Today it is wicked windy out.
The kind of can't-breathe-if -you're- facing-the-wrong-way kind of wind. The get-out-of-the-van-every-twenty-feet- to-move-huge-downed- tree-limbs-off-the- driveway windy. But does the weather forecast call for a wind advisory? No. In all total professional sounding seriousness, they announced a "comb-over advisory."
I love our weather guys!
After riding the Rock-n-Roller coaster at DisneyWorld last year, my nine year old is obsessed with Aerosmith (have no idea where he got his obsessive genes). Where we used to listen to kid CDs (I still have a four year old; I am trying to salvage some amount of childhood for her), we now listen to Aerosmith. When we pull up in our minivan at the curb of their elementary school and open the door, we are usually blasting "Love In An Elevator" or "Dude Looks Like a Lady" or "Walk This Way." Loudly. And we get some disapproving looks from the parents and teachers standing around us. And if someone asks my four year old her favorite song, she says "Johnny's Got A Gun." (She cannot be convinced it's Janie, because in her mind, no girl would have a gun.)
Am I a bad mom for this?
Zicam RULES!
I am not one to tout drugs of any kind, even over the counter ones that contain no addictive qualities. Usually I am not convinced any of them are any more than sugar pills that work only if you close your eyes and recite, "I believe. I believe." But Zicam is the world's best drug (next to Motrin, but that's a whole other post!).
One of my daughters woke up with a cold yesterday. A yucky one. I gave her Zicam last night and this morning half her symptoms were gone. After two more doses today, she is practically cold-free.
Of course, a kid can't get sick without me catching it too, so I woke up feeling as badly as she sounds, and so I snorted the wonder drug as well, and Wa-La! In four beautiful hours I am also back to normal!
My caveat: I've done this before and it always works this fast, except I am quick to think I'm all better and stop prematurely. Then the cold returns with a vengence (like all five days of phlegm rolled into one monster attack) and two days later I'm sitting in the doctor's office getting antibiotics. So this time, I'm in it for the long haul. Five full days of the stuff, relishing the miracle that is Zinc, and pushing it on my daughter as well.
A rock and roller and a drug pusher! How great am I?
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Sometimes there's just not enough jelly beans
It's spring break and all the kids are home. My children are pestering me with questions. Mom, where are the crayons? Can I have duct tape? Can we watch a movie for lunch? I answer in jibberish: The orange juice feels fuzzy. I know it makes no sense to them. I think it makes sense to me, but I'm not sure how. The meaning is just out of reach, but I am lucid enough to know it is futile to try.
This is what happens when the brain doesn't get enough glucose. It goes on the fritz. It misfires. It mixes its signals. It wants to shut down. I hear words but I don't understand them. The simplest of sentences spoken by my seven year old makes no sense to me. I ask her to repeat. Then repeat again. I say ask me again in a few minutes.
My hands are shaking uncontrollably. I drop things. I yell when I don't mean to. I am suddenly angry, though there is no rational reason why. I apologize. I am suddenly hot, like someone turned up the thermostat to 120. Sweat begins to trickle down my hairline. I sit on the floor in the middle of the kitchen and put my head on my knees. I am surrounded by food that would make me normal again, at least for a little while, but I don't want it.
I have type 1 diabetes and my blood sugar is low. I don't feel like testing it. The lows bring that kind of apathy. I gauge, by experience, it's probably in the low 40's. I rationalize it doesn't matter what the number is; I know it's low and that's all I need to know. The point is, I need to eat. But I don't feel like doing that either. Fatigue overwhelms me. I just want to lie down and sleep.
It must be like this at the top of Everest, when climbers are overcome by lack of oxygen and the cold seeps into them and hypothermia overtakes them. I have heard this is such a peaceful way to die. People just lie down in the snow and go to sleep. This is how I feel when my blood sugar levels plummet. I know I should keep my eyes open. I know I should eat. But I feel sick to my stomach and eating is the last thing I want to do. I just want to lie down and sleep, and let the feeling go away.
Sometimes, eating is all I want to do. The lows make me ravenous. I want to eat and eat and eat until I feel better, though I know this will only result in really high sugar levels. Mostly, I dole out exactly twelve jelly beans and wait for the shaking to go away, but sometimes the self-control goes out the window too.
Today I take the jelly beans. No one is home except me and my kids, and this knowledge makes me do the right thing. I hate that we taught them early on how to dial 911 and what to say to emergency operators if I "go to sleep suddenly and won't wake up." The lows happen rarely these days, as I have gotten better at counting carbs and more conservative in dosing out my insulin and, sadly, less effected when my blood sugar is borderline low (while 90 is normal, I often don't notice if I'm in the fifties, or even the upper forties if its been a slow descent). Still, when it happens, it's my kids I feel the worst for.
It's a curse. And a blessing. And because I believe God can make all things work out for good, I am choosing to see mostly the blessings.
My newest novel deals with diabetes on the very basest level. It deals with a family trying to cope, with a well-meaning church congregation that becomes adversarial, and with stem-cell research and politics. It is about people who struggle with their own ethics and morality in the face of a dying daughter.
I won't complain about the shaking and the sweating and the moments where I jabber about fuzzy orange juice and other convoluted topics. Mostly, I am so thankful I have it and not my kids.And if my own experiences help me to write a book that may eventually help someone else, change a few opinions and perceptions, or raise awareness and maybe bring about change, what an amazing gift my own struggles are!
I think the jelly beans have kicked in.
This is what happens when the brain doesn't get enough glucose. It goes on the fritz. It misfires. It mixes its signals. It wants to shut down. I hear words but I don't understand them. The simplest of sentences spoken by my seven year old makes no sense to me. I ask her to repeat. Then repeat again. I say ask me again in a few minutes.
My hands are shaking uncontrollably. I drop things. I yell when I don't mean to. I am suddenly angry, though there is no rational reason why. I apologize. I am suddenly hot, like someone turned up the thermostat to 120. Sweat begins to trickle down my hairline. I sit on the floor in the middle of the kitchen and put my head on my knees. I am surrounded by food that would make me normal again, at least for a little while, but I don't want it.
I have type 1 diabetes and my blood sugar is low. I don't feel like testing it. The lows bring that kind of apathy. I gauge, by experience, it's probably in the low 40's. I rationalize it doesn't matter what the number is; I know it's low and that's all I need to know. The point is, I need to eat. But I don't feel like doing that either. Fatigue overwhelms me. I just want to lie down and sleep.
It must be like this at the top of Everest, when climbers are overcome by lack of oxygen and the cold seeps into them and hypothermia overtakes them. I have heard this is such a peaceful way to die. People just lie down in the snow and go to sleep. This is how I feel when my blood sugar levels plummet. I know I should keep my eyes open. I know I should eat. But I feel sick to my stomach and eating is the last thing I want to do. I just want to lie down and sleep, and let the feeling go away.
Sometimes, eating is all I want to do. The lows make me ravenous. I want to eat and eat and eat until I feel better, though I know this will only result in really high sugar levels. Mostly, I dole out exactly twelve jelly beans and wait for the shaking to go away, but sometimes the self-control goes out the window too.
Today I take the jelly beans. No one is home except me and my kids, and this knowledge makes me do the right thing. I hate that we taught them early on how to dial 911 and what to say to emergency operators if I "go to sleep suddenly and won't wake up." The lows happen rarely these days, as I have gotten better at counting carbs and more conservative in dosing out my insulin and, sadly, less effected when my blood sugar is borderline low (while 90 is normal, I often don't notice if I'm in the fifties, or even the upper forties if its been a slow descent). Still, when it happens, it's my kids I feel the worst for.
It's a curse. And a blessing. And because I believe God can make all things work out for good, I am choosing to see mostly the blessings.
My newest novel deals with diabetes on the very basest level. It deals with a family trying to cope, with a well-meaning church congregation that becomes adversarial, and with stem-cell research and politics. It is about people who struggle with their own ethics and morality in the face of a dying daughter.
I won't complain about the shaking and the sweating and the moments where I jabber about fuzzy orange juice and other convoluted topics. Mostly, I am so thankful I have it and not my kids.And if my own experiences help me to write a book that may eventually help someone else, change a few opinions and perceptions, or raise awareness and maybe bring about change, what an amazing gift my own struggles are!
I think the jelly beans have kicked in.
Monday, March 10, 2008
The Babcocks Moved In
The Babcocks have officially moved in, lock, stock and barrel. Overbearing, religious, controlling Babs who smokes exactly one cigarette a day, in secret. Uninvolved, apathetic Arnold who loves his lazy chair. 17 year old Logan with his pink and blue mohawk and serpent tattoo and rebellious attitude. Sweet, responsible Ashley; 12 years old and recently diagnosed.
They have moved in to my head with their friends Dale and Janise (rhymes with Denise)Rubens and Colleen and Kyle McEntyre, their Pastor Joel, and the entire Hospitality Committee at Tyler First Baptist, their family doctor and the endocrinologist from hell, and a lawyer from heaven.
Their lives are rattling around in my brain, with all their fallibilities and opportunities, the devastating news they face and the unexpected battle against the friends they trust the most.
Today their lives changed forever, and I couldn't be more excited to be a part of it.
Goodbye, Blackbeard and the middle grade book I wanted to write. Hello to the book that wants to be written.
(TH: the postpartum depression is over)
They have moved in to my head with their friends Dale and Janise (rhymes with Denise)Rubens and Colleen and Kyle McEntyre, their Pastor Joel, and the entire Hospitality Committee at Tyler First Baptist, their family doctor and the endocrinologist from hell, and a lawyer from heaven.
Their lives are rattling around in my brain, with all their fallibilities and opportunities, the devastating news they face and the unexpected battle against the friends they trust the most.
Today their lives changed forever, and I couldn't be more excited to be a part of it.
Goodbye, Blackbeard and the middle grade book I wanted to write. Hello to the book that wants to be written.
(TH: the postpartum depression is over)
Friday, March 7, 2008
Things I've Learned Today
1. With the possible exception of those who live in Hawaii (where it is 75 everyday and rains at promptly 2 pm), a weatherman is not to be believed. Even if he is handsome and has ten degrees behind his name. Even if he sounds absolutely positive about his prediction, do not, do not believe him!
2. You can actually make money on TV by saying, "According to one computer model, it's going to rain tomorrow. We have a second model though that indicates it might snow, and a third that says the storm will bypass us and it will be sunny." Really? Really?? I could have said this, and I haven't even taken a meteorology class!
3. Even if it is sunny, if your kids' school is more than a quarter mile from the parking lot, make sure they have umbrellas that fit in their backpacks and stay there all the time.
4. A car trunk is a terrible place to keep you umbrella.
5. Someone could make a mint off inventing waterproof hairspray.
6. If the weatherman is saying today will be sunny and it is clearly pouring outside, you might want to call the news station and request they put a window in the meteorology offices.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Cyber-Etiquette (or I'm Not Stalking You, I'm Just Old)
I don't think of myself as old. Really, my hair is this color naturally. I can hoof four miles of mall at ten minutes a mile, pushing a stroller and forty pounds of kid, and I know my way around a computer pretty well. I've been programming computers before schools had them and I learned to do it from a workbook. I remember when computer screens were black with neon orange type and asteroids seemed like really advanced graphics. I owned one of the first laptops... one of those behemoths that required a suitcase with wheels to haul around. I mean, I'm not a computer engineer or anything, but I do double as the help desk for many friends and family who find themselves unable to discern why their computers are wigging out (okay, does that phrase date me??).
But though I get the technical side of things, the whole social thing, aside from email, is a mystery to me. I joined myspace just to be able to contact a long-lost friend who had a site, then suddenly started getting daily messages from old guys (by old I mean with grandchildren my age) so, adequately creeped out, I got rid of that.
Now I have blogger. And I discovered a world of other bloggers out there. People who are agents, and writers, and parents, and friends, and a lot of strangers that seem really neat. And a lot of these strangers are younger than me. Which makes me, the naturally blond, can kick your butt Wii skiing, completely able to set the time on my own DVD player thank you very much, the old person. Yikes!
I've found a few bloggers I really like. They are smart, sassy, funny. I want to tell them this. I want to write in their comments, I love this! You are amazing! Your life sounds fascinating and fun and I wish I were one of your friends because you sound just like someone I'd hang around with, except, you know, I'm all old and stuff and I'd embarrass you. But this post was hilarious and I totally relate. I check your blog every day because you totally rock!
And then I don't, because doesn't this sound a bit stalkerish?
What are the etiquette rules for blogging? Besides being civil and polite, is it okay to say, "I happened upon your blog and I really like it"? Is it okay to comment on what appears to be personal revelations or activities? Although I realize these things are put out into cyberspace with the awareness they are open to public access, do people want the public access? Do they want strangers peering into their lives?
It's a little like reality TV, except you actually can communicate with these people. It's reality computer. And I'm just afraid I'm the middle-aged woman everyone wants to vote off first.
But though I get the technical side of things, the whole social thing, aside from email, is a mystery to me. I joined myspace just to be able to contact a long-lost friend who had a site, then suddenly started getting daily messages from old guys (by old I mean with grandchildren my age) so, adequately creeped out, I got rid of that.
Now I have blogger. And I discovered a world of other bloggers out there. People who are agents, and writers, and parents, and friends, and a lot of strangers that seem really neat. And a lot of these strangers are younger than me. Which makes me, the naturally blond, can kick your butt Wii skiing, completely able to set the time on my own DVD player thank you very much, the old person. Yikes!
I've found a few bloggers I really like. They are smart, sassy, funny. I want to tell them this. I want to write in their comments, I love this! You are amazing! Your life sounds fascinating and fun and I wish I were one of your friends because you sound just like someone I'd hang around with, except, you know, I'm all old and stuff and I'd embarrass you. But this post was hilarious and I totally relate. I check your blog every day because you totally rock!
And then I don't, because doesn't this sound a bit stalkerish?
What are the etiquette rules for blogging? Besides being civil and polite, is it okay to say, "I happened upon your blog and I really like it"? Is it okay to comment on what appears to be personal revelations or activities? Although I realize these things are put out into cyberspace with the awareness they are open to public access, do people want the public access? Do they want strangers peering into their lives?
It's a little like reality TV, except you actually can communicate with these people. It's reality computer. And I'm just afraid I'm the middle-aged woman everyone wants to vote off first.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Bring On The Books!
I admit it. I have a problem. A big problem. A book problem. Maybe more to the point, a bookstore problem.
Hello, I'm Heidi and I'm an addict.
I went to the used bookstore today looking for a book, a specific title I've already read from the library and now want to own. It took about three minutes to discover this particular store didn't have the book I thought I was looking for, and about ninety minutes to discover they have eleven other books I needed that I didn't even know I was looking for!
All bookstores are intoxicating, but used bookstores especially. I know as a writer I should have something against used bookstores, but I can't. I've loved them too much for too long.
I walk around with a pile of books in my arms, adding until I can barely balance them and still pull more off the shelves. They are often barely broken in, maybe never even read, and the price tags make me feel like I am stealing from someone. I buy kids books for .25, a library of American Girl books or the Series of Unfortunate Events collection for less than one of the books would cost at the retail store. In fact, all eleven books today cost less than the marked price on one of the Stephen Ambrose books I bought for my husband (that I intend to read first just to make sure it's really what he wanted).
I didn't even want a bag. I carried the stack in my arms to my car, resting my chin on the top to steady them as I tried to find my keys. I smelled the pages, that musty, slightly dusty, earthy smell. I love books. I love fingering the page as I am reading, hardly able to keep from turning it before I am ready. I love the illustrations on the front, the blurbs on the back, the acknowledgments. I held two on my lap on the drive home, flipping through them at the stop lights.
I have several books I bought the last time I went to the bookstore that I haven't read yet. I didn't need new books. I don't even have a place for them all. Our house is busting with books, our shelves two layers deep, stacks on end tables and nightstands and desks. But will I get rid of them? No way! I laugh when the clerk asks if I have in trade-in value with the store. Trade-ins? Are you kidding? And part with one of my babies? I don't think so!
I love being surrounded by books. I will never replace them with a Kindle, any more than I would replace my children with dolls. There are lives, and people, and stories in these books that have changed my life, my world-view, my passions and beliefs.
I'm addicted, and I'm perfectly happy to leave it that way.
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