Diabetes Jeopardy!

Sometimes I wonder if anyone in my house can remember a time when diabetes wasn’t always on our minds.

I can’t, not really.

It’s become part of our normal, the routine, something like washing your hands before you eat dinner or  the fact that there’s homework on school days. You don’t think too much about it — it’s just there. Most days, anyway.

Some days, it’s all we talk about or think about. Maybe because Mitzi’s very high or very low or is sick or has a lot of sports or she’s rebelling in her preteen way about all the stuff in her life and diabetes management is just another boundary to push.

Yesterday, we all had diabetes on the mind because of MCAS, the state-wide mandated standardized tests given twice a year. Mitzi had her first round yesterday, so, starting the night before, we prepared. Not for the academics, though — we prepared for the blood sugars.

MCAS is a unique annoyance for Mitzi (even more than it usually is for every other child or adult who has to suffer the ridiculous things). If her blood sugar is too high, she can’t start the test when the other kids do — and can’t even start until it’s normal. And if it doesn’t normalize in enough time that she can take the test on that particular day, she has to make it up, missing class. If it happens on test day number two — well, more makeups, more missed class. Avoiding that scenario was in all of our best interests.

Blood sugar was on my mind when I woke up. What would it be? How early should I wake her up to test and find out? A low-carb breakfast was on the menu (scrambled eggs, while the other kids got pancakes). Would it be okay?

Luckily, it was. Normal at breakfast, even lower throughout the day. We discussed it at dinner, praising Mitzi for managing herself so well all day, and slipped into a general discussion about diabetes. Mitzi tossed questions at her siblings: If I pass out, what do you do? (Call 911, tell them you’re diabetic! Cooper even chimed in, “Get that diabetic epi-pen thingie with the glucawhatever!”) Is 150 a good blood sugar? (Yes!)

Joanna knows her diabetes stuff!

Joanna knows her diabetes stuff!

This led to the idea of Diabetes Jeopardy! After we finished eating, the younger three headed for their showers and Mitzi grabbed a bunch of index cards. She made categories and questions and assigned monetary values. When everyone was ready, they played. I watched from the dining room, struggling with something on the computer I was doing for Ray.

It was adorable. And impressive. A $400 question: What do I need if my number is high? All the kids were quick, but Joanna’s “BUZZ!!!!” was the fastest. “MORE INSULIN!!!!!” she shouted, jumping up and down.

Three years ago it made me sad that my small children had to know all of this. That a three and four year old had to recognize their big sister’s physical symptoms of highs and lows and know how to tell Mommy and Daddy about it.

Now it just makes me proud.

Mitzi finds it terribly annoying, the way one of her siblings will ask her if she’s bolused for the apple she’s eating, or the way that they might find me to see if it’s okay that she’s having a snack. The way everyone at various times asks her where her kit is, if she tested yet, and what the number was. Mitzi is eleven, and everything about her parents and siblings is annoying. But especially when they butt into her diabetes business.

But last night. Ah, last night, it was okay, and for the first time ever, diabetes was kind of fun.

Happy Birthday to my oldest baby!

It’s about 10 degrees outside, the perfect day to hunker down under a blanket with a cup of tea and a good book. But I am not doing that. Because it’s a big day around here. (drum roll, please…)

birthday banner

Happy 11th Birthday, Mitzi!!!!

So, today, in between the work I’m doing, I’ve been baking a cake, wrapping presents, and crafting a special card for the birthday girl to let her know what her biggest gift of all will be (a bedroom makeover!).

It’s been a fast 11 years, and so much has happened. She’s survived hospital stays and chest surgery and a diabetes diagnosis. She’s grown enormously — both in size (she’s almost 5′ 3″) and in creativity and intelligence. And even though she’s entering that gnarly pre-teen years and can be downright moody and edgy sometimes, mostly she’s just my baby. Even her little-girl curls are coming back, though now her hair is more brown than blonde.

candles

So, back to it. Lots to do to prep for the afternoon celebration. I have a purse cake to make, gourmet chicken fingers to wrangle, and nineteen other things to do. All the while I’ll probably be reflecting on her baby time, the little girl time, maybe even squeeze in a few minutes to peruse a few old photos. It’s entirely possible that I’ll find time to shower.

It’s a cold day outside, but inside — well, the party is just getting started!

Cheers!

 

A crossover post! What a tease!

Today I posted on my other blog about what happened yesterday when Mitzi tried to take the long composition portion of the state standardized test. I’ve always hated standardized tests, but since Mitzi’s been diabetic, I hate them even more. If you are interested, hop over to A Life So Sweet and see how our day unfolded. I’ll give you a hint — I learned a valuable lesson, in the end.

 

Happy Birthday, Baby!

Come on. You know I couldn’t let the day end without posting a happy birthday shout-out to my oldest child, who turned 10 today!

*thud*

How is it possible that I have a ten year old?

Come to think of it, how is it possible that I have four kids? Sometimes when I think hard about this, I laugh uproariously, because oftentimes I consider myself too clueless to bear the weight of responsibly raising another human being.  See? You’re laughing too.

The fact that I have wonderful kids seems more to do with them, rather than me, no matter what anyone says. Because in true parent form, like so many others, I tend to dwell on my failures, rather than on my successes. My kids are thriving in spite of, not because of me, much like the way my generation survived our childhood without the benefits of outlet covers and stairway gating.

Today, though, I will enjoy the success, because look at my kid! Beautiful, smart, resilient, creative, on and on….not unflawed, not by any stretch, but overall pretty darned amazing.

Sometimes I look at her in awe. (But because she is preteen I do NOT let her see me looking at her like this. Well, maybe only a little.)

I think it was a fun day for her, and I hope she felt special. Even though it was a ton of work in a very short period of time (yes, another Mom would’ve done this all days ago), Mitzi and her siblings had a great half hour on her present treasure hunt after school. In short: she got an initial scroll with a rhymed clue that lead her to present number one, and another clue scroll, which lead her to present number two, and so on). The first time I did this she was five, and the “clues” were things like “look in the room where the big couch is, then look under it.”  This year I used very tricky language, metaphor, and vague references. Next year, algebra.

Gotta keep them on their toes.

But the best was dessert. Last year was her first as a diabetic. Then, she was on a strict regimen of carbs throughout the day — because of the way we administered insulin, she could only have so many per meal or snack. Therefore, her birthday treat had to be at bedtime, her final snack of the day. But it could only be so many carbs. Instead of frosting on cupcakes, we used Cool Whip. It was delicious and no one cared. Well, I was still grieving, and cared a little.

But this year was almost decadent. Because she is using the insulin pump, she can eat whatever she wants, whenever she wants (well, as long as her parents say it’s okay. I mean, we’re not talking about a revolving door kitchen here!). So we had cupcakes with full-out sugared Betty Crocker frosting, diabetes be damned! I have no idea if she even remembered last year or noted the difference, but it was just meant everything to me.

And now, the day is over, my baby is gone to bed to read for as long as she can get away with. Ten years old. Holy cow.

Happy birthday, baby.