It’s been amost 6 Months since Son Number One’s Type 1 diagnosis. He was diagnosed on a Monday, discharged from the hospital on a Wednesday or maybe Thursday, and by the Sunday after he was diagnosed, I had already been approached by a community member I’ve known since my own childhood about camp. I was on my way out to run an errand, and Ruth was walking by and stopped me to ask about how Son Number One was doing, as she had heard of his diagnosis. I told her we were doing as well as we could be. And in the next breath, she said “Well, The Lions Club will help send him to camp in the summer.” And that was that. We got materials for camp and got him signed up VERY early, and life happened for a few months... and then last week, he went to camp.
And it was the best experience for him.
Camp Hertko Hollow is held at the Des Moines Y Camp outside of Boone, Iowa. It’s a drive out into the country, down some nondescript Iowa gravel roads. Being our first year as a Diabetes camp family, we didn’t know what to expect after driving 3 hours to drop off our 7 year old for a few days with strangers. As soon as we turned into the parking lot, his eyes got big, and he was more excited than nervous. He saw that there were cabins with two levels, and he wanted to be in one of those. After a thorough check-in process that included meeting with medical staff, talking about insulin dosages, and the obligatory camp head-lice check (which he passed—thank goodness! Ha!), we set off to unpack his stuff and get him settled. Much to his delight, he was in the top floor of the very cabin he hoped for—Deer Valley. (It was the one we hoped for, too, since it’s the one we parked right in front of....!) We met one of his counselors and he picked his (obviously top) bunk out. There were already a couple of other campers there, so he was at ease right away. And then his other counselor offered him a snack of Cheetos (only 14 grams of carbs, mom!!), and he grinned and that was that.... he was hooked, so we gave our hugs and were on our way home.
I picked him up on Wednesday morning and the highlight reel is as follows...
1. Food was good! I loved it all!
2. They came around and checked blood sugar every night, which was weird, but fine.
3. The rock climbing wall was awesome.
4. My counselors were awesome, one has Type 1 like me and was diagnosed when he was 2!
5. We had S’Mores!
6. Even my nighttime insulin was in a cool pen here.
7. Swimming was fun. I didn’t pass the test... but they had cool goggles.
8. I for sure want to come back next year for a whole week.
9. The girls wouldn’t let us see the frogs they found... (this really bothered him!)
10. “I think I’d like to be a counselor when I’m older, like my counselors. I could help kids, too!”
There were more, but it sounded like an amazing time, and we’ve already made plans for him to hang out with his “BFF” (his words) from camp who lives pretty close to us. I am so grateful he had this opportunity to go and become a part of such a community. Type 1 is not a blessing... but getting to know all of these awesome people certainly was. I can’t say enough good things about the camp experience for him... it was just that good. My mom heart was bursting when I saw his huge grin when I picked him up, and it still is when I think of what a whirlwind the last 6 Months have been for him, and how far we’ve all come.
I am having issues getting photos to upload; I will work on it again when I’m by my laptop. Technology on my iPhone is holding me back tonight.
Only 51 weeks until next year’s camp! ;)
Monday, July 2, 2018
Hello Summer!
As one would reasonably expect with a family like ours... there is always something going on. The past couple of months have been full to the brim of activity for all of us as the school year FINALLY wound to a close.
We participated in our first JDRF OneWalk for Diabetes research and had a good time with that. Our team raised over $2000 this year, which was a great accomplishment in our minds! Son number one was delighted seeing all of the other teams there, and said it was good knowing he’s not alone. I think that while we can tell him this until we are blue in the face, it is so much more real when he sees others like himself . Great event, we are already planning for next year.
All four kids have had birthdays since I last wrote here... so we now are the proud owners of a 9 year old, a seven year old, a four year old, and a one year old. I can’t believe how fast time is flying.... and how slow it seems to go some days. The days are long, but the years are short. I still try to soak up all of the things they do at all of their ages, though... because I know youth is fleeting.
We have done a little bit of traveling in summer so far, but most of our vacationing is still upcoming. Collin did go to camps but I am saving all things camp for another post. Mostly, we are staying up late and sleeping in, and loving life without strict schedules. 6 weeks left of break... :)
We participated in our first JDRF OneWalk for Diabetes research and had a good time with that. Our team raised over $2000 this year, which was a great accomplishment in our minds! Son number one was delighted seeing all of the other teams there, and said it was good knowing he’s not alone. I think that while we can tell him this until we are blue in the face, it is so much more real when he sees others like himself . Great event, we are already planning for next year.
All four kids have had birthdays since I last wrote here... so we now are the proud owners of a 9 year old, a seven year old, a four year old, and a one year old. I can’t believe how fast time is flying.... and how slow it seems to go some days. The days are long, but the years are short. I still try to soak up all of the things they do at all of their ages, though... because I know youth is fleeting.
We have done a little bit of traveling in summer so far, but most of our vacationing is still upcoming. Collin did go to camps but I am saving all things camp for another post. Mostly, we are staying up late and sleeping in, and loving life without strict schedules. 6 weeks left of break... :)
Tuesday, May 1, 2018
Keep on the Sunny Side...
It's a little... shall we say... "retro", but I can't help but have this song going through my head pretty frequently these days. It speaks to me.
If you know me, you know it's been a crazy few months. If anyone would have told me a year ago that this is what the next year would be like, I would have been skeptical. I would have maybe done some things differently, but probably not most of them. It's been a roller coaster ride. I used to like roller coasters. I don't anymore. The literal ones or the figurative ones. But that's what it's felt like.
There are still plenty of highs... like when the kids are all asleep by 9... or when we get to see friends... little boys laughing in the bathtub... movie night with the family... snuggles on Saturday mornings... weekend adventures as a family of 6... students who make me proud to be their teacher... the unexpected and humbling kindness of strangers... the expected kindness of friends and family.
And there are lows... Not always being able to meet every need of every kid at the moment I'm needed... disappointment... needles... insulin... sick kids... watching the news... constant sleep deprivation... your 6 year old sobbing and telling you he hates his life now... dwindling patience...
But they are all worth it, and are the things that make mamas (and dads) strong. And sometimes even when the sunny side isn't too bright. We will continue to be hopeful, we will continue to seek joy, and we will try to remember to always be grateful for the life we are living.
Well there's a dark and a troubled side of life
There's a bright and a sunny side too
But if you meet with the darkness and strife,
The sunny side we also may view
Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
Keep on the sunny side of life
It will help us every day, it will brighten all the way,
If we keep on the sunny side of life
Oh, the storm and its fury broke today,
Crushing hopes that we cherish so dear
Clouds and storms will in time pass away
The sun again will shine bright and clear
Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
Keep on the sunny side of life
It will help us every day, it will brighten all the way,
If we'll keep on the sunny side of life
Let us greet with a song of hope each day
Though the moments be cloudy or fair
Let us trust in our Savior always,
To keep us, every one, in His care
Sunday, March 4, 2018
You Look Tired.
If you've ever been a parent, you know what tired feels like.
If you have ever been a parent of more than one child, you really know what it's like to be tired.
If you are a parent of a baby, you know that kind of tired.
And three-year-old-obsessed-with-transformers tired. (that's a more elusive kind of tired, though, I think...)
And if you have ever been a single parent or had your spouse/significant other go away for any number of days every week, you know that tired.
And then there's the tired from lack of sunshine that winter brings, and the tired of extra job stuff... And the tired of when your house is sick and the kids and husband drop one by one...
And then the kid with the chronic illness gets it and that involves a whole slew of new challenges...
I am tired.
And then the baby needs your time because you're the mama, and only you know how he likes to have his back and bottom patted as he falls asleep when you're holding him and wishing he'd settle down... and only you know how he needs to be put in the bed just so so when he rolls over he doesn't bump the side and wake himself again and make you start rocking him all over again...
And then the three year old needs you because you cut his sandwiches the right way, and you can talk about transformers with him and look at picture after picture of old transformer toys while he tell you the names of most of them... And when his feelings are hard for him to process and he needs his mama, you are there. Of course.
And then when son number one needs an insulin injection or a ketone test or wants to talk about carbs and how much his life has changed... you talk to him about it often. And try hard not to worry about what the diagnosis entails for him.
And then the 8 year old needs mom time because girl talk is the best kind of talk. And to talk about fantasy books with magical spells and about how much she likes cheesecake (a lot), and to talk about boys as needed...
And the husband needs me because he spends the weeknights on his own, and has two days a week and change to really be present as part of our family...
And I try to do all of the things, and to be where I'm needed.
And everything is important, and every kid's need...
And I love them all...
But you get exhausted. I do.
But I don't know if I'd change anything. The same people who make me question my sanity on a daily basis are the same ones that I don't know what I'd do without.
And so if (er... when) you see me and I look tired, just assume that I am tired. Really tired. And know that I know this already, so telling me is optional. (and not encouraged)
If you have ever been a parent of more than one child, you really know what it's like to be tired.
If you are a parent of a baby, you know that kind of tired.
And three-year-old-obsessed-with-transformers tired. (that's a more elusive kind of tired, though, I think...)
And if you have ever been a single parent or had your spouse/significant other go away for any number of days every week, you know that tired.
And then there's the tired from lack of sunshine that winter brings, and the tired of extra job stuff... And the tired of when your house is sick and the kids and husband drop one by one...
And then the kid with the chronic illness gets it and that involves a whole slew of new challenges...
I am tired.
And then the baby needs your time because you're the mama, and only you know how he likes to have his back and bottom patted as he falls asleep when you're holding him and wishing he'd settle down... and only you know how he needs to be put in the bed just so so when he rolls over he doesn't bump the side and wake himself again and make you start rocking him all over again...
And then the three year old needs you because you cut his sandwiches the right way, and you can talk about transformers with him and look at picture after picture of old transformer toys while he tell you the names of most of them... And when his feelings are hard for him to process and he needs his mama, you are there. Of course.
And then when son number one needs an insulin injection or a ketone test or wants to talk about carbs and how much his life has changed... you talk to him about it often. And try hard not to worry about what the diagnosis entails for him.
And then the 8 year old needs mom time because girl talk is the best kind of talk. And to talk about fantasy books with magical spells and about how much she likes cheesecake (a lot), and to talk about boys as needed...
And the husband needs me because he spends the weeknights on his own, and has two days a week and change to really be present as part of our family...
And I try to do all of the things, and to be where I'm needed.
And everything is important, and every kid's need...
And I love them all...
But you get exhausted. I do.
But I don't know if I'd change anything. The same people who make me question my sanity on a daily basis are the same ones that I don't know what I'd do without.
And so if (er... when) you see me and I look tired, just assume that I am tired. Really tired. And know that I know this already, so telling me is optional. (and not encouraged)
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
sad and mad and hurting and confused and disappointed
The past week has been an emotional one for me. I don't really love to talk about my emotions, and sometimes I like to just pretend I'm a robot without any wild emotional response to current events... but not this week. I am sad and mad and hurting and confused and disappointed... My thoughts are usually more organized than this, so I apologize for being all over the place.
I am sad. I am sad that someone was hurting so much that he decided to go into a school, a safe place for CHILDREN and shoot and kill 17 people who'd done nothing to deserve that. I don't care what the background of that individual was, I am sad that ANY person would get to that point in their life and decide to commit such a heinous crime. I am sad for everyone who got out of that situation alive whose lives will never be the same, whose school experience will be forever changed, and who will have to try and go back to "normal" after what I expect is a life-changing event. I am sad for those precious lives that were lost, and promise that they had that was unfulfilled. Schools are supposed to be safe, and theirs wasn't. I am sad for the families whose loved ones didn't come home. I can't help but think of my own little people, and what I would do if something happened to one of them. I get teary now thinking about it, with a sick feeling in my stomach.
I'm mad. I'm mad that there have been so many school shootings in this country, and that so little has been done. And I am mad about how so many conversations about that go. I like to believe that everyone can agree that there is a gun violence problem in this country. And while I realize that the guns aren't violent on their own--they are certainly used violently far too often. I read something on facebook that said something to the effect of "If my kid hits someone one with a stick, I don't blame the stick--but I still take it away from my kid." THIS.
When they realized that too many people were being injured in car accidents, they installed seatbelts. They didn't blame the cars or make people stop driving them or take them away--but they made change.
When it was clear that pseudoephedrine/ephedrine products were being used in the manufacture of methamphetamine drugs, they regulated them and now you have to give them your ID to purchase the "good" cold medicine. You could even argue that most cold medicine users are responsible and are using the drugs for a cold... and they still regulate them.
People make the same argument for guns, and it makes me mad every single time. I believe that most gun owners are responsible citizens, same as I believe most people who buy cold medicine are. But when there was a problem with cold medicine being used for things it wasn't meant for--something changed. When guns are being used for something that they weren't intended to be used for--can't there be some discussion about how we can make changes to that part of this culture and tighten some things up?
It hurts that in my job as a MUSIC teacher, I have to think about what to do in case someone comes into my school building with a desire to hurt me and/or my students. When I became a music teacher, it was because I wanted to help to create more beauty and joy in the world and share some love and light to my students' lives. I still believe that music is super important and that I am adding beauty to the world... but it is disheartening to know that as a teacher I may be at some point expected to protect my kids---and they are all my kids while they are in my classroom---from someone who may want to harm them in some way. When I was in school (and I realize that it's been a few years since then...), this wasn't something that was ever a reality or something that we really needed to think about. I know times have changed... and it hurts to think about how much.
I am confused. I am confused by those elected officials who have the power to make change, who say that change needs to happen, and then who do nothing. I am confused by those who send thoughts and prayers and then do nothing further. I am confused by the fact that there have been so many school shootings and so little change to come from them.
I am disappointed that there are so few productive discussions to come from this. When I suggest that there be some common sense restrictions on guns, I am often met with horror and immediate dismissal. I don't want to take everyone's guns, I don't think all guns are bad, I don't think all gun owners are bad. I am disappointed that it feels like guns are more important than children. Let me just say that again. I am disappointed that in this country, it seems like unfettered access to firearms is more important than children's safety. And probably that's a bold not entirely true statement to make... but right now, it feels that way.
And so this is what I want. I want people to have real discussions. Uncomfortable ones. How do we fix this? How do we BEGIN to fix this? I think there need to be some limits in place. I think that things in schools need to change. I want to understand where people who don't feel as I do are coming from. I want to not have to worry about being safe in my workplace. I want my kids to feel safe at school. I don't want anyone to ever feel like going into a school and shooting children is a solution to any kind of problem. I want my job to be more about creating beauty and less about emergency flip charts.
How can we be the change? Seriously? Can we discuss?
Sunday, February 11, 2018
Type A-Ish
Sometimes at summer camp, people will do "trust falls" as a bonding experience. You know the ones. Someone stands up, crosses their arms over their chest, and falls backwards with the understanding that their team will catch them and not let them fall. Tonight, as I am pondering as I often do late at night, it seems to me like the entire business of of having a kid with Type 1 Diabetes is a giant years-long trust fall. We for sure won't let him fall all the way down... but there may be bobbles here and there and it sure won't look perfect. He has blindly put his faith in us--his team--and we have little option but to be there for him. I mean... if I'm not, well, you know. And so I am, and I do what I need to do, and I put my metaphorical arms out to catch him multiple times a day, and will continue doing so for many more days and nights, weeks, months, years.
Being a parent of any kid is much like an extended trust fall... one that starts and then just never stops. Probably ever. I'm learning that being the parent of a kid with an illness--no matter how well that kid is handling things (he's a freaking rock star...)--is like a two-fold exercise in trust. "Do I trust myself to make sure that his needs are being met?" and then "Are his needs being met?". It's one thing to know that you're making silly choices as a parent... Because we all do those things. Ice cream for breakfast once in a blue moon? Can't hurt. Sleep in until 11? Why not. One minute you're flying by the seat of your pants, and then the next minute the world stops and changes direction, and all of the sudden what's up is down, and the chaos that existed before is thrust into an awkward order that doesn't feel right.
I've always been a self-identifying "Type B" personality. Ask my parents... Ask my husband...Ask my friends from school... Ask my siblings... Ask pretty much anyone who's ever spent a great deal of time with me. I just feel more at ease with my life if it's "chill" or "zen" or some hybrid of those two things. But diabetes? Diabetes doesn't really do "Type B". Diabetes will come into your "chill" and "Zen" home and go all "Type A" right on your ass. Gone are the days of "anything goes", and in come the days of regimented and plotted out. My formerly carefree (haha, not really... but it's a nice image to have) days have been replaced with a giant color coded spreadsheet courtesy of my much more "Type A" husband, a routine that's not one I chose, and parameters for things that were imposed on our family rather than chosen.
This newfound order is chaos to me. I'm not used to the language of strict routines or having many set rules to follow as a parent. No more. New in my vocabulary are things like "Don't forget to poke a different finger...", "pick a different site tonight...", "Did we change the lancet....?'. "How many carbs were your snack?", and "yes, I know you don't want a shot before dinner... but you want dinner... so you have to have a shot.". None of these things that former "Type B" me would have said. Or thought. Or wanted to think or say. But this new "Type A-ish" me has to. And so l do.
A couple of mom friends with other special kiddos were having rough days today, and I saw as much on Facebook. And I so wish I could hug them both and say to them that former me sure wouldn't have understood, but now I do. That they are good enough, that their little people are in their lives purposefully... That they aren't alone... That I know how much they wish they could be the more "Type B" people they once were. That Type A-ish is OK. That they are doing such tough and important work. That it will be OK. That someday, they/we will miss these hard days and need to be needed again.
And so I will continue doing the hard work that I do... Checking the homework and sorting out friend issues for the Queen Bee. Preparing pasta made from beans (that looks like worms) and agreeing that Diabetes "Sucks and is stupid" with Son Number One. Remembering that The Feisty One is only three and still needs his mama hugs and loves, and that feelings are hard for little guys to process, and that talking Transformers to him is as important as talking weather or politics with grown-ups. Changing poopy diapers, picking up every tiny thing that he tries to grab on the floor before it reaches his mouth, and soaking up all of the toothy little smiles that come from the Baby Sloth... Remembering that it's OK to just tread water sometimes to keep from sinking.
And trying to be about as "Type B" as I can with all of the new "Type A" requirements in my life. And that Type "A-ish" may be the best I can do some days.
Being a parent of any kid is much like an extended trust fall... one that starts and then just never stops. Probably ever. I'm learning that being the parent of a kid with an illness--no matter how well that kid is handling things (he's a freaking rock star...)--is like a two-fold exercise in trust. "Do I trust myself to make sure that his needs are being met?" and then "Are his needs being met?". It's one thing to know that you're making silly choices as a parent... Because we all do those things. Ice cream for breakfast once in a blue moon? Can't hurt. Sleep in until 11? Why not. One minute you're flying by the seat of your pants, and then the next minute the world stops and changes direction, and all of the sudden what's up is down, and the chaos that existed before is thrust into an awkward order that doesn't feel right.
I've always been a self-identifying "Type B" personality. Ask my parents... Ask my husband...Ask my friends from school... Ask my siblings... Ask pretty much anyone who's ever spent a great deal of time with me. I just feel more at ease with my life if it's "chill" or "zen" or some hybrid of those two things. But diabetes? Diabetes doesn't really do "Type B". Diabetes will come into your "chill" and "Zen" home and go all "Type A" right on your ass. Gone are the days of "anything goes", and in come the days of regimented and plotted out. My formerly carefree (haha, not really... but it's a nice image to have) days have been replaced with a giant color coded spreadsheet courtesy of my much more "Type A" husband, a routine that's not one I chose, and parameters for things that were imposed on our family rather than chosen.
This newfound order is chaos to me. I'm not used to the language of strict routines or having many set rules to follow as a parent. No more. New in my vocabulary are things like "Don't forget to poke a different finger...", "pick a different site tonight...", "Did we change the lancet....?'. "How many carbs were your snack?", and "yes, I know you don't want a shot before dinner... but you want dinner... so you have to have a shot.". None of these things that former "Type B" me would have said. Or thought. Or wanted to think or say. But this new "Type A-ish" me has to. And so l do.
A couple of mom friends with other special kiddos were having rough days today, and I saw as much on Facebook. And I so wish I could hug them both and say to them that former me sure wouldn't have understood, but now I do. That they are good enough, that their little people are in their lives purposefully... That they aren't alone... That I know how much they wish they could be the more "Type B" people they once were. That Type A-ish is OK. That they are doing such tough and important work. That it will be OK. That someday, they/we will miss these hard days and need to be needed again.
And so I will continue doing the hard work that I do... Checking the homework and sorting out friend issues for the Queen Bee. Preparing pasta made from beans (that looks like worms) and agreeing that Diabetes "Sucks and is stupid" with Son Number One. Remembering that The Feisty One is only three and still needs his mama hugs and loves, and that feelings are hard for little guys to process, and that talking Transformers to him is as important as talking weather or politics with grown-ups. Changing poopy diapers, picking up every tiny thing that he tries to grab on the floor before it reaches his mouth, and soaking up all of the toothy little smiles that come from the Baby Sloth... Remembering that it's OK to just tread water sometimes to keep from sinking.
And trying to be about as "Type B" as I can with all of the new "Type A" requirements in my life. And that Type "A-ish" may be the best I can do some days.
Thursday, February 8, 2018
Living the Dream
The other day, I was meandering idly through the internet, and stumbled across this gem of a video. Take a minute and watch it. Being from the midwest (we're neighbors to Minnesota, so that basically counts, right?), a handful of these things are things that I regularly hear, and a couple are things that I regularly say. Notably, "It could be worse."
People often ask how I'm doing. (Lately, it's been REALLY OFTEN... probably because I look kind of frazzled at all times, and like I haven't slept in weeks... both of which are accurate...). I know that mostly it's the polite thing to do, and that often they really don't want to really hear about how I'm doing, so I will pass it off with a simple "Oh, Could be lots worse..." or "You know me, living the dream as always." And most days, I kind of mean that. I know I could have it lots worse than I do
When we were inpatient at the hospital last month, we saw firsthand how long some of those kiddos had been there, and we know we could have it so much worse, and we're grateful that Son Number One required a relatively quick stay. A mere hundred years ago, a diagnosis of Type 1 diabetes was a death sentence. Insulin was first successfully used in human patients in 1922. When I think of how much of a bummer it is as a mom to have your kiddo diagnosed with T1D, I try to think back to those mamas who had to watch their babies waste away to nothing and die within a few months of diagnosis only a hundred years ago. So when I say "it could be lots worse" when someone asks about him, I truly and sincerely mean it.
When I wake up in the morning after a short night of sleep that's been interrupted by a hungry and growing baby who needs snuggles and a bottle, or a three year old with bad dreams and cold toes, or a 6 or 8 year old kiddo who just needs some extra mommy time, I try to have the perspective that they won't be little for long. I've somehow made it past the baby stage with three kids already, and I'm trying to savor the fleeting moments of baby snuggles I get these days. And I know that my big kids won't always think I'm as cool as I am today, but for now, it's kind of great. And my house always has the "it looks like there's been a struggle" look, and dishes are always piled up, and laundry is always piled up... and trash needs emptied, and the cats need to be fed... and I always wish I had a few more hours in the day. But I love them all, and I love my life--despite the relative chaos I live in--and when I say I'm "Living the dream", usually I mean it. (except maybe when Baby Sloth decides to poo in his pants EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. as I am trying to leave for work... Maybe not so much then.)
People often ask how I'm doing. (Lately, it's been REALLY OFTEN... probably because I look kind of frazzled at all times, and like I haven't slept in weeks... both of which are accurate...). I know that mostly it's the polite thing to do, and that often they really don't want to really hear about how I'm doing, so I will pass it off with a simple "Oh, Could be lots worse..." or "You know me, living the dream as always." And most days, I kind of mean that. I know I could have it lots worse than I do
When we were inpatient at the hospital last month, we saw firsthand how long some of those kiddos had been there, and we know we could have it so much worse, and we're grateful that Son Number One required a relatively quick stay. A mere hundred years ago, a diagnosis of Type 1 diabetes was a death sentence. Insulin was first successfully used in human patients in 1922. When I think of how much of a bummer it is as a mom to have your kiddo diagnosed with T1D, I try to think back to those mamas who had to watch their babies waste away to nothing and die within a few months of diagnosis only a hundred years ago. So when I say "it could be lots worse" when someone asks about him, I truly and sincerely mean it.
When I wake up in the morning after a short night of sleep that's been interrupted by a hungry and growing baby who needs snuggles and a bottle, or a three year old with bad dreams and cold toes, or a 6 or 8 year old kiddo who just needs some extra mommy time, I try to have the perspective that they won't be little for long. I've somehow made it past the baby stage with three kids already, and I'm trying to savor the fleeting moments of baby snuggles I get these days. And I know that my big kids won't always think I'm as cool as I am today, but for now, it's kind of great. And my house always has the "it looks like there's been a struggle" look, and dishes are always piled up, and laundry is always piled up... and trash needs emptied, and the cats need to be fed... and I always wish I had a few more hours in the day. But I love them all, and I love my life--despite the relative chaos I live in--and when I say I'm "Living the dream", usually I mean it. (except maybe when Baby Sloth decides to poo in his pants EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. as I am trying to leave for work... Maybe not so much then.)
"I am happy because I'm grateful.
I choose to be grateful.
That gratitude allows me to be happy."
--Will Arnett
These days, I just don't have the extra energy to be unhappy. It's simply easier for me to choose to be happy, and so I am. So if you ask me how I am, and I tell you "It could be worse", it's because I'm grateful that it isn't. And when I say I'm "living the dream", it may not be your dream, and it may not even be my own at the moment... but if I stop to think about it, it probably is, and I really am.
Tuesday, February 6, 2018
What's Going on Your Paper?
I am often guilty of doing that thing parents do when their kid hands them a stack of papers that they've completed that day. I glance at them, give a "great job!" or two, and then toss them. I never claimed to be mom of the year (other than sarcastically)... but the amount of paper an early elementary student goes through is really something.
I had papers from all three of my "big" school kids the other day. It's an unusual treat that they all remember to show me. Usually, it's a week later and something will finally make its way to me only to realize that it should have been turned back in already. I'm sure this surprises nobody... I maintain a she's-got-it-together vibe for the most part, but I'm pretty sure you could ask any of my children's teachers and they will nod and smile and not acknowledge the flaky parent that I am every now and then... (and nobody wonders where the Queen Bee gets it from...)
The Feisty one brought me some artwork from one of his preschool centers. He told me with great excitement how the stampers worked and how he had made this particular picture with me. Lots of blue, lots of stamping in a sort of blobby oval shape. He was proud of it, and I was proud of him.
The Queen Bee had some artwork to show me as well. This particular day, it was as it often is... cartoon woodland animals in various habitats. It was burrowing squirrels this day as I recall. If it's small and furry and "adorable", it's her style. And so we talked about her charming renditions of the squirrels and their burrows and the backstory that accompanied them (because what piece of art is really anything without a backstory...) and it was good. And I was as I always am. Proud of her and her gift of creative expression.
And Son Number One had work to show me also. A few math worksheets that were finished, which are some of his favorites, something that he had "drawn a volcano" over (which to my untrained eye looked like a lot of black scribble), and a couple books that he'd made. The first one was a book about vehicles (vehicols). He'd taken great care to draw a variety of different vehicles, one per page, and for a 6 year old, it was good stuff. And there was his family members book, with one family member to a page. "Sloth is cute. Queen Bee likes fuzzy animals. Dad likes to snuggle. Mom is warm. Grandpa gives me rides in the semi. The feisty one goes to preschool. A is my cousin. I have diabetes." His cheerful figures were charming, with the Sloth in a sweet stroller and Dad with some impressively prominent facial hair. I was proud of his work, and as always, of him. But his self description struck a nerve.
"I have diabetes."
I totally get that we are still in the first mile of what will be a marathon journey with all that being a Type 1 family entails. We get that. We are all adjusting. But it breaks my mama heart a little bit to know that instead of saying something like "I run fast", or "I am a good friend", his fact about himself is the diabetes one. One of my (many) fears for him is that people will look at him and see his diagnosis instead of seeing him for who he is as a person. And I know deep down that I shouldn't worry about that, not only because we surround ourselves with people who are awesome and wouldn't be that way, but also because he is way more awesome than that... but moms worry. And for my little first grade guy to list that as his identifying fact... well... it just sucks.
Being a parent is that thing in life that's a hundred times harder than you imagined and a hundred times better. The good times are the easy ones. The birthdays and holidays and vacations and moments of pride and gratitude. The wet kisses and hugs around your legs and snuggles at night and "I love you"s that don't quit just because the lights go out. Those are the good times. The movies with popcorn and the kid who wants cold hot dogs, and the kid who loves cheesecake and the kid who loves his brother more than anything and the kid who will talk transformers for hours and hours and hours and.... Those are the good times.
The times when you can't fix things, though? Those are the times that make mamas lose sleep. The nights spent awake with sick babies, the nights that you want to sleep more than anything but the baby wants his mama more than anything... The low self esteem days when friends are being unkind... the overtired days when one wrong look and they all dissolve into tears... the days when my patience level is at zero, but my babies demand more... the weeks when the hours of sleep can be counted on the fingers of one hand... when your six year old sees himself as a kid with diabetes instead of a kid who has so much more to offer.
What do I take away from all of this lengthy musing? Think of what you'd want to be on your paper as a metaphor for your life. Like my feisty one, make sure it's colorful. Like my Queen Bee--Make sure that it's something you love, whether that's fuzzy animals or something else equally awesome. Like my Son Number One? Choose wisely the one thing what you want people to recognize about you, and don't allow something to define you that doesn't.
I had papers from all three of my "big" school kids the other day. It's an unusual treat that they all remember to show me. Usually, it's a week later and something will finally make its way to me only to realize that it should have been turned back in already. I'm sure this surprises nobody... I maintain a she's-got-it-together vibe for the most part, but I'm pretty sure you could ask any of my children's teachers and they will nod and smile and not acknowledge the flaky parent that I am every now and then... (and nobody wonders where the Queen Bee gets it from...)
The Feisty one brought me some artwork from one of his preschool centers. He told me with great excitement how the stampers worked and how he had made this particular picture with me. Lots of blue, lots of stamping in a sort of blobby oval shape. He was proud of it, and I was proud of him.
The Queen Bee had some artwork to show me as well. This particular day, it was as it often is... cartoon woodland animals in various habitats. It was burrowing squirrels this day as I recall. If it's small and furry and "adorable", it's her style. And so we talked about her charming renditions of the squirrels and their burrows and the backstory that accompanied them (because what piece of art is really anything without a backstory...) and it was good. And I was as I always am. Proud of her and her gift of creative expression.
And Son Number One had work to show me also. A few math worksheets that were finished, which are some of his favorites, something that he had "drawn a volcano" over (which to my untrained eye looked like a lot of black scribble), and a couple books that he'd made. The first one was a book about vehicles (vehicols). He'd taken great care to draw a variety of different vehicles, one per page, and for a 6 year old, it was good stuff. And there was his family members book, with one family member to a page. "Sloth is cute. Queen Bee likes fuzzy animals. Dad likes to snuggle. Mom is warm. Grandpa gives me rides in the semi. The feisty one goes to preschool. A is my cousin. I have diabetes." His cheerful figures were charming, with the Sloth in a sweet stroller and Dad with some impressively prominent facial hair. I was proud of his work, and as always, of him. But his self description struck a nerve.
"I have diabetes."
I totally get that we are still in the first mile of what will be a marathon journey with all that being a Type 1 family entails. We get that. We are all adjusting. But it breaks my mama heart a little bit to know that instead of saying something like "I run fast", or "I am a good friend", his fact about himself is the diabetes one. One of my (many) fears for him is that people will look at him and see his diagnosis instead of seeing him for who he is as a person. And I know deep down that I shouldn't worry about that, not only because we surround ourselves with people who are awesome and wouldn't be that way, but also because he is way more awesome than that... but moms worry. And for my little first grade guy to list that as his identifying fact... well... it just sucks.
Being a parent is that thing in life that's a hundred times harder than you imagined and a hundred times better. The good times are the easy ones. The birthdays and holidays and vacations and moments of pride and gratitude. The wet kisses and hugs around your legs and snuggles at night and "I love you"s that don't quit just because the lights go out. Those are the good times. The movies with popcorn and the kid who wants cold hot dogs, and the kid who loves cheesecake and the kid who loves his brother more than anything and the kid who will talk transformers for hours and hours and hours and.... Those are the good times.
The times when you can't fix things, though? Those are the times that make mamas lose sleep. The nights spent awake with sick babies, the nights that you want to sleep more than anything but the baby wants his mama more than anything... The low self esteem days when friends are being unkind... the overtired days when one wrong look and they all dissolve into tears... the days when my patience level is at zero, but my babies demand more... the weeks when the hours of sleep can be counted on the fingers of one hand... when your six year old sees himself as a kid with diabetes instead of a kid who has so much more to offer.
What do I take away from all of this lengthy musing? Think of what you'd want to be on your paper as a metaphor for your life. Like my feisty one, make sure it's colorful. Like my Queen Bee--Make sure that it's something you love, whether that's fuzzy animals or something else equally awesome. Like my Son Number One? Choose wisely the one thing what you want people to recognize about you, and don't allow something to define you that doesn't.
Thursday, February 1, 2018
Getting There
Most 6 year old boys like to watch cartoons and run and play Nerf guns and eat junk food and do silly 6year old things like telling knock-knock jokes and making random fart noises. My six year old does many of those things... but he also has the soul of someone much older and wiser. He is only a few weeks into his lifelong diagnosis on Type 1 diabetes, and for a 6 year old (and his overwhelmed mama) that's a pretty big deal, and yet, he amazes me every day with how well he has done with that reality. He has embraced it. It is part of the fabric that makes up Son Number One now. And it's beautiful, if a diabetes diagnosis can be beautiful.
Let me back way up. I remember going to my ultrasound when I was pregnant with him--before I knew he was a "him". I remember laying on the table with my belly exposed knowing that I would have another perfect little girl to be a sister for The Queen Bee. They'd wear matching dresses and be best friends and our home would be overflowing with pink and sparkles. And then the little sister I imagined turned out to be the little brother I never even really considered. I was pretty sure I didn't know what to do with little boys--mine or otherwise. And so I tried throughout the rest of my pregnancy to connect with this boy I wasn't sure what to do with. And I remember right after he was born, I held him and told him I was sorry, and cried, and told him that I would figure out how to be a boy Mom. I have told him that story a bunch, how I knew he'd be a girl (and how I knew his brothers would be girls...) and how I wasn't sure I wanted a boy... and how he changed my mind.
This is the boy who would never take a bottle from anyone. He would go all day to the sitter while I was at work and not eat til I came home. This is the baby who was afraid of grass, who had the most beautiful hair for a little boy, who adores trains, and who genuinely loves every single person in his life. He puts me to shame. He cares on a level that I'm not sure I do all of the time. I have thought countless times since our first conversation that I didn't deserve this kid. He is completely pure of heart. I try to be and fail pretty regularly.
I pulled him aside tonight to give him his evening shot of Lantus (which he prefers to call his nighttime insulin), and injected into his tummy. You could see that it stung more than usual. And you know what this kid said? "Sorry you have to do that. I know you are just trying to keep me healthy, Mom."
He apologized to ME. My 6 year old who has to get poked 8-10 times a day apologized to me. And he genuinely meant every word.
I have been presented with information on a research study for a drug that may prolong the beta cells in a newly diagnosed type 1 diabetic. Son Number One meets all preliminary requirements, and so Superdad and I think it'd be a good opportunity for him potentially. But since he is aware of everything, I want him to have input, too. So I pretty directly explained to him what it entails... notably it would require IV infusions periodically, and I wanted him to be aware of that. And so I carefully and in great detail explained everything I could, including that it may not help at all. And without missing a beat, he said this. "Mom, I want to do it. Even if it doesn't help me, it may help other kids if they get Type 1. Maybe then nobody would have to get it." My 6 year old will voluntarily sign up to get more IV's and do extra stuff not because it may help him personally, but because it may help others. And then he apologized for making me cry. And thanked me for helping keep him healthy. And made my cry some more.
I have made many screw-ups in my life. I am disorganized, I like to gossip every now and again, I don't exercise like I should, I am jealous of things that others have that I would like... but I am a good mom. I may be an epic failure at many things--and I am--but I am a good mom. I totally don't deserve any of my amazing children, but I adore them, and I love them, and I pour every bit of myself into ensuring that they know they are loved as they are for who they are. Tonight, For a couple minutes, it felt like maybe I was doing the Mom thing right--even if I thought I didn't know how to raise boys.
I'm getting there.
Let me back way up. I remember going to my ultrasound when I was pregnant with him--before I knew he was a "him". I remember laying on the table with my belly exposed knowing that I would have another perfect little girl to be a sister for The Queen Bee. They'd wear matching dresses and be best friends and our home would be overflowing with pink and sparkles. And then the little sister I imagined turned out to be the little brother I never even really considered. I was pretty sure I didn't know what to do with little boys--mine or otherwise. And so I tried throughout the rest of my pregnancy to connect with this boy I wasn't sure what to do with. And I remember right after he was born, I held him and told him I was sorry, and cried, and told him that I would figure out how to be a boy Mom. I have told him that story a bunch, how I knew he'd be a girl (and how I knew his brothers would be girls...) and how I wasn't sure I wanted a boy... and how he changed my mind.
This is the boy who would never take a bottle from anyone. He would go all day to the sitter while I was at work and not eat til I came home. This is the baby who was afraid of grass, who had the most beautiful hair for a little boy, who adores trains, and who genuinely loves every single person in his life. He puts me to shame. He cares on a level that I'm not sure I do all of the time. I have thought countless times since our first conversation that I didn't deserve this kid. He is completely pure of heart. I try to be and fail pretty regularly.
I pulled him aside tonight to give him his evening shot of Lantus (which he prefers to call his nighttime insulin), and injected into his tummy. You could see that it stung more than usual. And you know what this kid said? "Sorry you have to do that. I know you are just trying to keep me healthy, Mom."
I have been presented with information on a research study for a drug that may prolong the beta cells in a newly diagnosed type 1 diabetic. Son Number One meets all preliminary requirements, and so Superdad and I think it'd be a good opportunity for him potentially. But since he is aware of everything, I want him to have input, too. So I pretty directly explained to him what it entails... notably it would require IV infusions periodically, and I wanted him to be aware of that. And so I carefully and in great detail explained everything I could, including that it may not help at all. And without missing a beat, he said this. "Mom, I want to do it. Even if it doesn't help me, it may help other kids if they get Type 1. Maybe then nobody would have to get it." My 6 year old will voluntarily sign up to get more IV's and do extra stuff not because it may help him personally, but because it may help others. And then he apologized for making me cry. And thanked me for helping keep him healthy. And made my cry some more.
I have made many screw-ups in my life. I am disorganized, I like to gossip every now and again, I don't exercise like I should, I am jealous of things that others have that I would like... but I am a good mom. I may be an epic failure at many things--and I am--but I am a good mom. I totally don't deserve any of my amazing children, but I adore them, and I love them, and I pour every bit of myself into ensuring that they know they are loved as they are for who they are. Tonight, For a couple minutes, it felt like maybe I was doing the Mom thing right--even if I thought I didn't know how to raise boys.
I'm getting there.
Monday, January 29, 2018
Love Language
Love Languages
People have different ways of showing their love. Hugs, flowers, poetry, gifts, deeds, time...
Food.
My love language has always been food. I remember how I felt when I was younger and would bake with my grandma Viv. Raspberry pillows, cream puffs, divinity for the fair, brownies, cowboy cookies, her homemade marshmallow frosting... I remember making jello with my mom as a little girl, and watching the ice cubes melt as I stirred them up. I don't remember as many things as I'd like about my Grandma Betty, but I vividly remember her pink-frosted angel food cake that she made for special occasions. I remember 4th of July picnics, and playing in the sandbox, and Grandma's pink angel food cake. And I remember how they all made me feel.
Food.
I was telling someone recently how food had always been my "thing". When someone has a baby? Make them a meal. When I need to say "thank you" to the neighbors who clear the snow from our sidewalk? I write a note and bake some cookies. At Christmas time, I show my family I love them by making elaborate and ornate frosted sugar cookies (and dealing with the monster of a mess that it makes...) Food is one of my ways of showing others I care for them and about them. Always has been, probably always will be:
A family friend used to bake these amazing melt-in-your-mouth brownies when I was a kid. The softest cake, with marshmallows and nuts in a buttery chocolatey glaze on top... My dad swore by then. (And anyone who ever had the would remember them.) They may just be his favorite food in the whole world by the way he talks about them. When she passed, everyone assumed that the brownies were a thing of the past, since nobody had the forethought to get her recipe. I tried probably a dozen different recipes and tweaked things... and finally, figured it out. And when I made them for him for father's day a couple years back, her love came back and we were transported back in time to when she would bring those out to us on the farm in her big round white tupperware container, and we would all smile and know we were loved. Pauline and I spoke the same love language.
Diabetes.
One of the things that was hardest for me when Son Number One was diagnosed was that it felt like my love language for him had been forcefully turned off. He had this diagnosis, and I wanted to make it right by baking him some extra special cupcakes or brownies or fruit salad or cinnamon rolls... And obviously, that would not have improved the situation. At all. My brain realized this, and knew better, but it felt like I couldn't do what I usually do to lift spirits. And so when my kiddo said he hated diabetes, and how he just wished he could have some oreos (but he couldn't), it was like a gut punch to me.
And so I did what any normal mom would do in my place. I got on Amazon, ordered some things I never planned to need... almond flour, coconut flour, paleo baking mix, sugar free syrup... and hit the internet for options. I settled on a low carb peanut butter cookie. I made it lower carb by subbing sugar free syrup for honey. I crossed my fingers that they'd be a success. When they came out, and the kids deemed them to be "amazing!" and "bake-show worthy!", I felt a ridiculous amount of relief.... (even they were miles from my best baking...) Baking treats was still in play, just had to think things through more carefully. And the look on his face when he heard he could have TWO? Priceless. And so it shall be.
My love language will not be silenced.
Saturday, January 27, 2018
Monsoon Season
I'm sure you've heard the phrase "when it rains, it pours...". I know I have about a thousand times in just the last month alone. It's not been a rough day or week or month... It's been a rough season. I'm calling it monsoon season. It's not raining, it's pouring. Continuously. Here's an approximate timeline of our last month or so, starting the week before Christmas.
Baby Sloth is sick. Fever for 5 days. Drive 45 miles to pediatrician in a snow storm. Told its something viral. Miss fun wedding/reception/mini overnight getaway with the kids because of very sick baby. Take Baby Sloth back to pediatrician when they re-open after the New Year's Day holiday. Baby Sloth has RSV. Needs nebulizer, meds, lots of TLC, and very little sleep that's not when being held by mom. Three pediatrician appointments to get a diagnosis... Wop wop...
Baby Sloth just gets over his illness. A few days later, The Feisty One wakes with an ear infection. Like the scream-y kind. Shrieking, wailing, gnashing of teeth... Schedule appointment for him plus Son Number One for pediatrician. Feisty one diagnosed with ear infection, Son Number One with Diabetes, and subsequent hospital stay for 3 days, but I've already covered that adventure...
I go to dentist to get some work done (literally my least favorite place, despite having a very kind dentist...). Get some lovely news about one of my teeth (and how expensive it will be one way or another....) Brakes light comes on in van... Funeral to attend...
Baby Sloth was to have surgery and it was pushed back because of his RSV diagnosis, and it comes as no surprise that he has a raging double ear infection AGAIN. Because really, why would I not want to go say "hi" to my BFF's (the reception staff at the peds office) every week? Finally today, after 3 days of fever, he seems to maybe have turned a corner. Surgery in a couple of weeks... Cross your fingers that nothing crops up between now and then.
I am a level of tired I haven't seen since maybe Queen Bee was a preemie newborn. I may or may not have dropped like $40 on a "hard to find transformer toy" for the Feisty One for reasons not even I can quite put my finger on. My hair looks awful, and I've been getting a lot of "you look.... tired" comments, so I'm going to go ahead and assume that the rest of me looks awful, too. School kids wanted to watch a video, and I was legitimately concerned that I would fall asleep in a dark room, so I instead subjected my ears to the sweet sounds of a classroom full of xylophone playing elementary students.
I know that life has seasons... and that this monsoon season will pass... but it's passing like a kidney stone. A slow moving kidney stone at that. It's painful and exhausting. And cold. And gets dark early. And I'm tired...
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
Fear Makes the Wolf Bigger Than He Is
I promise that there's [lots] more going on in my life than just my family's new foray into the care and feeding of a newly diagnosed Type 1 Diabetic kiddo (in addition to the other three hellions who require their own various special things), but this is new and fresh and at the forefront of what I'm doing as a parent and as a human being. There are many things going on in my brain since Number One Son's diagnosis, and rather than make a whole bunch of posts, I thought that I'd make just make a list of things that I've learned that I never knew I didn't know. (I think that's a line in a Disney Song... "You'll learn things you never knew you never knew..." Pocahontas is so wise.)
1. Type 1 Diabetes is not a cut and dry thing. Somehow in my mind, it was "you have that, you get insulin, you are totally fine". Turns out that was only a tiny bit true--in that you get insulin. Newly diagnosed kids have levels that are all over the place. We've already had highs and lows and we've only just dipped our toes into the ocean of T1D things to come. It's not a condition where you can simply take one pill or get one shot and then not have to worry about it--though it would be plenty more convenient if that were the case. We talk to our amazing nurse or one of her equally amazing colleagues almost daily, and I am not sure I can adequately put into words how much I appreciate their tolerance of my endless questions.
2. Pee is really important. Once we figured out the root cause of the drinking and peeing overloads, and that we knew that even with all of that, our guy was actually dehydrated, it was an easy problem to fix. The big symptom went away nearly as quickly as it had started. (And we rejoiced). Pee tells diabetics if there are problems... and when there aren't, it's glorious. And 6 year old boys, being the strange little creatures that they are, have no issues with being the ones to dunk the ketone test strips into the urine and watch with wonder to see if the color changes or not. I have cared more about pee in the past one month than I probably have in my entire life, with the notable exceptions of my own at-home pregnancy testing for each of the kids. Just when I thought the excitement in my life from testing urine was officially done, too... :-)
3. "Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is." --German Proverb
In my copious amounts of spare time, or when my brain is still running 100 miles per hour and the rest of me isn't, I find random bits of interesting things on the internet. I was trying to find some quote that summed up my feelings on "no-fear-diabetes-parenting" and this was pretty spot on. We know it's there, and we are managing that. Beyond that, there's not any good reason I can find to not just continue with life as "business as usual" as we can. Certainly there are limitations to that, but we haven't found a lot yet. Son Number One is a pretty remarkable kid, in that he has stayed pretty matter-of-fact about the diagnosis, and while he knows it sucks, he also realizes that if he wants to be healthy--and he does--that all of these things have to happen. We have been very honest and up front with him about every detail of his care, and he is soaking the things up like a sponge, and is being very matter-of-fact with anyone who cares to ask him about it. Instead of crying and being despondent, which I expect is a reasonable reaction for a 6 year old, he has taken everything head on. He does all of his own finger pokes and testing, he knows how to read carb labels on products, his math skills are improving from adding up carbs for meals, he wants to do his own injections, and he is Proud when he tells people what he has to do to stay healthy. He has an ownership in his care and health that many people don't get until they are older, I expect. And it is pretty remarkable.
4. Sugar-Free isn't the same as Carb-free.
In a relatively short time, we've figured out that carbs are hidden in everything, and that that there are many people who are misinformed that sugar-free is the same as "diabetic friendly". Lots of sugar free foods are completely full of carbs. My logic has always been that if it's sugar-free, it will also be low carb. Turns out it just means that sometimes it may be lower carb.
5. People overwhelm me with kindness.
Since I'm assuming most people who read this know me personally, most people know the community where I live. And most people probably know each other, or at least know someone who knows someone else, etc. I always like to believe that I have several families here. I have my family, the one who's actually related to me (whether they like to be or not...), I have my school family made up of colleagues and friends and students and students' families. I have my church family who remembers me (despite my poor attendance record recently...), and I have the rest of the community, many folks I've known since my own childhood.
I have been asked so many times how Son Number One is doing that I've lost count. I have had people tell us that they're praying for us, and that we are in their thoughts, and how sorry they are. We are sorry, too. We've had more gestures of kindness sent our way in the past couple of weeks than we deserve. During our stay at the hospital, I bet I had a message from nearly every person in my hometown who works at the University offering to bring me anything, or to do anything they could do since they'd be right there. A good friend had a lovely batch of sugar-free cookies sent from across the country for him, along with a couple books for him, including his very own diabetes cookbook. A couple people have brought us meals, which is amazing, but what's more amazing is the amount of thought and care went into preparing them. People have been counting carbs for my boy. Stories have been shared with me from others who have Type 1 experiences, and I appreciate every one. I've had not one, but two community members tell me that the local Lion's Club would like to give him a scholarship to go to a summer camp for kids with Type 1 Diabetes. I've even had the well-meaning message about what I can do to "cure" his diabetes (currently, there's no cure), which I will take at face value as the gesture of kindness it was intended to be.
A lot of people have commented to me how rough the past couple of months have been for my family, and they aren't wrong. The last month alone has felt like a year. Baby Sloth had a bout of RSV that started right before Christmas, and I don't honestly think that I have had a complete and fulfilling night of sleep since about a week. And here we are, after slogging through a month that has felt like six months. We're still OK. The Queen Bee still has her nose stuck in a book and wants to eat nothing but sweets, Son Number One is as patient and gentle as he's ever been--and stronger and more confident than he's ever been. The Feisty One is still feisty. He likes to threaten to bite his older siblings, and throwing the occasional hot wheels car isn't out of the norm around here. Baby Sloth is just starting to stand up to things, which means that my house needs another round of baby-proofing, and I'm just not ready for that. Super Dad is away for the week, as usual, and I am holding down the fort of the chaos parade that is our normal.
We are still OK. We're going to be OK. Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is.
1. Type 1 Diabetes is not a cut and dry thing. Somehow in my mind, it was "you have that, you get insulin, you are totally fine". Turns out that was only a tiny bit true--in that you get insulin. Newly diagnosed kids have levels that are all over the place. We've already had highs and lows and we've only just dipped our toes into the ocean of T1D things to come. It's not a condition where you can simply take one pill or get one shot and then not have to worry about it--though it would be plenty more convenient if that were the case. We talk to our amazing nurse or one of her equally amazing colleagues almost daily, and I am not sure I can adequately put into words how much I appreciate their tolerance of my endless questions.
2. Pee is really important. Once we figured out the root cause of the drinking and peeing overloads, and that we knew that even with all of that, our guy was actually dehydrated, it was an easy problem to fix. The big symptom went away nearly as quickly as it had started. (And we rejoiced). Pee tells diabetics if there are problems... and when there aren't, it's glorious. And 6 year old boys, being the strange little creatures that they are, have no issues with being the ones to dunk the ketone test strips into the urine and watch with wonder to see if the color changes or not. I have cared more about pee in the past one month than I probably have in my entire life, with the notable exceptions of my own at-home pregnancy testing for each of the kids. Just when I thought the excitement in my life from testing urine was officially done, too... :-)
3. "Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is." --German Proverb
In my copious amounts of spare time, or when my brain is still running 100 miles per hour and the rest of me isn't, I find random bits of interesting things on the internet. I was trying to find some quote that summed up my feelings on "no-fear-diabetes-parenting" and this was pretty spot on. We know it's there, and we are managing that. Beyond that, there's not any good reason I can find to not just continue with life as "business as usual" as we can. Certainly there are limitations to that, but we haven't found a lot yet. Son Number One is a pretty remarkable kid, in that he has stayed pretty matter-of-fact about the diagnosis, and while he knows it sucks, he also realizes that if he wants to be healthy--and he does--that all of these things have to happen. We have been very honest and up front with him about every detail of his care, and he is soaking the things up like a sponge, and is being very matter-of-fact with anyone who cares to ask him about it. Instead of crying and being despondent, which I expect is a reasonable reaction for a 6 year old, he has taken everything head on. He does all of his own finger pokes and testing, he knows how to read carb labels on products, his math skills are improving from adding up carbs for meals, he wants to do his own injections, and he is Proud when he tells people what he has to do to stay healthy. He has an ownership in his care and health that many people don't get until they are older, I expect. And it is pretty remarkable.
4. Sugar-Free isn't the same as Carb-free.
In a relatively short time, we've figured out that carbs are hidden in everything, and that that there are many people who are misinformed that sugar-free is the same as "diabetic friendly". Lots of sugar free foods are completely full of carbs. My logic has always been that if it's sugar-free, it will also be low carb. Turns out it just means that sometimes it may be lower carb.
5. People overwhelm me with kindness.
Since I'm assuming most people who read this know me personally, most people know the community where I live. And most people probably know each other, or at least know someone who knows someone else, etc. I always like to believe that I have several families here. I have my family, the one who's actually related to me (whether they like to be or not...), I have my school family made up of colleagues and friends and students and students' families. I have my church family who remembers me (despite my poor attendance record recently...), and I have the rest of the community, many folks I've known since my own childhood.
I have been asked so many times how Son Number One is doing that I've lost count. I have had people tell us that they're praying for us, and that we are in their thoughts, and how sorry they are. We are sorry, too. We've had more gestures of kindness sent our way in the past couple of weeks than we deserve. During our stay at the hospital, I bet I had a message from nearly every person in my hometown who works at the University offering to bring me anything, or to do anything they could do since they'd be right there. A good friend had a lovely batch of sugar-free cookies sent from across the country for him, along with a couple books for him, including his very own diabetes cookbook. A couple people have brought us meals, which is amazing, but what's more amazing is the amount of thought and care went into preparing them. People have been counting carbs for my boy. Stories have been shared with me from others who have Type 1 experiences, and I appreciate every one. I've had not one, but two community members tell me that the local Lion's Club would like to give him a scholarship to go to a summer camp for kids with Type 1 Diabetes. I've even had the well-meaning message about what I can do to "cure" his diabetes (currently, there's no cure), which I will take at face value as the gesture of kindness it was intended to be.
A lot of people have commented to me how rough the past couple of months have been for my family, and they aren't wrong. The last month alone has felt like a year. Baby Sloth had a bout of RSV that started right before Christmas, and I don't honestly think that I have had a complete and fulfilling night of sleep since about a week. And here we are, after slogging through a month that has felt like six months. We're still OK. The Queen Bee still has her nose stuck in a book and wants to eat nothing but sweets, Son Number One is as patient and gentle as he's ever been--and stronger and more confident than he's ever been. The Feisty One is still feisty. He likes to threaten to bite his older siblings, and throwing the occasional hot wheels car isn't out of the norm around here. Baby Sloth is just starting to stand up to things, which means that my house needs another round of baby-proofing, and I'm just not ready for that. Super Dad is away for the week, as usual, and I am holding down the fort of the chaos parade that is our normal.
We are still OK. We're going to be OK. Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is.
Monday, January 22, 2018
What's with the 1?
When one starts a blog, one must consider some type of catchy title for the blog. I often tell people that my life is just "this side of chaos", meaning that it could devolve to anarchy at any given moment. I am the (mostly) proud owner/handler of 4 small people... The Queen Bee is 8, Number One Son is 6, The Feisty One is 3, and Baby Sloth is 9 months. And I work... And due to logistical things I am a single parent to these lovely humans much of the time... And Number One Son was just diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes.
So that's where the clever 1 comes from in the blog title. See what I did? In my younger years, I'm sure I would have come up with something far more clever, and yet presently, that's the best I can muster.
Someone told me today that "someone could LEARN from how you're handling the Type 1 diagnosis." That really struck a chord for me, because I don't feel like I am doing anything different than any parent would, but since people all do things differently, I may be. So here it goes. People have been asking how I "knew" he had diabetes (moms just know), and so here's how that all went down.
Number One Son, a couple weeks before Christmas, started drinking more than usual (CLASSIC DIABETES SIGN). He complained of being more thirsty in the evenings, and chalked it up to "teachers don't want us getting drinks all day long when we're doing classwork", which as a teacher seemed perfectly reasonable. I don't know if you've ever had the privilege of having one student ask to get a drink of water and then the rest of them need one, and before long you're ten minutes into water drinks for everyone... So it seemed reasonable. I know his teacher, and I trust her drink-to-kid-ratio judgement. So we let him drink as much as he wanted to "get caught up". About a week later, he started wetting the bed at night. I'm sure if he knew I was writing this, he'd be not entirely pleased... but in the interest of maybe helping someone at some point... that's what happened. (CLASSIC DIABETES SIGN). We're not talking normal, run-of-the-mill amounts of pee, either. We bought some of the heavy-duty overnight pull-ups for him, and when even those couldn't stem the flow of the copious amounts of urine, we bought some disposable bed mats for him which helped--but still didn't completely contain the overnight deluge. He has never been a kid to wake up in the night, and he was waking up two or three times to pee--and STILL PEEING THIS MUCH. I'm a little guilty to say now that I was more annoyed with the extra laundry than I ought to have been...
And then one night we told him he couldn't have any more drinks before bed, because we needed to try and slow down the peeing. And he became hysterical. Begging for water. BEGGING. I have never seen anything quite like it in my life, and it was terrible. And so we gave him some sips, and felt like asshole parents (and feel even more like assholes now about that incident...) I remember saying to him around that time one night when he was coming out of the bathroom and heading to his bed how "tall and skinny" he was getting (LOSING WEIGHT--CLASSIC DIABETES SIGN) but I didn't put that together until later.
Then one morning, after Christmas and the new year... January 9th... we had a delay from school for fog or something, I don't remember what... but The Feisty One woke up screaming with an ear infection, and so I made plans to take him for his appointment. Son Number One came out of his room with his overflowing pull-up, and in that instant, I'm not sure what clicked, but I just knew that he was diabetic. I can't say what made me realize it that quickly, but I made him an appointment with the pediatrician for that afternoon.
Once we got there, our pediatrician, who I adore, looked over The Feisty One, and confirmed his ear infection. (Good job, Mom, for figuring that one out.) Then the conversation shifted to Son Number One. "Does he drink enough during the day?" Well, he doesn't think so. "Can you get him a water bottle?" Yeah, we can. We will... I know... Probably an easy fix. "I mean, we can check his urine and see what that tells us... and if that comes back we can check his blood, I guess." OK. And so off we went, me telling my 6 year old kid how to pee in the "hat" on the toilet with the impending sense of doom, knowing in my heart what the diagnosis was going to be. After a couple minutes, the nurse came back into the room with a little slip of paper, and said something quietly to the doctor who then told us that they were indeed going to check his blood... and that she "didn't want to tell us what she thought it was..." but she didn't need to, since I had already put that together before the appointment.
They checked his blood (it was 441--which is loads higher than it should be), our awesome pediatrician (who I adore) told us about when her own son was diagnosed, they brought in stuffed animals for both boys, a nurse on staff with Type 1 came in to talk to us for a minute... They called the hospital to plan for his admission, and looked at all of us with pity, and soon we were on our way.
It was a surreal hour. I remember thinking "Well, this is the last day that I woke up with four kids and no lifelong illnesses." I remember actually giving myself some "mom points" for figuring it out as soon as I did (and feeling guilty for not figuring it out sooner). I remember thinking that before that day, if someone would have been given crappy news, I would have taken them for an ice cream cone or something as a treat to distract them, but that was obviously out of the question. And I remember thinking that if I freak out, or if I start crying or making it seem like anything is totally out of the ordinary, that my sweet and strong 6 year old boy would be afraid. The one thing I wanted more than anything was for him to not be afraid.
And so that's just been that. It is his (and our family's) new "normal" (and by that, I obviously just mean one more layer of the chaos that already existed) and we are adapting. Being sad or mad or bitter doesn't do anyone any good, so I am actively trying to stay positive and to make sure that he does, too. More to come later... if I am on the ball... but for now, 100% of my minions are asleep, so I'd be foolish not to at least attempt to sleep myself.
So that's where the clever 1 comes from in the blog title. See what I did? In my younger years, I'm sure I would have come up with something far more clever, and yet presently, that's the best I can muster.
Someone told me today that "someone could LEARN from how you're handling the Type 1 diagnosis." That really struck a chord for me, because I don't feel like I am doing anything different than any parent would, but since people all do things differently, I may be. So here it goes. People have been asking how I "knew" he had diabetes (moms just know), and so here's how that all went down.
Number One Son, a couple weeks before Christmas, started drinking more than usual (CLASSIC DIABETES SIGN). He complained of being more thirsty in the evenings, and chalked it up to "teachers don't want us getting drinks all day long when we're doing classwork", which as a teacher seemed perfectly reasonable. I don't know if you've ever had the privilege of having one student ask to get a drink of water and then the rest of them need one, and before long you're ten minutes into water drinks for everyone... So it seemed reasonable. I know his teacher, and I trust her drink-to-kid-ratio judgement. So we let him drink as much as he wanted to "get caught up". About a week later, he started wetting the bed at night. I'm sure if he knew I was writing this, he'd be not entirely pleased... but in the interest of maybe helping someone at some point... that's what happened. (CLASSIC DIABETES SIGN). We're not talking normal, run-of-the-mill amounts of pee, either. We bought some of the heavy-duty overnight pull-ups for him, and when even those couldn't stem the flow of the copious amounts of urine, we bought some disposable bed mats for him which helped--but still didn't completely contain the overnight deluge. He has never been a kid to wake up in the night, and he was waking up two or three times to pee--and STILL PEEING THIS MUCH. I'm a little guilty to say now that I was more annoyed with the extra laundry than I ought to have been...
And then one night we told him he couldn't have any more drinks before bed, because we needed to try and slow down the peeing. And he became hysterical. Begging for water. BEGGING. I have never seen anything quite like it in my life, and it was terrible. And so we gave him some sips, and felt like asshole parents (and feel even more like assholes now about that incident...) I remember saying to him around that time one night when he was coming out of the bathroom and heading to his bed how "tall and skinny" he was getting (LOSING WEIGHT--CLASSIC DIABETES SIGN) but I didn't put that together until later.
Then one morning, after Christmas and the new year... January 9th... we had a delay from school for fog or something, I don't remember what... but The Feisty One woke up screaming with an ear infection, and so I made plans to take him for his appointment. Son Number One came out of his room with his overflowing pull-up, and in that instant, I'm not sure what clicked, but I just knew that he was diabetic. I can't say what made me realize it that quickly, but I made him an appointment with the pediatrician for that afternoon.
Once we got there, our pediatrician, who I adore, looked over The Feisty One, and confirmed his ear infection. (Good job, Mom, for figuring that one out.) Then the conversation shifted to Son Number One. "Does he drink enough during the day?" Well, he doesn't think so. "Can you get him a water bottle?" Yeah, we can. We will... I know... Probably an easy fix. "I mean, we can check his urine and see what that tells us... and if that comes back we can check his blood, I guess." OK. And so off we went, me telling my 6 year old kid how to pee in the "hat" on the toilet with the impending sense of doom, knowing in my heart what the diagnosis was going to be. After a couple minutes, the nurse came back into the room with a little slip of paper, and said something quietly to the doctor who then told us that they were indeed going to check his blood... and that she "didn't want to tell us what she thought it was..." but she didn't need to, since I had already put that together before the appointment.
They checked his blood (it was 441--which is loads higher than it should be), our awesome pediatrician (who I adore) told us about when her own son was diagnosed, they brought in stuffed animals for both boys, a nurse on staff with Type 1 came in to talk to us for a minute... They called the hospital to plan for his admission, and looked at all of us with pity, and soon we were on our way.
It was a surreal hour. I remember thinking "Well, this is the last day that I woke up with four kids and no lifelong illnesses." I remember actually giving myself some "mom points" for figuring it out as soon as I did (and feeling guilty for not figuring it out sooner). I remember thinking that before that day, if someone would have been given crappy news, I would have taken them for an ice cream cone or something as a treat to distract them, but that was obviously out of the question. And I remember thinking that if I freak out, or if I start crying or making it seem like anything is totally out of the ordinary, that my sweet and strong 6 year old boy would be afraid. The one thing I wanted more than anything was for him to not be afraid.
And so that's just been that. It is his (and our family's) new "normal" (and by that, I obviously just mean one more layer of the chaos that already existed) and we are adapting. Being sad or mad or bitter doesn't do anyone any good, so I am actively trying to stay positive and to make sure that he does, too. More to come later... if I am on the ball... but for now, 100% of my minions are asleep, so I'd be foolish not to at least attempt to sleep myself.
Third time's a charm... Or fourth? Fifth?
I've always loved writing, and due to many years of piano playing, I have some pretty mad typing skills. I may not outrun anyone on the track (and by track, I mean literally anywhere...), but I can type really fast, which makes writing loads easier and faster with a computer. So I can write close to the speed I can think. Which is something, I guess.
Over the years, I have maintained a pretty active social media presence, going way back to the MySpace days... I enjoy posting things that happen in my life mostly so when I am older, I can look back on them and have easy access to memories that I'd otherwise forget. That is the main reason I post as many things as I do. Who doesn't want to look back in 10 years and remember the gross diaper their kid had or the awesome view of the lake while on vacation. It's the good with the bad, and memories are memories. I'm an equal opportunity memory-maker.
Lots of people (maybe 8, I guess.) have suggested that I write a book someday. And maybe someday I will. This is the next best thing for now. I've attempted to blog more than once, and so I'd be lying if I said I was optimistic that I will keep this one up for very long--but I'm going to try. There's a lot going on in my life at the moment, and someday, it will be interesting to look back and remember things that I'd like to forget now... but may want to revisit at some point (more on that later.)
So... yeah. [awkward silence]
Over the years, I have maintained a pretty active social media presence, going way back to the MySpace days... I enjoy posting things that happen in my life mostly so when I am older, I can look back on them and have easy access to memories that I'd otherwise forget. That is the main reason I post as many things as I do. Who doesn't want to look back in 10 years and remember the gross diaper their kid had or the awesome view of the lake while on vacation. It's the good with the bad, and memories are memories. I'm an equal opportunity memory-maker.
Lots of people (maybe 8, I guess.) have suggested that I write a book someday. And maybe someday I will. This is the next best thing for now. I've attempted to blog more than once, and so I'd be lying if I said I was optimistic that I will keep this one up for very long--but I'm going to try. There's a lot going on in my life at the moment, and someday, it will be interesting to look back and remember things that I'd like to forget now... but may want to revisit at some point (more on that later.)
So... yeah. [awkward silence]
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