How….

the fuck is it Christmas already!? I remember sitting on this couch typing about taking my tree down last year, and it feels like that just happened.

Yet here we are, another holiday season is swarming us all, and I am baffled at how fast it has gone by!

Christmas is always so hustly-bustly.. and it has never been a favorite of mine. I am not so much a grinch, as much of just someone who doesn’t really like it. Or enjoy it. Or really look forward to it. I found this year to be a lot more stressful than other years, too. And yet, at the same time, it was totally chill.

Who the fuck knows what is going on. Perhaps my old-person senility is setting in much sooner than I had anticipated it to.

All I know is that jolly fat man/peeping pervert is going to be shimmying his fat ass down everyones chimneys tomorrow night, and it feels surreal to me that it is already upon us.

I guess all I can do now is grab a bottle (or four) of baileys and settle in. Because the madness is upon us, whether I am ready for it or not!

I can say this, I am going to cherish the shit out of this holiday season, as I fear it is the last that we will have with that little bit of Christmas magic. My youngest is 6 now, and still believes in Santa. I love to see the glimmer in his eye when he talks about the magical things that happen this time of year. And I will play along as long as he wants me to, because once he no longer believes, I think Christmas is going lack a lot of the sparkle it has now. There is just something about a little kid who believes that makes this time of year so much more special. And I am going to hang on with both hands for as long as he will let me. My older two just stopped believing one day. I never had that talk with them, they just stopped. I never really knew what happened or why, but they are good sports and pretend for their little brother, which is so sweet to see.

I am not big on Christmas. I never have been. But I always do my best for my kids. That is who it is really for, after all, isn’t it?

One thing I am sure of without a doubt, I am very much looking forward to 2018! Lots of awesome shit is in the pipe for me and my family, and I am gonna smoke the fuck out of it. Not really, as smoking is vile and makes me quite ill. But you get my point.

Merry fucking Christmas, to you and yours!!!!

DON’T BE AN ASSHOLE —— DO NOT DRINK AND DRIVE!!!! Stay safe, for your sake, and everyone else’s.

XOXO

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What do you say when “I love you” just isn’t enough? 

“I love You” – three of the most powerful words in existence. On their own, they really aren’t anything spectacular or special, but when you combine them, their power knows no limit.

But what do you say when you feel like those three words don’t even scratch the surface? Just aren’t enough to explain how you feel? Just lack the proper depiction of how you truly feel?

Herein lays my predicament.

Ordinarily, I spend my days being sarcastic and quippy – I am witty and I joke. Call it a defense mechanism, call it what you want – but I don’t tend to let my emotions out to play. But when it comes to my husband, all of that pushes aside and opens up a side of me that I didn’t think existed before he came along. That is not to say that I was heartless or mean before him, but I sure as shit didn’t feel anything close to what I feel now.

I don’t honestly believe I had any idea what love was, or had ever experienced love, before my husband.

Lets preface this with this; I love my kids. I have always loved my kids. I have never been cold or unloving to them. So lets remove any bullshit accusations from this post before they even arise, mkay? Loving my kids wasn’t something that took me by surprise – it is a different kind of love. It just was. Same goes for family. Now that we have that out of the way….

Moving on….

So, what can you say when “I love you” just isn’t enough? I feel like every time I say these three words to him, it is a lame-ass joke, a farce, and totally lackluster. Because that which I feel for him goes so much deeper than just love. What we have is no ordinary love. It is not something most people know and experience. We have the shit that reaaaaaaally sappy movies and books are written about. Him and I exist on a plane that most will never experience. I love him in ways that the majority of the earth won’t ever know or feel.

Everyone feels love differently. That is not to say that what I feel is not what others feel, or what they feel is not one hundred percent real to them. All I know is this is insane shit,  and sometimes it stills scares me. It has been over seven years, and it still scares me shitless. I am not sure if that is normal, but it’s real. I have spoken, in great detail, to friends and family about this, and their experiences with love and all that mushy shit. And what I can tell you is that what my husband and I have is rare. And real. And different.

So what do you say when you know that “I love you” pales in comparison to how you genuinely feel? I guess you say this…..

To my husband;

You put me back together – before you, I was numb. I didn’t feel, and I didn’t want to. I did what I had to to get through each and every day, I wore a smile that I rarely believed, and my heart was solidly guarded behind a lot of pain, fear and sarcasm. I didn’t let myself feel. I didn’t let myself want. I didn’t let myself dream, or hope, or love. I was happy that way. It was what it was. I had my life and my kids, and I figured that was it for me. Then you came along and put me back together. Took my wall down brick by brick, with love in your eyes and understanding in your heart. You helped me put my broken shattered pieces back together, and in a way that was so much better than I ever imagined. You showed me that love is actually real, and that I was worthy of it, after so many years of me believing otherwise.

I miss you – we spent so many months apart, separated by hours and hundreds of miles, when we first started dating. In those times, I didn’t feel like I was whole. Like a part of me was missing. Previous to you, I didn’t realize that anything was missing. But once I had you, I knew that there was. And once I had you, I never wanted to be without that piece again. So now that we are together, have a home, have a life, and spend every day with each other, I don’t want to ever not be by your side. With you beside me, I feel safe. I feel like everything will be okay, like nothing is really that bad.. that together, we can do anything, and overcome anything. When you aren’t with me, I miss you, it hurts to breathe, and I feel like you take a piece of me with you. Even when you are in the other room, you are too far away. That doesn’t mean I can’t survive without you beside me, it just means I don’t fucking want to anymore.

I need you – I feel like part of me is missing when we aren’t together. You keep me calm. You make me smile. You fill the missing parts of me that nobody else ever could. You aren’t just my other half because we are married, and that is just what people say; you are my other half because that is who you are. You complete me and make me feel whole. You make me feel real. You have shown me who I am and who I can be, and I never want to feel anything other than that way with you by my side.

I am scared – I am scared on so many levels. I am scared to lose you. I am scared to lose us. I am scared that one day I will wake and you will be gone. I am scared that you will realize all of the horrible things I still think about myself are actually true and you will leave me. I am scared that something else will take you from me. I am scared that people who have been fighting to make this end for us will eventually win. I am scared that the universe will make one last attempt and it will shatter what we have. I am not scared to be alone – I can be alone – I have before. I am scared that I won’t have you by my side and there will be a loneliness that I have never endured and it will end me. I am scared of losing you, because with you, I finally found who I am, and I never want to feel lost or alone again.

You make me happy – you make me happier than I ever thought a person could be. We don’t even have to be doing anything, and I am happy. I have never been this happy in my whole life. I get shivers and tingles just looking at you. Hearing your laugh brings me more joy than I ever thought a simple laugh could. Even just sitting beside you makes me feel so much happiness and peace. I never realized just how miserable I was until you came along and showed me what real happiness felt like. You make me so happy, so unbelievably fucking happy.

You calm me down – I have fought insomnia all of my life. I have had problems sleeping as far back as my memory will allow me to remember. Even when we started dating, I was on prescription sleeping pills. It wasn’t until that first night that you came to my house, laying on my bed, and I rested my head on your chest (something I had done before, but never with you) and my eyes closed for what I felt was just a quick moment, but hours had passed. Right then, I knew you were someone special to me. The sound of your heart beating calms me down and I can fall asleep immediately. I have never felt that peace before in my whole life. I sleep with you. You calm me. You make me feel safe. I have never slept as well as I do with you beside me.

You are my person – it is no secret, I like you. But you have taken on a roll that not many people could ever live up to. You are my person. You are the only person I need to talk to every day. You are the only person who makes me smile, calms me down, speeds up my heart and slows it down at the same time, I want to tell all of my secrets and stories to, knows everything about me and still wants to stay, can make me laugh and cry at the same time, makes me happier than I thought possible, shows me the beauty in everything, brings me peace and hope, keeps optimism alive (even if it is in the dark recesses of my brain), shows me that there is a silver lining and always helps me to see it…. you are my person. You are my everything.

You are my everything – I don’t really know how else to say this… words alone can not begin to explain how much I love you. How deeply I love you. How much I need you. How important you are to me. What you mean to me. What you have done for me. What you continue to do for me.

You are my everything. You are my heart. You are my past, my present and my future. You are my person. You are my heart and soul. You are my every thought and dream. You are the air in my lungs and the love in my heart. You are the best parts of me, and the hope that keeps me going. You are my positive, my light and my happiness.

You, my husband, are my love. The only love I have ever known. You are my other half. You are everything to me. And I can not begin to explain how much I love you or what you mean to me, but maybe these words will make it a fraction more clear.

I. Love. You.

Forever.

When things change…

can-you-see-it-change-is-here

 

All three of my kids started school today. It was a big day for us. We had one start high school (only because in this stupid town, high school starts in grade 9), one start junior high and one start elementary.

It was a big day. We drove our oldest to school – a different school than his brothers for the first time ever. We pulled up to the high school, in the mess of busses and vehicles, and I quickly jumped out of the truck to snap a pic in front of the school sign. I have taken pic of them at school on the first day since he started kindergarten. But this year, he didn’t want us to go in with him. Sigh. Fine, I will just take a pic in front of the sign, in front of all of the busses and vehicles. I will show you, teenager. Hahaha!

Then we rushed back across town to drop off the other two. We walked in today, already knowing where our kids were going, because we got in to the school when no one else did. Thanks, diabetic kid. Hey, you have to find the perks where you can, right? So while the hundreds of kids were surrounded by their clueless parents, wandering the hallways and clogging doorways, we just strutted in (flipping lots of people off in our minds…. gift of my way…) But we dropped our little diabadass off in his grade 7 classroom, asked the teacher to keep him alive, and went about our business.

Business being…. dropping our baby boy off for his first day of elementary. Sure, he had kindergarten last year, but I still got him all to myself 3 days a week. Plus weekends. And now? Only after school and weekends until he graduates… and then he’s leaving me! Do you see how fast this is happening!? He is gone full time now, learning, growing, and I am not there to be the one to show him what to do or help him when he gets frustrated. Fuck, I am so not ready for this. It has been me and him for so long! But he promised me that he would still hug me every day… holy, shattered heart! My baby!!!! *sob*

So as a way to welcome our new way of life, my husband and I went to get pedicures, cleaned the house and then went to a patio and had some drinks. It is the first time it has really been just him and me. We moved in together soon after getting together (and had lived 4 hours apart), never really dated or any of that time consuming shit. And then I got pregnant reallllly soon after moving in together (we don’t fuck around, actually, we did… hahahaha) So right off the bat, it has been me and him, but always with other people.

I brought my 2 boys into the relationship (hello, baggage!) and then got pregnant right away. So from the beginning, it has been me and him and them. And while my older two have been in school since we moved in together, I also worked full time until our little dude was born, so it wasn’t really just me and him, ever.

So, now, facing this new part of our life, I am excited but also apprehensive. I am nervous… what if this change in our life isn’t good? What if spending so much time together creates a rift? What if our buffer (our children) not being here makes him realize that he doesn’t really like me?

Yes. All of this is troubling me, as fucking stupid as it may seem. It is a change, it is a big change. I will be starting school in January, but until then, it is just him and me and our days together. He only works weekends, so we have all week, every week, just him and me. It has never been just him and me.

What if he doesn’t like me?

I know this seems absurd, but I can’t be the only one who ever felt this way, worried this way, felt this concern.

It’s a change… a shift in our life… our pattern is changing…..

What if he doesn’t like me?

Yet another road block…

To say my life has been easy, or handed to me, would be a bold faced lie. I have had to fight, tooth and nail, for everything that I have. I am a little bitter that it has been so hard for me, when I watch everyone else just cruise and get what they want with little effort. That is not to say that everyone I know doesn’t work hard for what they have (most of them, some of them are just straight up lazy asses who let everything just get handed to them…) but when all you have are the normal obstacles, you never really will understand the larger ones in life.

That’s me – the wrangler of the large ass obstacles. I would like to say that I have done this all with grace and compassion, but that’s straight up shit. I have been angry, I have been mad, I have cried, I have cursed what brought me to this point, I have plotted the conducters demise (yep. I have. judge away.. I care not), I have flipped my shit and screamed at the unfairness of this entire situation. None of that has helped, but I do believe it has helped me maintain a shred of sanity – no one can leave that much hostility bottled up without going bat shit crazy. That being said, I have also kept a smile on my face, I have kept trying, I have kept my kids happy and healthy and well adjusted, I kept my sobriety (which I believe is a feat all on its own!), I have kept my life fairly balanced, and I still have all of my hair! hahaha….

I have fought back and won. I know very few people who could do what I have done… life is not easy when everything is taken from you all at once. Literally, everything. I had me and my kids, and everything else, I had to fight for and get on my own. NOTHING has been handed to me. NO ONE can say that I wouldn’t be where I am if it weren’t for them (except maybe the asshole who fucked things up for me in the first place). Everything I have and everything I am is because I refused to give up, I am tenacious, and I did everything in my power to get back on my own two feet. I mean, my husband helped, but that wasn’t so much a silver platter as it was a partner in crime. Everything I have, everything we have, has come from hard work, grit and determination. Imagine living your life with literally no credit. None. Not even a dollar. Could you do it? I fucking doubt it. But I did, and we did, and now look where we are.

And even with everything we have done, accomplished, fought for, striven for, rebuilt… I am still finding myself facing road blocks. Bull shit from my past that never should have affected me in the first place, but I was unfortunate enough to be tied to one of the most selfish pieces of shit on the planet. But I digress, that was then and this is now.

And while I sit back and watch people go about their lives, spending money like it is not an issue (and for some it isn’t, but for some, it damned well is…) I am sitting here, despairingly, and a bit heartbroken, because I have a plan for my life, something I desperately want to do, something for me, and I can’t. I just can’t.

My life is my own, but I am also living in the shadows of other peoples choices, and it affects my life every day. I have chosen to live my life happily, in spite of the constant shit I had to endure. And I am happy I did. But it would be nice to just live my life, the way I want to, without the constant reminder of the heinous bullshit people pulled on me.

I am happy. I love my life. I love my husband and my kids. I just wish that things were easier, sometimes. But I suppose it is what it is, and there’s nothing I can do to change the past.

Six months. In just six months I will get exactly what I want, once again, on my own. I guess in a way, it is amazing and awe inspiring that I have been able to do what I have done, on my own. Not many can say that. But I can. And that is something that no one can take away from me.

Not just your run of the mill love story.. 


There is love, the kind of love that most people experience. You enjoy being around the person, you choose to have a life with them, start a family, spend your days with them.. this is the way that most of civilization experiences “love”. 

Then there are the people who HAVE to be around one another, or they physically hurt. That’s where I fall. 

My husband and I have a very strange story. It’s the kind of thing that really cheesy summer movies are written about. What kind of person just puts their head in a strangers lap, looks up and quotes Forest Gump, and holds her hand? My husband, that’s who. That’s how we met. And from the day I met him, I knew he was different, and I think he would say the same about me – in fact, he has. We didn’t get together right off the bat. We had years and years of our own lives, own paths, own focus. 

But something life altering brought us together, and since the first time he messaged me, I can’t get enough of him. It’s more than just a want or desire, it’s an actual need. He has told me repeatedly that he’s addicted to me. And I agree. I’ve tried to explain this to friends before and they smile, but I don’t think anyone really gets it. 

When he’s not with me, even if we are only separated for a few minutes or hours, or days (which has only happened 4 times in our entire relationship) I feel like a piece of me is missing. Not in the gross Nicholas Sparks velveeta novel sort of ways, but like there is a literal piece of me missing. 

Trevor and I have spent 7 years discussing our life together. And the best way I can explain it is magnetic. There’s no way I could ever be away from him. Something in me pulls me to him (don’t be gross). He has said the same thing. It’s like two very strong magnets. 

I love him. That is undeniable. But I need him. He is like oxygen. I can’t live without it, and I couldn’t live without him. 

I never really felt like something was missing in my life, per say. But I can say this; the first time I kissed him, a part of me came alive. I knew right in that moment that he was my home. Funny thing is, I wasn’t looking for him. He was just supposed to be something fun, nothing serious. Never in a million years did I ever think that the boy from high school would be the missing piece of me. 

But he is. 

He is my other half. He is my home. He is my forever. Not just my love, he (to quote a really crappy movie)  completes me. He is my soul mate. One soul, two bodies. He is my person. My happy. My forever. My twin flame. 

With everything they have..

I think we can all agree, people are different. And I don’t necessarily mean in a “wow, she has multiple screws loose” kind of different, but different in the fact that we are all fucked in our own special way.

Yes. Fucked. I said it. You know why? Because normal is just an enigma, and it is one that far too many strive for, when they/we should just accept our screwballiness and totally rage in the face of insanity.

Moving on..

When people find other people who fit into their particular funny shaped opening (don’t be a pervert) it is a special moment. And it is one that you should revel in. Make shirts. Throw a party. Crack those obnoxiously messy new years thingys. Do it. You know you want to.

Whether it comes in the form or a friend, or someone who is more than a friend, hold on tight. There is so much ugly in the world, it is amazing to find something that brightens and improves your life.

Friends are so great – they are the family you got to choose. I have some people who I’ve added to my family, and I feel so lucky to have them in my life. And some great family. And then there’s my husband. Damnit, he is my person. My everything. My forever.

(yes this is all leading somewhere)

This is why I get so SHOCKED that people just chuck other people away because they don’t feel like they love them enough. WHAT?!

I’ve heard of the most absurd breakups. One time, I heard a story from my friend, about some girl she knew who broke up her very long term relationship because her live-in boyfriend didn’t fluff the throw cushions properly, or put the cap back on the toothpaste efficiently. Holy shit. Remember when I said people were fucked? Yep. Case and point!

People, just because someone doesn’t love you in the way you feel you should be, doesn’t mean they aren’t loving you in the only way they know, or with everything that they’ve got.

My friends are busy and have their own lives. Do I fault them for not replying to texts in a timely fashion, of which I deem acceptable? No. They are great and amazing people, and they will get back to me when they can. I never expected to be a higher priority than their job, or spouse, or kids!

My husband doesn’t clean the way I do, or obsess over absurd shit like I do. Do I fault him for not being the same Type A lunatic that I am, or doing things the way I do, or expect him to? Fuck no! He is who he is, and he is who I fell in love with. I didn’t fall in love with him because he could fluff a mean pillow, or he perfectly organized the pantry.. I already did that shit, so I feel like if we both did, there would be a power struggle. So this works.

They love me. They love me in the way that they can, in the capacity that they can, in their own special and fucked up way.

Just because someone doesn’t love you the way you think they should, doesn’t make it wrong. We are all fucked, just try and find the people who are the same level of fuckiness as you, and hold on with both hands.

I am back, bitches!

I have taken some time to chill, organize my life, and see how things feel. And what I can say right now is… things feel great! We are happy in our new house – it fits us very well and everyone is loving our new space.

Don’t get me wrong, the move itself was a slice of flaming hell. We had help. We arranged ahead of time for people to come help with the heavy cumbersome shit. I pack the house and clean after it is emptied, so the husband moves the shit. Seems fair. Except this time, help didn’t come. Bunch of hosers just didn’t show up. So who did the brunt of the heavy lifting? That would be us. At one point, my head was pinned between the wall and the couch, and I was not pleased. I know there are other people we could have called, but I have a very good reason for not doing so, which is why I am not bitching too heavily about moving our shit ourselves. Am I selfless? Did I want to give people their time with their families? Did I want to avoid being an inconvenience? NO! I don’t want those people calling us to move their shit. HAHA! Totally selfish, hence only being slightly annoyed.

Moving on…. We are settled and everyone is enjoying their respective spots in school.

Biggest little is thriving in grade 8 and just starting another year of volleyball. He is so good at that game, it is crazy. And it doesn’t hurt that he is very close to being 6 feet tall. Loser. I make him sit down when I give him shit, now. Nobody will take a 5’3″ person seriously when they hover 5-6 inches above them. He is a giant. He has a big heart. But at times I still question every choice I have ever made with him, due to the moron-adolescent big-ass attitude. Just have to remember it happens to the best of us and hope tomorrow is better. But as I remind myself all the time – it could be worse! He truly is a great kid and watching him become this beanpole with a vision for his life is kind of flooring me!

Middle-little (also known as the diabetic) is kicking ass this year. November 9th will be his 1 year diaversary, and he has got such a good grasp of it, our last appointment was mostly just sitting around and bullshitting with his nurses.. they didn’t even want to see his food log. He has grown (physically and emotionally) with this disease and we are blown away every day with how well he has adapted. He is in grade 6 and doing amazeballs with school and with his stupid busted ass pancreas. But he is so much more than just a diabetic kid. He is so funny and silly, and is going to earn a living with his amazing drawing and attention to detail. Just you wait and see….

Little-little!! Aww, here is where the changes are undeniable. My baby started kindergarten this year. Not only is it weird that he isn’t home two days a week, but he comes home and talks about this life that we aren’t a part of, and that has never happened before. It is tearing my heart apart a bit, but he is doing really well, so that helps. He attended his first bday party without us today, which is another change. Sigh… My baby. Seriously freaked out by this new development!

My husband!! Seriously… gush gush gush. I love the ever loving shit out of that man! Him appearing in my life was random, and a total miracle. My heart was obliterated before him, and now it is put back together in the most perfect way. He did a course at work this week, and walked away with a 98% which is amazing for someone who despises school, tests, speaking in front of people, has adhd, etc. And now this man, this amazing human that I get to share my life with, is a certified heavy equipment operator, and is certified to train people to not only run the equipment, but to also train other people to train people. In summation, he is a heavy equipment badass, and I am stupid proud of him! Plus, he is total sex on a stick, so there’s that, too.

Me…. I don’t really have a lot to report (at the moment) but shit is changing. My horizon is beginning to look a lot more pink, and the dark clouds are way behind me now. I have a few tricks up my sleeve… lets just say, what is coming next will be revolutionary in my life.

Like I said…. I’m back, bitches. But the me that is back isn’t the me you knew from before… I put myself back together differently this time.

*mic drop*

All the hell that is cardboard..

There are a few things in this world that just drive me up the  wall. It is not the typical stuff like most people, like nails on a chalkboard (oddly, I can handle that noise) But the sound of the old school brushes wiping chalk off drove me nuts. Forks scraping on plates is one noise that I can not tolerate, no matter how hard I try. Try it with me just to irritate me, and I will take said fork and stab you repeatedly with it.

Moving on… (in a second, you will appreciate that pun.. or not.. but if you don’t, you are dead inside)

One thing I can NOT stand is the feel and smell of cardboard. And several times, even the sight of it makes me crazy. Why? Well, partially because I am crazy. But also partially because cardboard is woven of tiny fibers sent here from hell itself (unless you are at Costco, then it is absolute heaven! But that is not what I am getting at). You may be wondering why I liken cardboard to the “welcome mat” to hell, well I will tell you! Because where there is a plethora of cardboard, there is empty spaces on shelves, cleaned out cupboards and baron drawers. What am I saying? If you can’t figure this out, there is no help for you that extends past Judy Blume novels. Moving. MOVING! Lovingly wrapping your nicknacks into paper and bubblewrap and putting them into an array of brown boxes, with hideous orange and green printing on it.

Fucking u-haul boxes filled with my earthly possessions, scattered all over my newly disorganized and increasingly messy house. Tell me something, how the hell is it possible that while all of your crap goes into boxes, you suddenly have an onslaught of filth all over your floor! Where does it come from!? Seriously. Do the boxes just produce garbage and throw it around while you sleep? For real. This is ridiculous.

My husband and I despise moving. But due to some unforeseen circumstances, we just happen to have to move quite frequently. Foreclosures that were forced upon us by our wonderful saintly exes (sense the sarcasm!), landlords selling the house we were living in (those two were rampaging imbeciles, and we were more than happy to move as we learned that the dude was actually a wanted criminal in the states…aaahhh!!!), living in a condemnable shithole, and now! This house has earwigs, a dishwasher that insists on recreating Lake Placid in my kitchen every time I use it, and a multitude of other issues…. so we have found a new place. And every time we get to choose our place, we are taking a step back up and pushing towards our future, and that makes me happy. It is taking us some time to dig back out of the mud, but as of lately, it feels like the mud is only on our feet, which is a nice change from the head to toe shit we were once covered in.

But the boxes. DAMN THE BOXES!! Ugh, cardboard is abhorrent and I despise it. Hopefully after this move, we can sit for a while, until we buy a house.. then onward and upward! Hopefully we can win the lottery and I can have someone pack for me. Ah, wouldn’t that be amazeballs!

But for now, damn the boxes.

 

Diabetes life – More than needles and blood


Let me preface this with: my son has diabetes. It is new to us, but I am already very well versed in it, and don’t take lightly to BS being said about it. 

Now… 

When my son was diagnosed, other than losing my grandmother, it was the worst day of my life. My little boy, who was so funny and outgoing, and so full of life, would be thrown onto a new path and forced into a life he didn’t want. Heart. Shattered. 

But not only was he thrust into this life, we all were. His parents. His siblings. His friends (and their parents). His grandparents. His aunts and uncles. His teachers. His future girlfriends/wife. His future classmates. His future employers. People he has never met before are already impacted by this. 

Would we change our path if we could? No question about it!! But alas, his pancreas is gonna be a useless piece of shit forever now, so this is where we live. And this is where we deal. 

I keep saying “we”, as this is one hell of a team effort. My husband and I do the brunt of the work, but no one – NO ONE – does as much as our son! I’ll touch on that more in a bit. 

My husband and I are the ones who plan all of his meals, his snacks, his injection points; determine his carb to insulin ratios, how much long-lasting insulin to give; who hound him to drink lots of water; who make sure he gets lots of sleep and exercise; who deal with the random highs and sporadic lows. We are his first line of defense. 

Our other two boys help a lot. They help to put his lunches together, help to organize our pantry (which is a finely tuned machine on its own, with all of the food in it stacked in clear order, with the carb count written on top in sharpie) Our 4 year old hugs our DiaBadAss every time he has needles. And we play a game at mealtimes to see who can guess the closest to his blood sugar. It helps us all learn how he acts at different levels, and it helps him to learn how he feels at different levels. Plus, making it like a game takes some of the blah out of it. 

Here’s a “day in the life of” to show that we may make it look easy, but that is only because I am borderline OCD and am slightly Type A, and we work well together as a team. It doesn’t look easy because it is easy! Do not ever for a second think this is easy. We just deal a lot better than most:

On a regular (school) day, my son wakes up around 7:10, does the normal morning stuff and comes for breakfast. There, instead of sitting down and eating like most people are accustomed, he washes his hands, gets his kits and sits at the table. He then takes a strip out and gets his meter ready. Then he takes his lancing device, and patiently blows a small hole into his sensitive finger tip. He gently squeezes, wipes that drop off, and squeezes out a fresh drop, which he then gently places onto his ready test strip. While waiting for that number to appear, which will dictate the dose of fast-acting insulin he will have at that meal, he wipes his finger clean and gets his insulin pens out. Once the number comes up, we then begin determining the carb count for his breakfast, and using the blood sugar we just learned, and using his carb to insulin ratio for breakfast (and it’s different for all 3 meals in the day – something we had to painstakingly determine through trial and error) we figure out how much NovoRapid he will be taking. He then dials 2 units, shoots it into the lid, then dials in how many units he needs for breakfast (usually 4 units). Then he sticks that tiny needle into his tiny belly, and counts to 10, while the life-preserving smelly as hell insulin shoots into his non-existent fat (he has to pinch skin to create “fat” to inject into). Then once that needle is done, he gets his long-acting insulin ready to go. This one isn’t based on carbs, it’s an insulin he only takes once a day, and it lasts 24 hours (so they say). He primes this the same way, but through trial and error and what seems like a constant change in need, he takes the dose that we have determined is his “basal” need for the day. (It started out as 7 when he was first diagnosed, but over the course of 9 months, it’s increased to 14. That’s not to say it won’t decrease once school starts again, as being at school, he’s more active, but for now, it’s 14). He picks another spot on his poor needle torn belly, and sticks yet another needle into his pinched flesh. And only then, can he begin to eat his breakfast. Then we pack his lunch and snacks for the day, all the while counting his carbs, and writing everything down in his food log (including blood sugar tests and how much of each insulin he takes). Snack time rolls around at school, and he tests, texts me his number, and we determine if he can eat the snack was packed, or needs to replace it with a “free snack”(which we also pack, just in case), which is what he has when he is “out of range”. Lunchtime, and he pulls out everything we have marked as “lunch” in his lunchbox (so he knows what is snack and lunch, as it is exactly calculated), tests his blood get again, texts us the number, and we, recalling the carbs we packed for him and what his ratio is, tell him how many of his NovoRapid to take. Then he goes through the whole ordeal with priming and ramming himself with a needle, this time in the presence of his classmates and friends. The same is repeated for his afternoon snack, as well as his test when he gets home from school. Once dinner comes, we have already calculated his dinner carbs (after usually taking the packaging out of the garbage over and over, because we have forgotten the carbs, because that’s just what diabetes parents do!) and he goes through the whole situation again. 2-3 hours after dinner, he tests again, and if he is out of range/high, he takes correction insulin and grabs a bedtime snack (generally something free – he likes Whisps and cucumbers) and goes to bed.. And that’s when I take over. I test him around 10:30-11:00, and if he has correction insulin, again at 12:00. And every night, I wake up at 3:00 in the morning and check him. So on a typical night, I check him twice when he is sleeping. The nights he has insulin, I check 3-4 times. And the nights he is low and needs juice (which he drinks in his sleep)? I check him 5 times. With lows while sleeping, diabetics run the risk of slipping into a coma, and never waking up. While there is air in my lungs, that will not happen to my son. His life means more to me than 15 minutes of sleep. Then we wake up the next day, and round and round we go again. 

His doctors appointments are in a city 4 hours away. And we go every 3-6 months. (Every 3 right now). We are at the drugstore getting supplies every week and a half (his supplies take up over half of my previous liquor cabinet – how I drink less now, I’ll never know!) The pharmacists know us. The diabetic team know us by our first names (including our non-D kids). We do training with teachers at school, and several of them have our cell phone numbers saved in their phones. Our family and friends have been given crash courses on testing, needles, carb counting, radios, how to inject his glucagon for the emergencies in which he goes into a coma and can not eat his fast acting sugar. 

We have done more math in the last 9 months than I have in years. And you know what? He’s worth every tear, effort, sleepless night and frustration. 

There are a lot of misconceptions about diabetes, and I’ll touch on that another time… But what you need to take from this is: it’s hard. Every damned day is hard. It’s hard for us, but it’s the hardest for our son. Regardless of what we do or how much we put into this, it is only happening to our son. This is his life, we are just helping him learn how to make it be best possible. And I will continue to do so as long as he wants and needs me to. 

Period. 

By my side… 


Some stuff has been in my head lately – swirling, like a toilet in Australia (in other words, in a backwards direction which is nonsensical to me). 

Strength. It is a term that is used to describe many things. People use it to describe themselves – their tenacity and ability to handle all the toilet swirling shit that’s thrown at them. But what constitutes real strength? Strength to one may be considered weak to someone else. It is all determined by our own opinions, but that’s not to say that everyone doesn’t have a level of it, it just means that some people are perceived as stronger. 

And I’m not talking about weights. Well, not the tangible kind you lift to build muscles. Though, if we are going to get all deep and pensive, strength comes with dealing with our own weights. But I digress, I’m not going that way this time. 

I consider myself strong.. In a literal and emotional sense. I’ve gone through things that would shake and destroy bigger people than me. I stood, I dealt,  I walked away and lived to tell the tale. That’s not to say I didn’t feel like I was going to drown and die while I was in the midst of the thickest part of my hell, but, I did not! I dug my feet in, stuck my head down, and fought the tornado with a lot of ferocious attitude and an inordinate amount of stubbornness. 

No, I didn’t always think that everything was going to work out. I didn’t envision skittle shitting rainbows. I just dealt. And I did 99% of it on my own. I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t ask for shoulders to cry on. I wept a few times on my closest people, but otherwise, I left my situation close to my chest, and only let it out for air when I felt like I was choking to death. 

But now? I’ve dug myself out into a pretty charmed life. It may not seemed charmed to you, but compared to where I’ve been, where I am going is far superior. I don’t have hoards of money, or brand new everything, a padded savings account, or tons of friends – but what I do have is 100% mine, 100% real and no one can take it away.  

And, I am not alone anymore. My husband is my rock, my future, my heart and he protects me in a way I never knew was possible. He brought more into my life than I thought anyone could, and has given me more security and stability than I could have ever fathomed. 

Does that make me weak? Does leaning on someone else, when I used to lean only on myself, make me any less strong? Fuck no, it doesn’t. Depending on someone, leaning on someone, having someone give you help does not make you weak. It makes you smart. Standing alone opens you up for anything, but standing beside someone gives you a shield and security.  

It doesn’t make you weak to want someone. It doesn’t make you weak to need someone. It doesn’t make you weak to take and appreciate help. 

Having my husband beside me has made me even stronger. Because now, not only do I have my strength, but I have his as well. And when I feel too weak to fight, he steps in for me. And I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side. He makes me better, stronger – happier. 

Wanting someone to stand beside me doesn’t make me weak. It means I’ve stood alone for long enough.