What does Thomas the Train know about diabetes?

You know those books that are SUPER annoying that only grandparents buy?  The ones that have buttons to push to play music that correspond with each page. 

Well, toddler has a Thomas the Train book like this.  Each page has the words to the song that corresponds with it so whoever is reading it, me, can sing along.  Isn't that great?  I sing like a broken garbage disposal.  Regardless, it is one of toddler's favorite books.

Last night I am 'reading' this book to toddler before bed.  I have 'read' this book at least a thousand times, I know the words by heart.  If a button is pushed I can sing the tune without looking at the book.  I am a mother, it's what we do.

Lately I am feeling a little burnout with D-life.  Which is sad, since for my age I am a very young diabetic.  Most women my age have lived with this for 20yrs+.  This is, sadly, changing as more and more adults are being diagnosed as type 1.  At this point though, I feel a bit alone.  The novelty of the gadgets and gizmos has worn off.  The amazement at what techonology can do is no longer exciting, in fact, it's down right lame.  Usually, I am the silver lining person.  Not so much for the past few days...  Maybe it's because my Hem A1C is due and I know that it's going to be the highest I have ever had.  I know I haven't worked nearly as hard as I used to (10 days out of the month I am going lax).  For the first time I am truely dreading the results. 
 
So, 'reading' this Thomas the Train book and get to the 3rd to last song, "Surprises".  It goes like this...

Surprises, surprises,

they come all shapes and sizes.

You never know what's around the bend,

it might delight it might offend.

That's why there's surprises,

with all their highs and lows.

Do you come out top or come full stop?

Who knows, who knows, who knows?

Since when does Thomas have diabetes?  How does he know so much about this?  Needless to say, in my current state I am crying by the end of the song.  (Don't you dare suggest I am pregnant and that's why I am emotional.  I will rip your insensitive face off!)  And how does Thomas know about those 10 days each month that I drink regular coffee and when I get a 225 say "Oh well, too bad for my kidneys today."  (I know this is a bad attitude, please don't tell me about your complications because you used to have this attitude.  I know.)

The toddler is looking at me concerned.  I wipe up my tears and turn the page. 

HA!  Sorry to interrupt this story, but toddler just sat down next to me with Thomas book turned to that page.  Apparently he remembers that page.

So, I clean myself up and turn the page.  The next song, I actually used to motivate toddler when he was having a hard time with potty training.  He was VERY discouraged and confused.  At the time I took out the Thomas book and we 'read' this song.

Don't give up,

show determination.

Don't give up,

you'll be a big sensation.

Keep your wheels a turning,

your pistons pumping hard.

Keep your boilers burning,

don't idle round the yard.

Right on time you'll reach your destination.

Now's the time to show determination.

Basically, Thomas is telling me I am a major wimp and have let it slide too long.  That this is a test of my character, and even with how stubborn I am, I was not quite stubborn enough.  When the going gets tough in D-life, the tough has a breakfast pastry and cup of regular coffee with whip.  It's not that you can't eat these things as a diabetic, I mean they are not good for anyone.  It's just that I am too young of a diabetic to know exactly how my body will react to them- will the pastry break down slow or fast?  Am I going to chug this coffee?  How much extra should I bolus for the caffine?  At this point, these things are very bad for me because I don't know how to deal properly with them.  Which is why 'responsible diabetic' doesn't touch them with a 10 foot pole. 

Thomas provided me with the wake up call.  I just need the motivation now.

"Dat poor sweetheart with dat dumb sugar problem."

I come from a very Dutch family.  My grandparents immigrated to Canada from the Netherlands over 60 years ago, eventually settling here.  These people have lived through some incredible history.  My Oma actually had German soldiers living in her home and taking all the good livestock.  I still have to smile when she says that they put a sign on the house saying they had some terrible contagious disease so the soldiers would leave them alone.  These people have lived a life I can't even imagine.  They have seen advances in everything from healthcare to technology.  I always kind of laughed at how little they new about modern day conveniences.

No one, to my knowledge or the knowledge of my family, in my family has ever had diabetes.  This is a disease that no one really even knew about.  The only people who seemed to have any clue about diabetes were my Oma and Opa.  I was only 6 weeks pregnant when I was first (mis)diagnosed with diabetes (the doctor said "It must be type 2 because adults don't get type 1 and it's too early to be gestational").  The next time I saw my Oma she looked somber.  She asked "Sweetheart, you have dat sugar diabetes?"  When I responsed with a 'yes' her eyes glassed over and her jaw clenched tight.  I didn't understand this response.  Sure, diabetes isn't fun, but I didn't think it warranted that.  She looked at me like she would never see me again.

As time went on, I researched.  I have never in my life liked non-fiction.  I can't tell you how many non-fiction books I poured through.  One of which gave a great history of diabetes.  Do you know that people have known of diabetes for many many years?  Back in the day, the way they tested for diabetes was by tasting your urine.  Now that is a job you couldn't pay me enough for.  Mmmm, this is sweetened lemonaide.

I learned so much.  This brought into perspective how far diabetes healthcare has come.  In my Oma and Opa's lifetime, type 1 diabetes was a death sentence.  If you had the top care and followed instructions (eat nothing, drink nothing) you would be lucky to get 2 absolutely MISERABLE years.  So when I told my Oma who doesn't understand that a VHS can be replayed and you don't have to buy a new VHS everytime you want the watch The Sound of Music (they have like 8!!!), yes I have diabetes, she wasn't up on all the new 'stuff'.  She did look at me like she might never see me again because in her mind, she might never see me again.  When I made this discovery I called to explain that things have changed.  She still doesn't quite grasp this concept, so I will forever be "Dat poor sweetheart with dat dumb sugar problem."  Except when she writes sweet it is spelled sweat.

Oma and Opa are very old now.  They do ok, but they need help that they are too stubborn to accept.  The stove has been left on ("You have never done dat?") and bones somehow break in bed while they're sleeping ("No, I didn't fall going to the bathroom.").  They really aren't cheap though- they have spent their lives working very hard and saving, leaving them fortunate, blessed and giving.  Truely, they are dear sweet people that I adore.  Which is what makes this story so frusterating (and in a few years funny for me, probably funny for you now because it didn't happen to you).

After years of traveling to Florida we have managed to convince them they should no longer go.  Actually, we didn't convince them.  They started the planning process and a nurse who was coming to their home (who obviously thought this trip to Florida would have been a terrible plan too) told them that their insurance wouldn't be accepted in Florida.  In fact, their insurance would only be accepted within about 20 miles of their home.  God bless this nurse!  No Florida trip for the old folks.

I feel sad for them being home.  They are bored.  It's cold and there is nothing for them to do.  The toddler and I have been trying to make an extra effort to keep them company this winter.  Who knows how much time they have left?  We generally go over there, but the roads are clear, so today they came here for a nice cup of coffee and some cookies.  How "gezillig". 

We are blessed to have a roof over our head and heat to keep us warm.  I am not complaining about this place we live in.  Let me just say though, about 50% of the time our garage is wetter than the Netherlands before the dikes were put in.  Today is one of those days.  Needless to say it is all sandy and salty from the car.  Not to mention our driveway, which is like every other driveway here, is covered in about 2 inches of ice and hard snow. 

10:00 AM rolls around this morning and here comes the massive Lincoln pulling tenatively in the driveway.  I can read Oma's lips as she is straining to verify that this is indeed my house.  "John (which sounds more like Yon), turn John, here" in her broken english.  Toddler is running around the house yelling "Oma and Opa!!!  Me want cookie!!!"  The dog is barking like a maniac to alert us of the extremely dangerous eldery couple slowly pulling into the driveway in their tank of a car.  They pop the trunk and begin to unload food, tulips (I AM NOT JOKING!), and old dutch books.  From what I understand, these are things that only the "sweetheart with dat dumb sugar" get.  Sorry cousins, guess you should have gotten a chronic illness if you wanted old dutch books.

I fight the losing battle of keeping the toddler and the dog away from the door while trying to carry in everything the old folks brought.  (BTW, they call themselves the old folks, I am not being a brat).  I now have a lifetime supply of fruit, coffee cake, cookies and dinner for 4 for a week.  The tulips, although stereotypical, are beautiful and the books would be much more interesting if I could read Dutch. 

They enter the house through the wetlands (aka the garage).  Oma proceeds through the kitchen to the dining room where I am assuming she will sit and remove her now soaking wet, snow caked, sand sprinkled shoes.  At the first sight of 'road apples' as my husband calls them, in the kitchen I run to get a towel.  Our house isn't new and perfect, but we try to keep it nice and clean.  I am now on my hands and knees moping up road apples off my kitchen floor.  At this point I notice that no matter how much I wipe up, I am not even making a dent in this mess.  It's like it keeps growing.  I realize she isn't sitting down, but rather pacing in circles around my house with the toddler.  And Opa is on his way to join her.

Remember I am the grandchild here.  I want to give the benefit of the doubt that this is an accident she hasn't noticed.  She would not be disrespectful of all my hard work cleaning and hubby's hard work to keep us in this house.  So I make a rather loud mention that there is dirty slush all over my freshly washed laminate flooring (that isn't suppose to get THAT wet).  Nothing.  I am literally wiping up after EVERY step she takes.  I can feel my blood boiling and my blood sugar dropping from all the scrubbing.  Fine, I will ask.

"Oma, why don't you sit down and take off your shoes.  They are all wet and dirty.  I can take them off for you and get you some nice slippers."  What I expected to hear was "Oh, yeah, sweetheart, dat would be soooo nice."  What I got was "No.  Dese shoes are sooo good.  I keep dem on."

Perhaps she didn't notice I am chasing her with a towel.  Maybe she didn't hear the part about being wet and slushy.  "But Oma, they are all wet and slushy from being outside.  See, I am scrubbing the floor after every step you take."  That outta do it.

"No sweetheart.  My shoes are clean.  I just wear dem at home and den into our garage to da car and den come in here."

Did you not see the flood in our garage and the swamp in my kitchen?  They are soaked and sandy, take them off.  "Our garage is very wet and messy though and I can see that your shoes got all messy from our garage.  Let me get you some slippers."

At this point Opa is struggling to keep his balance to begin removing his shoes.  I quickly help him get his balance and grab a chair for him so we can take off his shoes.

"Sweetheart, I like to keep my shoes on."  She says this while clenching her teeth and giving me that I am grandma and I scared off the soldiers look.

My blood sugar is dropping.  If I can feel it I know I am sitting at low 50's.  I need to eat.  Toddler and dog are under foot dragging this mess all through the house and she is not going to take off her stupid shoes.  Maybe I am just irritable that I am low, but I can feel my face turning bright red and I am ready to ask her to walk her shoes right out of my house.

"How are you feeling sweetheart?  Do you still have dat dumb sugar?"  Yes, yes, it's fine.  I am having a lot of ups and downs lately.  I explain that scrubbing the floor has attendency to make me low which makes me feel like I'm dying.

She changes the subject to the food she brought and how much work it was to bring (which I asked her not to bring because it is a lot of work and I am capable).  I know this is a guilt factor.  I know how she works.  She is thinking "I had to work to make this food and bring it here, you can scrub your floors again."  But I live in bare feet most of the time and the toddler has (now wet and dirty) socks on.  I am not re-cleaning my entire house because she is having a love affair with her shoes.

"Oma, your shoes are still wet and dirty and making a big mess.  I really appreciate all the work you did on the food even though I told you we didn't need anything.  Please take off your shoes."

She totally ignores me and walks into the living room (on our 'nice' rug) and sits on the couch next to the now shoeless Opa.  I finish moping up the the kitchen and prepare their coffee each to their liking without asking because I know.  I am boiling angry and taking extra time in the kitchen trying to decide my next move.  I am still low, but that will have to wait.  I can talk and I can see well enough. 

That is when it hits me.  I am not getting these shoes off this woman.  She is an old stubborn Dutch woman, I will lose.  But I grew up with a stubborn Dutch dad (so I know how to work the system) and am also a stubborn Dutch woman (so I MUST have my way out of stubborn-ness).  What I care about isn't the removing of the shoes, what I care about is the mess it is making.  How can I prevent the mess?

I bring the coffee into the living room with 2 plastic bags- Meijer of all places.  Not the luxe D&W.  I put down the coffees for each of them and look to Oma.

"I know you want to keep your nice comfy shoes on and I respect that.  I am sure you don't want to make a lot of extra work for me, because I know I would never want to make a lot of extra work for you.  So, I am going to put these bags over your shoes so they don't drip all over the house anymore.  I think it's a nice compromise."

Checkmate.

I walk back into the kitchen to get the cookies.  I hear a bunch of Dutch which I know well enough to pick up on how ridiculous I am being about a little dirt.  I stuff a cookie in my mouth, partially to treat the low and partially to keep my mouth shut. 

I have to laugh a little when I walk back into the living room to see Oma in her nice plastic bags.  When she dies someday (hopefully in a long long time) I am burying her in those stupid shoes.

Dear Expensive SUV driving 40-something professional male in the grocery store parking lot

Dear Expensive SUV driving 40-something professional male in the grocery store parking lot,

First off, lets be clear.  When I leisurely pulled into the parking lot, I never intended to steal 'your' spot.  I did not even notice 'your' spot that was 10 feet from the door until you nearly rammed me into it with your turn signal on (I was going straight, you were turning left.  I had the right of way).  I never showed any intention of turning into it, so calm your big bad self in your expensive SUV that is worth more than our 2 vehicles combined...times 5.  Generally, I do not even look for close spots, the exercise is good for everyone and I don't want anyone to give my 1995 sedan any door dings (they rust). 

The only reason I was trying to find a decent spot today is because it is snot freezing cold out and I have a sick toddler with an ear infection whose mittens I forgot.  Don't judge me for going to the grocery store, sir.  We needed to pick up his prescription and something he will eat.

I understand you are a professional and must be in a major hurry to pick up a few items.  At least I thought so until I managed to park about a mile out, get a cart, load it up with popcans, put a screaming squirming toddler in it, and walk past your SUV while you are still sitting in it talking on your cell phone.  I'm sure it was an important call.  By the time I get inside the toddler is screaming that his hands hurt (and they should hurt, they are FROZEN).  I return my popcans and get ready to get our items when I realize I left my glasses in the freezing cold car.  I cannot see without my glasses, so we must venture out.

We RUN past your SUV (which is still running and polluting the air we all breathe) towards my car in the tundra.  I do not have a keyless entry like you (a luxary that gave out a few months back), I am fumbling with frozen hands on my keys (that are metal and so cold my skin threatens to adhere to them) with my frozen toddler in the cart screaming and crying (his tears are freezing!!) about his now stiff hands (my fault for forgetting the mittens) trying to get the creaky rusted door open (please don't fall off, please don't fall off).  I find my glasses (to which the toddler replies "Hooray!") and we run the mile back through the frozen tundra past your still running frozen car while you sit on your cell phone in the spot that you almost ran me off the road for that I didn't even try and take. 

Get the prescription (love that it was free!).  We get our shopping done relatively quickly- about 35 mins.  Toddlers hands unfreeze about 1/2 way through and cost me a guilt toy Tow Mater ($3.50).  Somehow (it is a miracle from God) we manage to stay within our means by $1.29 and still get all we need.  Toddler rides the horse, worth the 52 cents a year it costs to keep him happy for shopping.  We bundle up again to face the arctic.  As I run the mile back to my car I notice you are still sitting in your spot, on your cell phone with your engine running.  You have not even left your vehicle.  I could have had that spot, got my shopping done, and left and then you could have had it.  Instead you insist on hogging a decent spot on a cold day so you can pollute and talk on the phone.  Honestly.  You are a middle aged professional man with no children with you and a nice warm wool jacket with matching leather gloves, could you think beyond yourself for 2 seconds?  I saw seniors pushing carts (much too heavy for them) through the freezing cold (they have thin skin!!!) on the ice (hello broken hip) while you sat and chatted.  I did not want 'your' spot, but someone else out there needed it much more than you did.

Thankfully after running 4 miles in the frozen tundra I didn't have a low, which I have you to thank.  You managed to frusterate and anger me enough that it raised my BG to compensate for the otherwise inevitable low. 

So, I must say thank-you.

Thank-you,
The woman with the stiffly frozen sickly ear infected toddler carrying the Tow Mater in the old car that you tried to plow over monster truck style

Betty White and blue bath paint

First off, let me say that I had a fabulous birthday.  Thanks to all for the well wishes.  It really was a great day.  And even with all the birthday cake and wine I managed to keep it under 200 for the entire day.  That, my friends, is responsible diabetic at work.  She can kick some blood sugar booty!

For my birthday, my very sweet hubby got me a card.  On the outside it read "Old Maid".  We were both cracking up as I read it.  Partially because it was my birthday and I was ONLY 30 (I mean, 30 is the new 20- thanks Thom!).  Other reason is because it is true. 

Many of you have heard this story, but it bares repeating.  A few years back I finished 5 years worth of knitting and completed a very plain, but very warm wool blanket.  I am a slow knitter.  My dad LOVES this blanket.  About a year ago I decided to make one for him as a Christmas gift.  Come October, I was about 1/2 way done with this blanket.  Pretty good for me, but not so good for getting it finished in time for Christmas.

One night hubby came home and must have felt like he was having a flash forward in his life.  I was sitting on the couch in maroon sweat pants and an old JDRF walk tee shirt, bundled up in my blue star robe with my hair a total mess.  Sitting on the coffee table next to me was a Thomas Kincade mug of DECAF tea.  I had a 3/4 finished blanket on my lap and was feverishly trying to knit to finish it.  Blaring on the TV is my season 3 of the Golden Girls.  When he pointed out to me that I resembled a 90 yr old woman, all I could think was how lucky he is to know what I will look like in my 90's.  It is nice to know that he loves me when I act 90 now.  I know he will still love me when I am actually 90.

I am a Betty White freak.  I love Betty White.  It all started with Golden Girls.  When we were in high school, my parents finally got cable (yeah, we were sheltered).  That is when we discovered the Golden Girls.  My sister and I would sit and watch it for hours on end.  We joked that once we heard the first 4 notes of the theme song we couldn't leave the tv.  Blanche and her shallowness, Dorothy the intellect, Sophia the saracastic one, and poor naive Rose. 

Years later MySpace emerged.  They had all of those great quizzes and surveys.  One day I saw the Golden Girls survey- "Which Golden Girl are you?"  Of course I had to take that one.  After about 10 questions ranging from "Can you cook?" to "Do you read?" I had my answer, Rose.  WHAT?!?!  Where do they get off saying that?  I am not Rose, I am not naive?  The realization came in waves.  Then it slowly set in.  Oh my, I am Rose.  I LOVE animals to the point of weirdness, I make all sorts of weird Dutch food that no one else seems to know about, and I am naive (I just called it sheltered).  That is where my love of Betty White began.

That quiz transformed my Golden Girl watching.  I have always truely loved and appreicated each character, but now I watch Rose that much closer.  The more I watch the more I am convinced that I am her or she is me. 

Betty White is a cool person.  She doesn't take herself to seriously.  She is caring and genuine.  One of the coolest things about her is that she started a new show in her 80's!  And it ROCKS!  Hot in Cleveland is just as good as Golden Girls- she hasn't lost an ounce of her spunk.

When I heard that Betty White was coming to my city I just knew I must go.  I didn't care what I would have to do (all the old people who want to go don't have a chance against me in any competition), I was going.  I called to find out more about the show.  The nice lady told me that tickets would be released Feb 4 (the day after my birthday) and that GA would be under $80.  It's on, we're going.  I just have to get tickets.

Hubby always does any ticket buying or anything like that.  I am kinda an idiot about that kinda stuff.  Last night, after he was in bed, I realized I never asked him how to do it.  Quickly I got online and did some searching.  I found the webpage that I hoped would allow me to buy the tickets the moment they went on sale.  It's after midnight, and I am opening a ticketmaster account.  Phew.  I think I'm ready.  Now I just have to wait until 10AM for them to go on sale. 

It's 9 AM and I am preparing myself.  Webpage is still pulled up from last night.  Still looks good.  I stuff my niece and son full of snacks and give them cups.  Turn on the tv to PBS.  They are entertained.  I am ready to buy some tickets.  It's 9:53, I check the page wondering if their time is the same as mine.  Nope, still not available.  I have to get tickets.  Be prepared to type and mouse fast- at least faster than the 70 yr olds. 

"Mommy, need to blow my nose!!!"  Through clenched teeth I say "So go to the bathroom and and get some toilet paper (tissues are too expensive)".  9:57, refresh, still not available.  9:58...

"Me paint".

Oh no, not now, I'm soooo close!!!! 

Here comes son with blue bath paint and the top is off.  And there is blue bath paint everywhere.  All over him and his clothes.  Oh no!

I walk into the bathroom to wipe him off.  It's amazing how much damage a kid can do in 4 minutes.  Blue bath paint EVERYWHERE!  All over the white carpet (the carpet was there when we moved in) all over the vanity, the walls.  But Betty White!!!!  It was 9:58- I must go. 

Rush the boy out of the bathroom.  If it's going to stain, it's already stained.  I am going to Betty White.  10:00.  Refresh the page- PRESTO.  Quickly I enter the information.  2 tickets, GA, best available.  Lets do this.  Continue, continue.  Yes.  Agree.  Payment.  Confirmation.  My walls and carpets might be destroyed, but I AM GOING TO SEE BETTY WHITE!!!  YESSS!

After a brief celebration that included jumping up and down and a few screams, I return to the now blue bathroom.  Thankfully, blue bath paint is blue soap.  Blue soap that does not stain and smells very clean.  It took some work, but I now have freshly shampoo'd carpet and walls.  And 2 tickets to see Betty White.

Did I mention I am also long winded like Rose?