D-Feast Friday - Drinkable Yogurt and Popsicles!

The other day I spent about 20 minutes in the frozen treats section of my grocery store trying to find a relatively healthy, cool treat for Elise. The problem was, almost everything I looked either had way too many carbs for just a snack, or it at had at least one of my no-no ingredients; food dyes, high fructose corn syrup, or a sugar substitute.

Call me weird (and many do), but when it comes to that last item, I would much rather Elise have the real thing.

One post on this blog that gets a ton of hits is my drinkable yogurt recipe, which I make and then freeze in popsicle molds for a cold, HEALTHY treat. I posted it quite awhile ago, so I though I'd dust it off and re-post.


Joanne's Strawberry/Banana Homemade Drinkable Yogurt
(all measurements are in weight grams... because that's what I use to figure out the carb factor)

Ingredients
450g of plain yogurt (carb factor = .05)
200g strawberries - you can use fresh or frozen (carb factor = .08)
85g bananas (carb factor = .20)
note: substitute any of your favourite fruit... Elise just loves strawberries and banana
1 1/2 Tbsp. agave nectar (total carbs = 24g cho)
*or* any other sweetner of your choice. I used honey the other day.

Approx. carb factor when using the above measurements = .10

Directions:

-In a heavy-bottomed sauce pan, simmer the fruit on low/med in enough water so it covers the bottom of the pan (don't use too much water, it will dilute the taste). It usually takes about 10-15 minutes.

-When fruit is completely cooked down, add to yogurt and blend using a blender or hand blender. If you do this while the fruit mixture is still warm, it helps to thin out the yogurt, making it more liquidy.

-After completely blended, add agave (or other sweetener). I add it at this stage so I can judge the sweetness after each 1/2 Tbsp. I add. You may need more or less, depending on your taste buds.

Enjoy, and stay cool!

***The popsicle Elise is holding in this picture has 8g of carbs

Don't judge me - repost

I wrote this earlier this year... I thought by now we'd be on a pump. But we're not. And to tell you the truth, I don't think my feelings have changed at all...
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I have a secret, and I feel the need to tell you. And when I do, I don't want you to judge me. I just need to get it out. Maybe because one day I'll look back and be able to see what an idiot I was. Here goes...

I don't want a pump for my daughter.

Whew... I said it. I feel better now. Maybe you're reading and re-reading the above statement; scratching your head and asking yourself what I've been smoking. Let me explain.

To do that, you might need a little background. Elise was only 12 months old at diagnosis, and we caught it VERY early. She was put on diluted Humalog and diluted Humalin (NPH). She was put on NPH because it is the only long-acting insulin you can dilute. Her daily doses were 2 units of diluted NPH at breakfast (no fast acting), and 1 unit of diluted Humalog at dinner. If you translate that into full strength, her carb ratio at dinner was 1:100. So you can see, she was on a pretty small amount of insulin at first. A pump was never offered as an option, and of course, we didn't know enough to ask.

So 2 1/2 years later, we're still on NPH as a long-acting insulin. I have had people tell me that it is a horrible insulin regimen. That it's archaic. That we're doing a disservice to our daughter. And yet, we're still using it. Why?

Because for us, it works. Elise's last 4 A1C's have been 7.1, 7.1, 6.6, and 7.0. Unless we're dealing with some unholy hell like an illness or growth spurt, her numbers typically range from 90 to about 200 during the day. I know what to expect from NPH. I know how to tweak it. I understand how it works and how to make it work for us. But, it is a very stress-inducing insulin, and there are days when I am so over it that it makes me cry.

And still I say I don't want a pump. So why? Why would I say something so dumb?

Because I don't want everything that comes WITH a pump. I don't want to deal with sites that get ripped out.

Or air bubbles in the tubing.

Or infections.

Or scar tissue.

Or bad sites.

Or a site that bleeds.

Or seeing yet ANOTHER thing attached to my daughter 24/7

Or any of the other problems I've read about that happens when you pump.

For us, trouble shooting a high BG is fairly simple... either her insulin to carb ratio has changed, we messed up on her carb count (something that rarely happens since we weigh everything she eats and use carb factors), or the insulin has gone bad.

Easy.

A pump involves way more trouble-shooting. Something I don't think my brain can deal with right now.

Having said all that... we are taking a pump class this Thursday. And I will go into it with an open mind, and really listen. I know there are a lot of positives about a pump. And maybe in a few months you'll hear ME ranting about how awesome it is.

Stranger things have happened.

Wanna know another secret? I'm not so good with change, and I think out of everything, that's what's bugging me the most.

But what if I can't - repost

Wow, was I a mess when I wrote this. Happy to report that I could, and still am, doing it.

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I think I was born with too few arms. Or maybe I'm missing some hands. I'm not sure, but what I do know is that life with a newborn and a toddler with D is HARD.

Right now my Mom is here, and that's been a good thing. Because I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to do this when it's just me. Elise is a great help, but there are things she just can't do by herself. She can't give herself a shot (though she wants to). She can't count her own carbs. Most of the time she won't eat unless supervised.

Mattias LOVES to eat, and if I let him, he would nurse 24 hours a day I think. I'm not really one for feeding on demand; I prefer trying to adhere to a schedule when it comes to feedings, but I will never deny my baby if that is what he needs. Right now I spend a great deal of my day feeding Mattias and luckily my Mom is there to prepare Elise's food, give a shot or test a BG.

But how will I do it by myself?

I know there are those of you out there who do it, and I know that I will do it too. Because there is no other choice. But it still scares me.

This morning around 6:00 am, just as I was starting to feed a very frantic and hungry baby; Eileen decided to ask for some attention too. Fred was already gone because he had an early flight, so it was just me (well, my Mom was here, but asleep in her room).

I didn't want to put Mattias down because he was screaming from hunger, so I brought him with me to Elise's room and let him go to town on my pinkie finger to keep him quiet. That presented me with a problem... since I was cradling him with one arm, and he had a hold of my other hand, that left me with nothing to pick up Eileen and check out what the alarm was for.

What do I do? I knock Eileen of Elise's shelf with my elbow and press the OK button with my toe. I then clear the alarm, again with my toe, and pick Eileen up with my foot and place her on the bed. I guess I do have an extra pair of hands after all (fred calls them monkey feet). Now if I could just learn to give a shot with my foot...

All joking aside, I know it's going to take a lot of organization, creative problem solving, and a sense of humour to get through these next couple of months.

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

I hope.

Dear Mattias - repost

I wrote this letter to Mattias because it hurt me that one day he might think he is not as loved as his sister. Because D will always come first.

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You are my second born. My son. I have loved you since the moment I found out about you. And yes, I love you just as much as I love your sister. Such a strange thing for a mother to have to say, but I feel there just might come a day when you don't believe it.

I want you to know that it breaks my heart when I hear you crying in your bassinet. And I'd love more than anything to come scoop you up; hold you close and stop those tears from flowing. But I can't. I'm busy at the moment checking a blood sugar, giving insulin and preparing food. So you must wait. And though it might seem like all my attention is focused on your sister at the moment, you are certainly on my mind and I am working as quickly as I can to get to you.

And I hate to hear you whimper when your tummy is empty and you are asking for food. But I cannot feed you at the moment. You see, your sister has low blood sugar and I have to tend to her needs first. And the testing, giving carbs and re-testing might take awhile, especially if I'm waiting until her blood sugar is in a safe range. If I am nursing you, I won't be able to help your sister. And right now, she needs me. I know that you need me too, and I feel so torn.

I am sorry that you get the leftovers of our attention. The leftovers of our energy. Diabetes is a very selfish sibling and demands so much of our time. But that is no excuse. I hope you feel that you can tell us when you are feeling ignored. Just know that the patience, perseverance, and empathy that you are learning right now will serve you well in life.

Know this above everything; you are a very special, and very loved little boy. I pray you grow up knowing and believing that. I am so blessed that you are my son.

Love,
Your Momma

Diabetes Olympics - repost

Just a fun little post a I wrote, awarding myself medals in the Diabetes Olympics

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One night, as I was unable to sleep, I began comparing the care of diabetes to Olympic events. And this is the subsequent post that followed. Yes, all I do is write blog posts in my head when I should be sleeping. And yes, I even awarded myself medals.

Shooting (up) - Points are deducted for blood or a wet shot (insulin seeping out of the skin after the needle is removed). I'm pretty good at avoiding both of these, but it's really just a crapshoot.
Result: Silver

Synchronized Living - This is the ability to balance carbs, insulin, exercise, growth spurts, illnesses, and hormones; and still achieve reasonably good numbers.
Result: Some days it's a gold medal and they're playing "Oh Canada" while I stand atop the podium and wave. Other days, it's a big, fat DNF (did not finish).

Speed Getting Ready - I do this twice a week while trying to get Elise to pre-school. It involves getting her up and dressed. Test her blood sugar. Get her shot ready and give it to her. Make her breakfast. Make her snack (actually, three snacks... what she eats depends on what her BG is at snack time). Write a note for her teacher, so she knows which snacks have how many carbs in them. Pack her bag. Get myself dressed. Get Elise to finish her breakfast in less than 30 minutes. Have her go potty, brush her teeth, brush her hair, and put her shoes and jacket on... all of which she needs help with. Get Mattias up, change his diaper and put him in the carseat. Load everyone into the car. On some very special days, add nursing a baby to this list. All of this is done in the span of less than 60 minutes.
Result: Gold, baby!

10 Meter Dash - This is pretty much the distance from our bed to Elise's. I've gotten pretty fast at shooting out of bed and making it to her side when I hear Eileen alarm, or she starts having a night terror episode, or I wake up and realize that we slept though the 2 am alarm. But I get points deducted for a slow start... trying to find my glasses in the dark does tack some seconds onto my time. Then there are the nights that I'm still asleep as I leap out of bed and I run right into a wall. Awesome.
Result: Bronze

WAG-ing - (stands for Wild Ass Guessing) Some people can just look at a piece of cake and be able to tell you how many carbs are in it. I really can't, but I have gotten very good at figuring out an item's carb factor. A lot of times it's just knowing a similar item's carb factor and going from there. But there are those foods that are unlike anything else on earth... You may remember my post on the Best Cake in the World. It was probably a fluke that I got it right on the first try, but it does feel good when you nail the landing.
Result: Silver

Juggling - Now that I have two little minions to take care of, I have learned to become a gold medal juggler (jugglist?). It's what you end up doing when both kids need you at the same time; for example: Elise has just woken up and needs her BG checked, shot given and breakfast made. Mattias has also just woken up and needs his diaper changed,, reflux meds and his morning meal. I usually handle it like this; check the BG, change the diaper, give the shot, give the meds, make the breakfast, nurse one side, give Elise her breakfast (I like there to be some lag time between shot and food), nurse on the other side.
Result: I'd give myself a silver, only because there are some mornings I totally flip out if one more thing gets added to the pile (copious amounts of spit-up resulting in a clothing change for me, Mattias, or both, a potty run, a telephone call... etc.)

Biathlon - Which, of course is the combination of two sports. For me, I find the crap usually hits the fan when I am momentarily indisposed. I've become pretty good at checking a BG, and treating a low, all while nursing Mattias. The key, as any good athlete will tell you, is preparation. This means I carry fast-acting carbs with me at all times. Yes, I've been known to pull a roll of Smarties out of my sock.
Result: Gold

Accuracy - Just a fun little game I play in my head to take the monotony out of checking Elise's BG 10+ times a day. I try to guess what her BG is going to be. It was a lot harder before Eileen joined our team, but I got to be pretty good at it. Of course I had a lot of what-the-crap moments too.
Result: Silver

Wrestling - I don't participate in this sport anymore. Now that Elise is 3, she's a lot more accommodating with her shots. But when she was 12 months old, you should have seen some of the leg holds I had to put on her. Because when you are just one person, and you have to use two hands to give the shot, you become pretty creative in the ways you hold your baby down to administer a shot.
Result: Gold


Swimming - As in "just keep swimming". Usually done on days where you swear you cannot do this for another second. When you are bone tired and there is nobody to take the baton from your hand. When all you want to do is climb up onto your roof and scream the F-word (no, not fine) for as loud and as long as possible. When it seems like the tears will never stop falling. You still kick your legs and flail your arms to keep your head above the water and "just keep swimming". Because you have to.
Result: Total gold medal. I've been doing it every day for 2 years and 2 months now and don't ever plan on stopping. I think that deserves a gold.

Anybody else care to join in on the fun?

Factor THIS! (a repost)

We often get asked how we are able to achieve such good A1Cs and reasonably stable (unless something crazy is going on) blood sugars. I believe part of it is owed to the fact that I weigh Elise's food and use carb factors. We find that being off by 5g can make all the difference between a high/low BG and an in-range one. Of course, this will change as Elise gets older, but for now you will always find me with my trusty scale, and list of carb factors (that are mostly in my head).

I wrote this post almost two years ago, and thought I'd re-pot it for anyone who is interested.

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When Elise was first diagnosed with diabetes, I was overwhelmed by trying to count carbs. A calculator and scale became my best friends, and I am never without a piece of paper and a pen when I'm fixing Elise a meal.

But the math part was very difficult for me, and I often had to write out the equation on the paper to get my mind around it (for example, if 1 oz of banana has 6g of carbs, than how many carbs are in .7 oz of banana). This especially sucked if I was in a hurry.

Then someone on a message board told me about carb factors. I read their explanation, but my poor little brain was so blitzed from all the new information I was learning, that I couldn't make sense of what they were telling me. So I put carb factors on the back burner until a time when I wasn't feeling so stupid.

Well, the fog has lifted and I am a carb factor convert. If you haven't heard of carb factors before, here's an explanation:

Different foods are made up of different parts: carbs, fat, fiber... etc. Carb factors are the percentage of a food that is made up of carbs. Let's use a banana as an example. They are 20% carbs, or have a carb factor of .20. But how do I figure out exactly how many carbs are in the little bit that I give Elise for a snack?

To figure out exactly how many carbs are in that piece of banana, all I need to do is weigh the banana (in grams, not ounces). Since I know that any portion of a banana is 20% carbs, all I need to do is multiply the weight by .20 (the carb factor for a banana). So if a banana weighs 15 grams, the amount of carbs in that banana is 15 x .20 or 3g of carbs.

You can even use carb factors for pre-packaged foods. Elise LOVES goldfish crackers, but can't eat an entire serving. To figure out the carb factor for her crackers, I just divide the amount of carbs in a serving (19g), by the serving size (30g). Remember, all weights MUST be done in grams for it to work. So goldfish crackers have a carb factor of .63. To find out the carb factor of any packaged food, it's always carbs divided by grams.

So easy! All you need is a scale that weighs in grams, a calculator, and a list of carb factors. I'm working on compiling my own list and hope to post them on my blog soon. Apparently, you can also find a list of carb factors in Pumping Insulin by John Walsh (I've never actually read this book, but that's what I hear).

I've started labelling all my packaged foods that Elise eats with their carb factor. The cheerios container has a big .71 on it.

Figuring out the carb factor for homemade food is easy too! Just figure out the # of carbs in each ingredient and weigh the whole thing and add up all the carbs and divide the total carbs by the total weight and you now have the carb factor for your food. So when I made a stew for dinner the other day, I weighed all the veggies and other ingredients that went into it. The whole pot of stew had 80g of carbs. When it was done, I poured the stew into a container, weighed it, and it came to 1560g (not including the weight of the container, of course!). Then I divided 80/1560, and found that my stew has a carb factor of .05.

If you need to convert ounces to grams, there are just over 28g in an ounce.

I hope I did a good job explaining carb factors. I know they have really made things easier for me.

Edited to add: I can't believe I forgot this part. A totally easy way to find the carb factor for a food item is to go to Calorie King's food search, type in the food and click search. Then select the item from their list and when you get to the page where you can select a serving size type 100 and choose g from the drop down box. Then in the nutrition box, find the carbs, move the decimal point over to the left two spaces and you have that items carb factor... easy!

Edited further to add: As per Danielle's request, click here for a list of some (I wish it were more extensive) of the carb factors we use most often. It's also a mobile site, so you should be able to access it on your phone.

Lest We Forget

Growing up in Canada, November 11th (Remembrance Day) was a time that we would reflect and give thanks to those who gave their lives for our country.

There was always an assembly at school (usually the day before, since Remembrance Day was always a day off), marked by the reading of In Flanders Fields (see below), and the playing of Last Post. This was followed by two minutes of silence at 11:00 am (the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month), the time the Armistice of World War I was signed in 1918. To this day, the sound of a lone trumpet makes me want to bow my head and stand silent.

We wear poppies on our lapel to honour our veterans; a symbol of the famous poem In Flanders Fields which was written by a Canadian during WWI. To read more about the history of the poem, you can go here.

I thought it appropriate to post the poem today, in Remembrance of all who died so we could live free.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 - 1918)

I'm not even kidding

I originally wrote this two years ago and posted it on my other blog. It's still as true today as it was then. I'll keep re-posting it every year until someone does something about it.

Dear Person or Persons in charge of Daylight Savings Time,

Yes I know the time change was a few days ago so this may seem a little late. You see, it took a few days to put my thoughts down into writing because I've been wandering around my house trying to figure out WHAT BLOODY TIME IT IS.

It seems some of my clocks are smarter than me and change on their own. Some, my husband changed on Sunday. And others still display the "old" time. My problem is, I can't figure out which is which.

So, onto my issue with you. I hate the very concept of DST. It is, quite simply, a load of crap. I don't care that on some farm, in a far away land it makes the cows happy, or whatever bull you're touting, but it screws with my life and it must stop. And I don't appreciate the propaganda the news is spewing by telling me, "you gain and EXTRA hour!" That is pure crap to the highest degree.

We're onto you, yes we are. Who are we? We are the parents of children who cannot tell time, and ergo do not give a flip about your stinking time change. We are the parents of children who are now waking up a FULL HOUR EARLIER than normal now, because of a reason that no longer exists. My daughter has decided to add an extra half hour to that, because that's how she rolls.

An hour may not seem like a lot to you, but when your days are filled with house-cleaning, meal-preparing, blood-sugar-checking, insulin-shot-giving, child-rearing, errand-running, diaper-changing, laundry-washing and nose-wiping; and you do it all while suffering from the 500th consecutive bad hair day, AND quite certain you have poop smeared somewhere on your person (because why else is THAT SMELL following you around the house like the dog when she's hungry), well then, I would say an hour is HUGE.

So I am urging you, PLEASE, for the love of all that is holy... do away with DST. Or I shall be forced to hunt you down, find out where you live and start banging away on your bedroom window an hour before you usually get up. I will also knee you in the groin for the extra half hour. Because that is how I roll.

D-Feast Friday - Low carb pancakes

I was really looking forward to taking part in this blog-fest; posting my recipe with pictures and all, but life has been a wee bit tricky over the last few days. So here's my rather lame attempt at joining in on the fun.

Low Carb Pancakes
(You may want to double this recipe if you're making it for more than two people)

What you need:
2 eggs
1/2 cup cottage cheese - I use 4% fat (carb factor = 0.04)
1/8 cup whole wheat flour (cf = .725)
(you can use all-purpose if you want)
1 tbsp sugar (cf= .998)

Of course, you can add all sorts of other stuff to the batter, which will change the carb factor. Some of our favourites are cinnamon, mashed up banana, blueberries, and (gasp) chocolate chips. Just not all at the same time... unless you're weird like that.

Approx. carb factor = .12

To Make:
*Throw all ingredients in a blender, or use a hand blender and mix.
*Cook in a pan, or on a griddle just like you would any other pancake.

Edited to Add: A comment on this post reminded me that not everybody uses carb factors (or knows what they are). If you haven't heard of them and are interested, I wrote a post about it awhile back... you can find it here.

What an Amazing Father looks Like

I wrote this last year for Father's Day, and as hard as I try, I just can't say it any better than I have here.


Dear Freddie,

Elise is one lucky and blessed little girl. I know it, one day when she's a bit older; she will know it, and I hope that you know it too.

I love that, from day one, you jumped into fatherhood with both feet. You had never changed a diaper or fed a baby a bottle before, but it didn't matter. You make being a father look natural and easy.

I love that you love to spend time with her, making memories that will stay with her the rest of her life. Your time with her will assure her of how loved she is, and she will grow up knowing what a good man is.

I love that when she is scared or upset, she calls your name too. She knows her Poppa is a great source of comfort, and she can rest just as easy in your arms or mine.

I love that she gets her sweet and out-going personality from you. When I see her going up to kids she doesn't know in a store or playground and chatting with them; there is no doubt that she's your daughter. She loves to be around other people and thrives in those situations.

I love how excited she gets when the front door opening announces that you are home from work for the day. I think every father should be greeted by little shrieks of joy at the end of a long work day.

I love that you find fun in things that most people would view as a chore. You have made bath time and getting ready for bed one of her favourite times of the day. I enjoy listening to the songs you sing and the little rituals you do that are just yours and hers.

I love listening to you speak to her in Portuguese. I think it's wonderful how passionate you are that she learns that part of her heritage. I also love to hear her speak Portuguese too and am blown away at how well she's doing.

I love the man that you are, the husband that you are and the father you have become. I mean it when I say that I couldn't be raising such an amazing little girl without you.

Love,
Momma and the Beans

I Did it! (all by myself)

This post is about a year and a half old. Re-reading it made me smile and realize just how far I've come.

Someone who just happened across this blog, and didn't know the whole story, would probably read this post and think, "man, this lady gets excited over the dumbest things." But you know what? I just don't care.

Because I took Elise to eat at Chick-fil-a, all by myself without Fred there to help. I know, how intoxicating, right? This was big for a couple of reasons:

1. I was going out with a bunch of Moms and their kids. It's really hard to concentrate on talking to people when you have to keep a watchful eye on your daughter to make sure she eats everything on her plate. Plus I was a little nervous about checking her sugar and the potential of giving her a shot in front of all those other people. I especially didn't want to scare any of the kids. As it turns out, her BG was a bit high, but not so much that I needed to give her extra insulin.
   
   
2. She got to eat Chick-fil-a too! Of course I looked up the nutritional info before I went and determined what she could eat (btw, Chick-fil-a's website is wonderful for this). I semi-cheated and brought her some stuff from home, but she seemed to enjoy those Chick-fil-a nuggets!
   
   
3. Although she's 16 months old, I have never taken Elise to a restaurant by myself. I mean, I did when she was little, but not lately, and especially not since her dx. The logistics always overwhelmed me... got to make sure I get there in time (Elise needs to eat at very specific times), check her BG, maybe give her a shot, get the food, make sure she eats everything while trying to eat some of my own food. When I write it out, it doesn't sound that bad, but when I think about it, I get tired.
   

I almost didn't go (which is typical of me... not trying because I'm scared I'll fail), but I did it, and it's amazing how such a small thing can boost one's confidence.

So D, I politely request that you stick THAT in your pipe and smoke it.

Taking the stroller outside

This is a cross-post/re-post... two for the price of one! I originally posted it on my other blog about a year ago, during a particularly hard time. Since it has a bit to do with diabetes, I thought I'd use it as a re-post in my absence.

I've said it before, in this post, that if I were a super hero my name would probably be something like Miss Meticulous. As much as I would like to think of myself as a zany, crazy, spur-of-the-moment type of gal, deep down I know I am just kidding myself.

Lately I've been noticing that the overly anal-retentive side of my personality is creeping up on me, and I'm afraid it's going to take over like a rising tide. If you've ever lived near the ocean then you know what it's like to be playing out on dry sand, and the next thing you know you're knee deep in water and your beach blanket looks very, very far away.

I relish order and, for lack of a better word, cleanliness to my life. And although this is an okay thing in small doses, I don't want it to stop me from living my life.

Elise has this baby doll stroller and she loves to toddle around the house with it. She puts her doll in it and strolls around; clucking her tongue and telling baby, "it s'okay, be-be, it s'okay". Apparently, her baby is suffering from some sort of angst... all the time. The other day she had the idea that it would be fun to take it on our walk with us. You know, outside.

I kneeled down and told her that no, the stroller needs to stay in the house. If we take it outside, the wheels will get dirty, and then track the dirt inside. And I'm the one that will most likely end up carrying it home (I added silently in my brain). As she started protesting violently, as only Elise knows how, I thought about how ludicrous my reasoning was.

But this line of thought is in lock-step with how I've been living my life lately. I refrain from doing things just because it's messy, or hard. The long and the short of it is; it's just easier to keep the stroller at home. If you've been reading for awhile, then you know that my daughter, now 22 months old, was diagnosed with diabetes at the age of 12 months. And it has made life hard. And messy. And it has made me afraid.

My day-to-day routine is peppered with "what-ifs". I hate to stray to far away from the house lest something happen with Elise's diabetes. Plus I'm starting to feel like a bloody pack mule with all the stuff I need to carry around for her. And forget travelling. Trying to go through security with all Elise's supplies and food, not to mention what if something happens when we're in the air? Forget it. It's too messy and it's too hard.

But it's dawning on me that I'm not really living my life, I'm hiding from it. Life is messy, it's dirty, and man-oh-man is it hard. But isn't it during those times when you have the most fun?

I can remember when I was 15 or so, I was at my soccer practice one night when the sky opened up and it started to pour. Some of the more adventurous ones on my team thought that was a grand time to practise slide-tackling. In the mud.

I stood on the sidelines and said, "no thank you, I'd rather not have to scoop mud pies out of my shorts" (not those kind of mud pies you dirty, dirty people). But as I watched them, I saw the fun that they were having, I realized that I was missing out, so I took a flying leap into the biggest mud puddle I could find. And yeah I was dirty, but I had a load of chuckles with my team mates that night.

It's a stroller, and what else is it meant for if not for my little girl to take it on a walk around the neighbourhood? So what if the wheels get dirty? It's not like I'm trying to keep it in pristine condition for re-sale on EBay or something. The stroller, like life, is meant to be taken outside and used. And if I end up carrying it, and Elise, and her baby doll for a quarter of a mile; well, so be it. I could use the exercise.

I think what I'm trying to say is that for the past year I've been living my life in a box. Or a hole. Or behind a curtain. Or locked up in a tiny, windowless room with no light or sound being able to penetrate the walls. And I want out.

I want to know what it's like to live again.

For those of you who like happy endings... proof that I did, indeed, take the stroller outside. I like to think it was the beginning of emerging from my funk.

10 Years... a re-post of sorts

I originally posted this about our 8 year wedding anniversary. As much as I'd like to write a whole new post, I think this one sums it up perfectly. So I've re-posted it with a few minor changes. It has also been cross-posted on my other blog

It took me about 5 minutes to walk down the aisle at my wedding. No, I didn't panic with a case of cold feet. Nor did I trip and fall flat on my face (the more likely of the two scenarios). Fred and I got married on the beach in Carmel, CA, and the aisle was seriously that long. It was a beautiful, temperate day on the California coast, and I had a lot to contemplate as I tromped towards the beach in my two inch heels. Did I look every bit the part of a blushing bride? Do I have enough SPF's to get me through the ceremony? Can they see my underwear through this dress? Hey, look... bugs having sex!

Sometimes I can be as deep as a puddle.

You'll notice nowhere in there were there thoughts about the huge journey I was about to embark on. I think I was a pretty naive 23 year old who looked at marriage as something you did. Did you love the guy? Sure! So why not get married. There were no thoughts of, "what kind of father will he be? What do I want out of marriage? What is my role as a wife?" Amazingly enough, I gave no thoughts about any expectations I had about married life.

Ten years later, what could have been a disastrous decision, turned out to be one of the best things I've ever done. I believe that there isn't anyone out there better suited for me, and I cannot imagine a better, more fun man to travel life's roads with.

He loves me despite my many quirks. Even better, he embraces them and doesn't try to change me. He is one of the hardest workers I've ever met, and has never complained once over the last 10 years that our family relies on him, and him only as our income source. Although our senses of humour are very different, he still cracks me up on a daily basis.

If you are lucky enough to call him your friend, you know how he goes the extra mile for the people he loves. If you asked for the shirt off of his back, he would give it to you. And his pants. And, if it wasn't so gross, probably his underwear too.

He doesn't get my love for Lost, but will watch it with me... mainly because it's in HD. He will sometimes show up at lunchtime during a weekday and bring me Chick-fil-a. On Sunday, he mopped the floors for me. I know he loves me and will do almost anything to make me happy. We're talking about a guy who has flown to 5 different states to see my favourite band 8 different times. Love? I think so!

Above all else, he is a wonderful, Godly man. He knows he isn't perfect, but tries his best to live his life according to God's word. He is an amazing example to our little girl of what a husband should be.

After Elise was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, Fred stepped up to the plate in a way that not every husband does. Is most cases, 100% of the care falls to the wife, and a lot of husbands don't even try to get involved. Call it laziness, call it denial. Whatever it is, Fred does not suffer from it. He is totally involved in Elise's care, and has taken on doing the twice-nightly blood sugar checks (we have to check Elise during the night to catch dangerous, life-threatening low blood sugars). Our daughter would not be doing as well as she is, if it wasn't for her Poppa and his diligence to her care.

Over the past 14 years (4 years dating, 10 married), we have gone hot air ballooning, driven through Europe, rafted 10 rivers, bought a house, hiked in Hawaii, been extras on an X-Files episode, racked up over $75,000 worth of debt, paid off over $75,000 worth of debt, skied Jackson Hole, jumped off a 30 foot cliff, made a beautiful daughter together, been to hell and back, and now are about to expand our family by one more.

I am so thankful for our marriage. I feel blessed beyond all measure to call Fred my best friend, father of our daughter and soon-to-be-born son, and best of all... my husband.

Welcome to Holland... again

I posted this on my blog a few months ago. Then Shamae, a fellow blogger and D-Momma posted it, but this time with pictures; letting people see what her Holland looked like. I thought it to be a grand idea, so I decided to repost it, this time with pictures.

A dear friend of mine, who has a chronic illness herself, sent me this. It resonated with me so much, that I wanted to share it here on my blog:

WELCOME TO HOLLAND
by Emily Perl Kingsley
“I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability—to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this...

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip—to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands.

The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland." "Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around … and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills … and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy … and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there.

And for the rest of your life, you will say, "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned." And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away ... because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss. But ... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.”

[Note: Author Emily Perl Kingsley wrote "Welcome to Holland" in 1987. She has been a writer for Sesame Street since its earliest years. When her son, Jason, was born with Down syndrome in 1974, Emily and her husband Charles became activists, educating the public and developing resources to help Jason and other kids with special needs fulfill their potential. When asked why she thinks "Welcome to Holland" has had such resonance for so many people, she replied: “It's about a lost dream, any lost dream. Any change from the original plan. It says that it's okay to continue to feel the pain of the loss; that it's legitimate pain. It says that you're entitled to be disappointed, which then allows you to go on and enjoy what you did get.”]

Yes, yes, yes! How wonderfully this articulates how I feel, and has reinforced a very important point. I have already seen a few of the windmills of Holland; other, wonderful D-Mommas (and one very special D-Grandma!) out there that have been cheering me on from their very own corner of the internet.

As I walk through the tulips, I gaze in wonder at the precious beauty that is my daughter. A baby who has been dealing with this adversity before she could even walk, or got her first tooth. She has already been an inspiration to me. Who knows how many others will hear her story and be changed by it?

Welcome to my Holland...

Elise, right before we left for Holland

In Holland, we see things that are heartbreaking...

Do things that other people think are strange...

And do things we never thought we'd ever have to do.

There are bad days in Holland...

Really bad days.

But there are good days too.

In fact, Holland can be a beautiful place to be.

A re-post

When I announced on my other blog almost a year ago, that I was going to start a new blog all about having a baby with type 1 diabetes, I was nervous and excited. I had finally found an outlet for all the emotions that were boiling up inside of me. It felt good. It felt right.

And then I received my very first nasty comment. And it sent me reeling. How could someone who had never met me, and had no idea what I was going through, be so judgemental? I had been fortunate so far to avoid these cockroach commenters of the world-wide-web.

And then I put my big girl panties on and took it for what it was worth... nothing. And of course I later had to lash out at the anonymous commenter in a post. Just for chuckles, I thought I'd re-post that blog entry:

Below is a comment I received on MOB (my other blog) on the post where I announced "Death of a Pancreas":

Karen said...To encourage other parents like me by captioning your blog with "Death of a Pancreas"? How morbid and stupid is that? if your goal is to encourage and enlighten us who have kids with diabetes, you might want to be more positive and check your facts first. The pancreas DOES NOT EVEN DIE with diabetes. Geez.
December 2, 2008 7:26 PM

Here is my response:
Joanne said...Okay, so I was going to just delete the above comment since it most likely is a drive-by comment from a crazy, but on the off-chance that this person is being truthful about who she says she is, I'll address her rather snarky comment.

1) Believe me, I know EXACTLY what diabetes is. I've been living this hell for the past three months. But "Death of the Pancreatic Beta Cells in the Islets of Langerhans" just doesn't have the same ring to it. My daughter's pancreas has failed to function as it should, and to me, it feels like a death. TO ME. Got that? ME!

2) I'm so sorry that you are so easily offended by a simple blog title. If you really are a mother of a child with diabetes, you should know that the only way to not let this disease get you down is to have a sense of humour about it. You should read some of the things we joke about on the diabetes board I frequent. Actually, no you shouldn't. Your head just might explode from the offensiveness of it all.

3) Since you have blocked your ID, I have no way of knowing if you are a crazy or not. I have no animosity towards you, or your comment. I even welcome a response to my comment if you are so inclined. But please, you handle diabetes your way, and let me handle it my way... We're both (supposedly) fighting the same enemy anyway, right?

I was disappointed that she never came back to reply. My point is this; if you cannot find anything to laugh about while battling this horrific fight, then you are already beaten. If Elise grows up seeing me grim-faced all the time while giving her a shot, then that is how she's going to deal with it too. You need to show your child that their life will be what they make of it, not what diabetes makes of it. I choose to laugh at diabetes (when appropriate, of course), and respond in my own sarcastic way. It's how I deal, how I show diabetes that it's not the boss of me. So, you can choose to let diabetes bring you and everyone around you down, or you can face it with a smile, laugh, or maybe even a jig... because who on this earth can be sad while dancing a jig?