of everything and nothing. 

Is she hurting, does this mean she can’t do certain things? She's never been sicker than a cold. How the hell does this happen? What about this treatment—what are the risks? How long will she be in here? At least she's getting the best quality of care. I better phone Nana and Sister in Law. Good Lord! She's so small and watching the IV go in damn near kills me. I know its not the worst news we could get. Yet at this moment it feels like someone sucked the life out of my lungs.

How will we deal with this....I don't know the answer, but I'm certain we will. I know we are never handed more than we can handle, but sometimes that seems like a fallacy.

Another sad reality: it isn't just us. Close friends had their daughter diagnosed just two days before. Sick.

Life with an Alien

I'm not sure when it happened, but one night I tucked my Angel Face into bed. In the morning someone else was in her place.

The hair and eyes looked the same. The voice sounded the same, but abruptly changed to a distorted, whiney screaming. About everything. Since that day, things have not been the same around here.

I expect the whining--that's just a kid thing designed to pay us back for all the things we did to our parents. Whining I dispise, but I can live with. The over the top reaction to everything is what sends us all running for cover waiting for it to be over.

Friends with grown kids reminisce about their kids' teenage years. I listen intently to their descriptions because they sound vaguely familiar. Its like living with an alien they say. You should just shake hands and make friends--they will be here for a while they tell me. A few years, maybe.

My quivering lip is mistaken for sadness at my baby growing up. Really it's just the thought of "a few years, maybe". They are talking about teenagers. I'm not.

7 is the new 16. Someone could have told me.

Where There's Smoke, There Are No Mosquitos

Made our traditional maiden camping voyage for the 2011 season.

Traditionally it snows on us on May long weekend. It's just part of the charm of camping at this time of year. This year was different, though. Nope. No snow. Just rain and wind. Then it got to the mid 20s (celsius for any US readers). It was beautiful on Saturday and even Sunday was warm inspite of the cloud cover.

There were only two problems this weekend. Mosquitos. Pesky, buzzing blood suckers who turned the kids faces and necks into connect the dot maps. Hated to do it, but had no choice--went for the full on bug spray with heavy DEET concentration--yup. I broke out the Deep Woods Off.

Before you chastise me for putting that stuff on my kids, I tried the lower level kids stuff. It didn't work. These were not regular mosquitos. They were the killer bees of mosquitos. They swarmed the truck when we pulled up. Then they swarmed us. I'm not kidding. You didn't dare open your mouth because they would choke you in a second. It was seriously worse than Manitoba in mid July.

Really, I hold the province of Alberta responsible. They instituted a fireban, so we couldn't even get a smoldering fire going to smoke the mosquitos out. You are supposed to come home from camping stinking like a campfire mixed with bug spray. Honestly, its hot! Truly, camping without a camp fire is like smoking without a cigarette--its just not the same. I'm guessing here--I don't smoke!

Work From Home Lunacy

I've learned a some things by working from home. In addition to learning that only a lunatic tries to work when kids are at home and awake, here's another....

I have learned that IKEA kitchen tables are really, really sturdy. Any time I took a work phone call my kids would wait a minute or two to see if I would be more than a few minutes.  Then when the time was just right....wait for it...they would jump on the kitchen table. I don't mean hop up on it, I mean step onto it with their dirty little feet and start jumping like its a trampoline. Together. At the same time. Their heads just missing the kitchen light that hangs over the table, but the breeze still making it sway. Somehow they avoid falling right off with the skill and precision of a circus performer.

There I am trying to pay attention to my client and sound professional. All the while I'm wildly waving them off the table and giving my very best crazy mom look to get them off. Mouthing "GET DOWN" in full shout. It failed. Every single time. Because really, what else was I going to do?

"Yes, very important client/colleague, would you please hold--yes, I just have go scream like a banshee at my children and lock them in the closet so I can finish this call. Thank you."

Somehow that doesn't sound right. Then they would hear the telltale words--the clue the fun was about to end. As I closed my phone call and said goodbye, the words weren't out my mouth a nanosecond and they were off the table and back to playing with their toys.

Kids are brilliant--and they have the memory of a knat for anything they have done wrong. The looks of complete confusion and "Who us? When? Doing what?" were Academy Award performances.

For a split second I think I've imagined the whole thing. Until the phone rings and the excited anticipation is palpable. I see them silently exchange an entire conversation with their eyes as they plan their ascent and their escape routes.

Yes, I have learned that to work from home with children around definately requires special tools. Phones, faxes and computers with internet. But most important is a very sturdy kitchen table. I would never have guessed.

Green, Green Grass of Home

Once upon a time a family had a lovely back yard. It had beautiful grown trees that towered over the yard offering just the right amount of shade and breeze on a hot summer day. The only problem with the yard was the lawn. Because of the shade, the grass was difficult to grow.

The family invested in new dirt and all new sod. They were ecstatic with their lush grass and its deep, deep green colour. Finally! But the joy was short lived as the next year the grass came back, but thinner. Dirt and seed, but only a few blades came in. They babied and pampered that section of the yard. Still no grass. "Next year will be different", they consoled themselves.

It will be different all right. This year the family will have a nice shaded area with a beautiful view of this:





 Which covers up this hole--this is partially filled in. I'm sure it's half way to China and I don't know where the rest of the dirt went. Maybe he ate it. 

Gateway to China

 I'd be ok with that if I wanted to go to China via underground tunnels. And I wish Nakoda wouldn't grin so smugly about it:


Expert Excavator

 Grin away, Nakoda. I'm looking into renting you out to excavation companies--to help pay for the replacement dirt when you stop digging (and you will). Anyone else need some holes?  I'm happy to share!

We All Fall Down

Yep. Every single one of us will fall. It might be career related or life related, but we all will fall. What happens next is what separates the strong from the faint of heart.

We venture into parenthood with a trunk load of happy stories about how children complete you, your life and your family.


computerclipart.com

While all of those things are true, they also complete the side of you that you genuinely do not care to know.

It's that side that has the most awful thoughts and seems to be completely lacking in rationalization. Children have the most unusual skill set. They can simultaneously fill you with joy and rip apart your sanity until you are reduced to a heap on the floor babbling something about doing this by choice. 

All at once, every plan to be the perfect, most patient, caring and nurturing parent ever born fall to the floor and lay in a puddle of tears. My tears. I've broken and am ready for the straight jacket. And then they stare at me in silent disbelief, completely unsure what to do. Do they dare poke the bear?

They muster all their empathy into one simple statement: "Mommy, when are you going to get up and make us a snack?"   A stronger person would just stay on the ground.

Husha, husha we all fall down.

Who Walks Who?

After we drop my daughter off at school, my son and I head home to walk the newest addition to the family. The last few walks have been tough because my son doesn't want to walk that far. He whines in that grate-on-your-last-known-nerve way that only kids can--for the whole 45 minute walk. Walk with me a minute:

Him: "I can't go any more"
Me: "We've only gone two houses. You can go farther."

Him:  "I can't walk farther"
Me: "Are you sure? You're a big boy who can do anything you want to."

Him: "I'm too tired" followed quickly by  "My legs are just tired"
Me: "But you did a four hour hike at Nahahi Ridge last year. And you are bigger and stronger now!"

Him: "Piggyback me, please? You can do it, Mooooooom!"
Me: "I can't walk Nakoda AND piggyback you--Mommy might drop you."

Him: "It's just because I'm so tired." (every syllable stretched as far as possible).
Me: "You shouldn't get up at 6am."
Him: "But Mooooooooooooooooooooom!" with full body flailing and head thrown back at an unnatural angle.

So I figured out the perfect solution: have him ride his bike. He loves to ride his bike! That will fix it. Nope.  I think he whined more. I tell him we are too far from home for me to walk his bike so he needs to ride it.

"Help me, Mom. I need a push." his sweet boy voice says with eyes glistening in plea. I melt.

Picture it: The dog walking beside me on the right. Me bending to the left, half jogging, pushing his bike most of the way home. At least Nakoda got 45 minutes of walking in--and I have new muscles to target in my workouts.

I was smarter the next day: the wagon--that will work! We had a whine free walk, I think.

The wagon is this green machine with horrible hard plastic wheels that vibrate over every pebble in a way that sends seizmic ripples up your arm. It amplifies every single rock, twig or ant it rolls over. It is noisy. So noisy that the dog keeps his ears down the whole 50 minute walk.

Is this really better than whining? Marginally. Every so often the wagon clips my heels then Nakoda's.

I tell myself the exercise is for the dog.  He needs the exercise to be happy.  It's to burn off his energy.

So why am I the one that is so tired?!

Life Immitates Art

Sometimes, there just are no words! Really, I couldn't make this up.

Kudos to the clever soul who put this together and put it on Facebook.

A Moment of Weakness

You know those moments when you think something sounds like the best idea ever? Then a while later you ask yourself: What was I thinking??? I'm living it now...

My whole family has been hounding me lately for a pet. Not  gold fish, a bird or any other caged animal. A "real" pet. My son wanted a kitten--but my husband doesn't like litter boxes because then the poop is in your house. Everyone agreed they wanted a dog or a puppy.

"A puppy?!" I thought to myself. "Are you nuts? I'm still recovering from baby sleep deprivation!" They are all crazy. I ignored them for a long time.

I countered with the ever popular winning arguments: they are expensive, they shed, they are a lot of work, they poop all over the yard.  Nothing worked. Maybe because secretly, I wanted one too. It seemed reasonable. We started to really think about getting a pet.

Everyone at least agreed not to put mom through Puppyhood right now. I'm too tired and too busy. I thought that was great because it would limit our choices. I mean really, how would we ever find a dog that was right for us that wasn't a puppy?



Looking at the Cochrane Humane Society web page yielded this adorable face.

I should mention that I find it physically impossible to go into a shelter and come out empty handed. I thought my husband understood that about me...apparently in 11 years of marriage that hadn't come up.

We called to make sure he wasn't adopted. Of course, he wasn't. We went to see this mush ball of fur and doesn't he come straight to the kids and lay at their feet. Hmmmm...OK so he's cute and furry. But he's big--about 50 pounds of dog. Neither of my children weigh 50 pounds yet. We play with him. We walk him. No pulling and no barking--he has some manners. He can sit and shake a paw. He's very charming.

Two hours later paper work is filled out and we go to leave without him (they have a rule that doesn't allow same day adoptions). Despite the valiant effort of a good friend to dissuade me. Both kids are sad to leave him behind and my son cries on my shoulder. My daughter says "He's the missing piece of our family, Mom." Well, who can argue with that?

My moment of weakness is named Nakoda.

He is home with us now. And I will spend my work time cleaning up dog poop and putting my flower beds back together.

What was I thinking?!

Royal Schmoz...

I'm convinced that my DVD player is possessed.  

All I wanted to do was record the royal wedding for a little girl who is crazy about princesses. This modern day love story seems to be plucked right out of the pages of her favourite fairytales. For her to watch the pomp and ceremony of a real royal wedding would put her over the moon.

And I could do that if only this bloody DVD recorder would do what I want it to. Really. How hard can it be to use timer record on this machine. My first attempt fails--miserably. Set it to record four hours and captured a grand total of zero seconds! So I try again to catch one of the replays. Didn't work...are you kidding me?! 

Finally I'm set to give up...maybe she won't be that disappointed, I console myself. I can live with being the cause of the disappointment for her. Surely the sting of the sadness in her eyes won't burn for long. Can't give up...so end up recording it while I watch it again. Whew! 

Thanks, Wills and Kate for helping me realize my inability with gadgets of all kinds. Oh, and congratulations on your wedding! 

Gotta Watch!

Royal Wedding.....gotta get to bed so I can get up to watch it! Or just pull an all-nighter! Or just wait for the replays. British ancestery makes me do it. It really isn't my fault.

I feel compelled to watch it because I made my Grandma get up with me (at 4 am) and watch Diana's wedding to Charles--and spent the whole lazy day on the couch watching it over and over...

Now that's time well wasted. Or just wasted all together! 

I will record it for a little girl I know who truly believes in princesses and asked if she could watch it with me. Who am I to refuse?

Cheerio!

Lounging Eating BonBons



image source: 123rf.com



Today I had opportunity to watch daytime TV. No I mean grown up daytime TV-- that isn't a cartoon (and perfect) mother bear that makes me question my ability as a parent. You know, laying on the couch eating bonbons, like a real writer!  I learned something.

We have 160 channels of nothing to watch. Nothing. We pay handsomely for the right to watch 160 channels of nothing. I am an empty shell with dashed dreams of wasting time well. Sigh!

I sit down with a hot cuppa and anticipate some great adult entertainment...er...that sounds wrong....I mean grown up television shows.  Click, click, click. Wedding story....been there, done my own, don't care about yours. Click, click, click. Baby story...I know how that ends!  Click, click, click..Mom Show--ummm, isn't this my daily life that I suddenly have a reprieve from? Click, click, click.... cooking...pause--YUMMY! No, no! That will just make me hungry leading to more work for me when I try to make that later. Next...next....next. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing

Oh wait, what is this? I'm smiling. I'm not changing the channel. It's got all the vices and drama of the modern world. Still its comical...and familiar. At long last I've found something to watch and use up my work time! And its age appropriate! Score!



You can never go wrong watching the Flintstones. YABADABADOO!



image source: checkdemo.info







Faux Fashionista

Let's be clear. I am not a fashionista. I like clothes that look good. I have favourites and fake it. I do not follow trends or really care about them. Jeanne Beker I am not.

But I found a new trend in T-shirt fashion, straight from Paris. At first I thought "sounds cute". And I do like T-shirts. And if they are from Paris, then surely they would be pretty cool.

What this company has done is put a paper doll-like doll on the front of the Tee. Remeber those paper dolls you got to dress as a kid? Yeah, those...So you can dress the little doll and wear the shirt. Oh, and your little girl can too. Yep, now your sweet little mini-me fashionista can dress the doll and herself. (Good luck ever getting to school on time!)

Truly, check it out at lottydotty.com  I think their intention is good and the doll's undergarments are age appropriate as is the clothing (good job for recognizing little girls aren't just miniture women!)

The T-shirt is $75 for women and $50 for children. The dresses for the dolls are $15- 45, but are mini designer deals with crystal bling coming soon. So the doll is better dressed than you after $100!

I know what you're thinking: "You are just miffed that you can't spend (read: justify) $75 for a T-shirt." Ummm...no. Ok, maybe a little. But here's how I see it:

For my investment I get to relive playing with paper dolls. Let me remember...their arms, legs or the stupid clothing tabs all ripped off. Perfect! Another toy that doesn't work right and makes me upset (insert full on tantrum here)! Clearly an early indicator that fashion wouldn't be my thing.

Plus, I get to dress me (which some days is a miracle itself) and now I'm responsible for dressing a doll on my chest that is far more high maintenance than me with her froo froo designer clothes and bling. Even the doll would think its superior...Fabulous! Added bonus is I drop in rank behind my family AND the inanimate doll on my T-shirt. Don't even get me started on the laundry--those little designer numbers aren't wash and wear and spaghetti sauce stains!

Interactive shirt. Ok, this part is what seemed cute at first. I mean really, what could go wrong with that? But, isn't all clothing interactive? Put it on, take it off; interactive.

Or I put it on and my husband takes it off. So he can undress the doll now, too. Nothing wrong there, until the doll becomes the perfect doll because she never complains about his dirty socks on the floor and hair in the bathroom sink.  Home-wrecking, high maintenance doll! Before long she will be answering for me, making excuses for my behaviour in public. Wait....maybe I could blame her for things...yeah, that might work: "The doll made me do it."

And truly, aren't all women looking for another reason to have someone pulling on their clothes--you know your daughter will want to fix your doll's look all the time! Yup, I think they've nailed it! 

I can save myself $100, though. I'm going to duct tape a dollar store pixie doll to my Tee. Just sayin'! It's kind of the same, no?

If you think I just don't get it, go back to the beginning.

Popcorn!

Nothing says movie night like a big bowl of popcorn. Except maybe chocolate with popcorn. Salty, buttery and crunchy. And the smell of it cooking. Nothing gets saliva flowing faster than the smell of popcorn popping. It doesn't matter if you've just eaten an entire buffet. The small makes you want some. And you can eat it absently until you are about to burst.

The advantage of movie night at home is that the smell is in your house. It's there throughout the movie. It's there to lull you off to dreamy slumber with images of fluffly, cloudy popcorn people and scenes. As you drift off to popcorn dreamland with an over-full belly, you smile contentedly---all happy, happy.

Minutes and hours pass and you have the most animated dreams about popcorn. Suddenly, the happy scenes turn into popcorn monsters chasing you around trying to cram husks between your teeth.

You bolt awake just as they are about to catch you. Your heavy breathing subsides and you giggle to yourself as you realize you are safe in your own bed.

But you sense you are not alone. There is something else in the house with you--what is it? Your heart races as you wrack your brain to identify it. You sense immediately that it just doesn't belong. Should you get up? Reluctantly you do.

Then you are reminded of why movie night at home is so great. The smell of popcorn. It's there through the movie and when you drift off into slumberland....

And it's still there in the morning and even a few days later. It just lingers. Yep. That's the beauty of the smell of popcorn.  At least that's how it goes at my house. Seriously.

It Could Happen...

Computers make my head hurt. Technology in general makes my head hurt. Smart phones, apps, latest and greatest whitchamacallit. I can't keep up.

Smart technology--hmmm. I think my computer and cell phone are smarter than me. I hear them laughing at me. It's cleverly disguised as a ring tone or a nice little series of beeps, but I know better.

I'm also certain they talk to each other. They have their cyber hen-parties online after we're all asleep. I can hear it now; the mocking, the ridicule.

"Hey, did you see her face when I went totally blue!? (insert evil belly laugh here). Wait till she can't find all her files that I moved! The best is when the little guy gets to play and I make the cursor unresponsive--she near flips out! (insert another evil belly laugh here) This is the best!"

It could happen, you know....

I Am A Rock Star

No really, I am.

At least in my own mind. And in my car when I'm alone. I'm the person grooving to music at the red light. You've likely laughed at me in your mirror. And I likely didn't care.

I crank up my favourite songs and escape. For that 3.5 minutes I can be somewhere else--not getting groceries or doing school pick ups or other boring everyday stuff. It's a mini vacation in the minivan! (which I totally deny having!)  
Bonus! It doesn't matter if I stink because its too loud to hear myself.  I'm sure I sound just like Ozzy--wait, that might not be good. Regardless, I just have fun with it. The louder the music, the louder I sing, the better the trip. Don't pretend you don't do this. You know you do.

And every once in a while, I get front row parking---just like the rock star I am!

Positively Giddy

The writing process can be tough. You create something and send it off, hoping it turns out great. When that happens, I still get positively giddy.

Today was one of those days. Very excited to preview an article (It's Cool Outside) that I wrote for Alberta Conservation's Discovery Guide. It comes out early May ( http://www.ab-conservation.com/). It looks amazing. The illustrator did a great job!

It will be on their website in May so you can see it then. Don't worry, I'll link to it when it does so you won't forget!

In the meantime, get out and enjoy the outdoors! This is the best time--its muddy and wet and you can get dirty! Its really an invitation to be a kid again! Go on....you know you want to jump in that mud puddle!

Chocolate Chips Solve Problems

Lots of snow. Everywhere. Got up anyway---kids didn't get the memo about waiting for spring to really get here.

The snow is wet and heavy. Realized I should work out more. Or not. Maybe I should just eat more chocolate chips and forget about the snow. That's a plan I can get behind!

Chocolate chips solve problems. They help you escape so you don't even know you have problems anymore. I keep them in the freezer to keep me from eating too many. It doesn't work.

Any situation can be helped by a handful of chocolate chips. I know this to be fact and I am not alone. There are closet chocolate chip eaters walking among us...you know who you are.

Feeling bad/sad/mad? Eat some chocolate chips; feel better. Happy? Eat some chocolate chips; feel happier. See? It really works.

Until the chocolate chips run out.  Then its just dealing with wet, heavy snow.

Awww.....C'Mon!!!

It's cold. Again. Heavy snowfall warning for tonight. Seriously?!? We've had a lot of snow this year.

Not liking the weather forecasters--at all.

Going to bed. Not getting up again until spring is actually here....really, I mean it.

So it begins...

Today I jump in with both feet. I start my blog. Some people have been nudging (pushing?) me about it for a while, but I lean toward stubborn and tend to dig in when pushed. So this took way longer than it needed to. To all of them I ask: Are you happy now? 

I have to say I am technically adverse. I still think a typewriter sounds cool. Way cooler than a laptop. Click, click, click..ding...ziiiiip! (Look it up if you don't know what that means!) I love the feel and smell of books, especially old books--not to be mistaken for that 'old people who never open a window house smell'. And I love to tell stories.

For a long time other people have known I am a writer. My family did. My friends did. My high school English teacher did. My University professor who became a mentor did.  Actually, everyone knew. I denied it.

Writers had to wear awful smoking jackets with corduroy elbow patches, right? Writers had to talk in that Thurston Howell the Third nasal tone, right? There was no way that was me.

I know one thing for certain....if you are meant to do something, it will haunt you, hunt you down and make you miserable until you finally just admit it, accept it and do it. Now I admit it. I am a writer. I quietly have been professionally for several years. I love it. This is my world. Welcome to it!