Saturday, April 29, 2006

Saturday meme-ing

I'm sick of bitching about various and sundry relatives, so I meme. Feel free to play along.

As stolen from Joke, who stole it from Poppy, who stole it from someone else. As you do.

Accent: Well, I don't think I have one, but I think I'm kidding myself, since I grew up in Massachusetts, a bit west of Boston. I also lived in England and I've been married to a Canadian for six years. I have bizarre pronunciations of some words.

Booze: Guinness, and not that super-cooled crap either. Red wine, as long as it's not too sweet. Maker's Mark. Jameson's. Plymouth Gin and tonic. And, vile though it may be, Red Bull and vodka. I cannot wait until I can drink again.

Chore I Hate: Pretty much all of them, but I really hate doing the dishes.

Dog or Cat: One of each, both dumb as a box of rocks. But nice.

Essential Electronics: Computer. Preferably the G5.

Favorite Perfume: Mademoiselle by Chanel and Chanel #5, although I think being pregnant is fucking with the last one because lately, when I wear it, it smells funky after an hour or two.

Gold or Silver: Yellow gold, preferably studded with saphhires.

Hometown: Auburn, Massachusetts

Insomnia: Not so much right now, but I do get it and it annoys the fuck out of me.

Job Title: Chief cook and bottle washer, chauffeur, general dogsbody. Oh, and administrative assistant. Whoopee.

Kids: Three, soon to be four, god help me.

Living arrangements: House that I own, for the first time in my life, with one husband, two of the three kids, one dog and one cat. And a mouse whose days are numbered.

Most admirable traits: Um, according to my sister, I don't have any. I think I'm loyal, sometimes to a fault.

Number of sexual partners: Enough that I know what I'm doing.

Overnight hospital stays: Three, for three babies.

Phobias: None, really. I don't like heights, but it's more of a "Urgh, I'm going to throw up" than a paralyzing fear.

Quote: When they discover the center of the universe, a lot of people will be disappointed to discover they are not it. - Bernard Bailey

Religion: Happily agnostic.

Siblings: One opinionated sister.

Time I wake up: 5 a.m. during the week, around 7 on the weekends, depending on the Boo.

Unusual talent or skill: I don't think I have one. I'm pretty ordinary.

Vegetables I love: I pretty much like them all.

Worst habit: Impatience

X-rays: Two broken fingers and a shitload of cavities.

Yummy foods I make: Lasagna, tacos (does that count as cooking?), chili, I'll attempt just about anything, with varying degrees of success.

Zodiac sign: Scorpio. A seething intensity of emotional energy under a placid exterior. Yeah, that's me.

Friday, April 28, 2006

It's a good thing I don't own a gun, part II

I went to the school this morning and spoke to one of the vice principals there. She was understanding, but it bordered on dismissive. So I stressed that I didn't necessarily want these children punished, I wanted some education to be done. Perhaps the pump company could come in and do a presentation on diabetes and answer any questions the kids had.

I know that kids are like that. They will pick on any percieved weakness - god knows, it happened often enough to me when I was little. If O had dyed her hair green or pierced her nose 12 times, I would have told her that that was a choice she made and she'd have to deal with the teasing somehow. She doesn't have a choice about diabetes. It's not going to go away. And she's already talked about another boy with D who is picked on mercilessly. He has no friends and always sits by himself at lunch. I DO NOT want O to become that child.

O has developed a lot of self-confidence over the last couple of years about her diabetes. Going to camp has done that for her and I don't want this to cause a major setback. We had to do a site change last night and she wanted it in her stomach "So people won't see it and make fun of me." Knife. Heart. Twist.

She told her dad about it last night, too. His advice? It's just something you'll have to put up with. God, she was pissed about that. She got off the phone and was totally disgusted with him.

Thursday, April 27, 2006

It's a good thing I don't own a gun.

I'm starting to think I killed babies in a past life.

O called me at work today and sounded upset. When I asked her what was wrong, she said at lunch, some kids pointed, laughed and said "ewwwww, gross!" to her about her pump infusion site. This is what they look like:

It's not gross, you can't see a fucking thing except something white, like a round band-aid, and some tubing.

So these little fucktards have now upset my daughter and I have to go in to the school tomorrow to see what can be done about it. I would like to hold them all down and poke them with blood glucose testers about 8,000 times, but I'd probably go to jail for it. And they frown on using skulls as drinking vessels these days.

Honest to god, I'm about ready to kill someone. I'm not a violent person, but it's a damned good thing I don't own a gun.

It's a good thing I'm pregnant

...otherwise I'd be an alcoholic.

Before I start today's rant (I'm ranty-girl lately, huh?), I wanted to say thank you for all the nice comments on yesterday's post. You guys are great. I really appreciate it.

Now. Yet another diatribe:

Honest to god, my mother is going to drive me into the loony bin.

My son, A, is a senior in high school. He's heavily involved in drama and the music department and they are putting on Footloose next Friday and Saturday night. A has a good-sized part in it - not the lead, but the lead's best friend. Going by the amount of rehearsals these kids are putting in, it's going to be a good show.

So I called my mother to see if she could watch The Boo on Friday and go to the show on Saturday. TCBIM is working and we need the money, so he can't do it. And my sister wants to charge me $30. Um, no. You're 35 years old and I've asked you to babysit exactly ONCE, so no, I won't be paying you.

My mother said no. Said she wants to go to the show on Friday, since she can't go on Saturday. She said "Well, I guess you can't go, then."

Is it just me? Seriously. Am I insane to be making such a big deal out of this? Because I've been sitting at my desk crying about it for half an hour now. This is A's last thing in high school. I want to go. I don't get to see him that often because he lives with his dad (another story for another time), although we talk on the phone a lot. And I want to see this.

In desperation, I emailed a friend of mine. We share a daycare provider and she also has a CWD and a kick ass babysitter. She's going to give me the babysitter's name and also offered to watch The Boo for me if the babysitter was busy. She's such a nice woman (and she's blonde, tiny and adorable, too *sigh*).

Why can't my family be a bit more like that? I don't ask for a lot - I'm not out gallivanting all the time; TCBIM and I never go anywhere without the kids. Until last Friday, when we went to that concert, I don't think we'd been out alone in 5 or 6 months, at least.

I'm just so frustrated by them. And I hate that they make me cry. I hate crying.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

If it's not one thing, it's your mother

Maybe this is going to sound like a big, self-indulgent whine fest, but I need to complain about it.

I’ve always had issues with my mother. She’s incapable of giving me a compliment or telling me I’ve done a good job at anything. I thought maybe this was just me, being hyper-sensitive and weird, but I got an email from a friend yesterday that justified my feelings. He said he’d be happy to come to the housewarming we’re going to have “Just so long as your mother doesn't go on pontificating and noting how you do a lot of things wrong.”

So, it’s not just me. I was really starting to feel like I had this complex left over from my childhood or something, like I was reading into things.

Last night was the capper, though. She was telling me how her friend was over the other night, admiring A’s graduation picture my mother has on the mantelpiece. The friend thought A was a handsome kid (he is – you’ll just have to believe me). My mother agrees with her friend. After relating this to me, she says, “Well, it stands to reason he’d be handsome, doesn’t it? I mean, after all, his dad is a very good-looking guy.” I’m waiting for the “and you’re very pretty, too,” or some such thing, but no. She just starts talking about knitting or quilting or something. I can’t even remember, I was so stunned.

I mean, even if you think I’m a troll, lie. Is it THAT difficult to pay me a compliment? To tell me that my child looks like me and how handsome he is?

I used to think there was something wrong with me, that I was fundamentally flawed and a failure because she never, ever thought I did anything well. I’m constantly held up to my sister and step-sister and found wanting. “Your wedding was nice, but K’s (the step-sister) was just SO classy.” “It always made me chuckle to hear your high school chorus attempting to sing the Hallelujah Chorus. That high A was so brutal.” “Well, yes, that’s nice, but did you see the piece of art that your sister did?”

And she wonders why I have zero self-confidence.

This is why I praise my kids to the sky when they do things. Yes, O’s soccer team has yet to win a game, but I always, always, always tell her how great they played, how much they’ve improved, how hard it is because they have no subs. I play up her strengths. If she talks about weaknesses, we strategize how best to overcome them. When A’s show choir took second place in a competition, I was thrilled for him. I always tell him how great I think he’s doing with that stuff. I get interested in the stuff he’s doing and I tell him how proud I am of him when he improves his grades in a class he’s had trouble with. I try really, really hard to be there for my kids, to be supportive and kind. I don’t want to stand by and watch as they fall and then tell them what they did wrong; I want to be their safety net, the person they come to when the world kicks them in the shins.

My mother is incapable of that. Nothing is ever good enough. She finds fault in everything I do. Everything. It’s a suck ass way to go thru your childhood, feeling like you’re a big, fat disappointment to your parents. It’s not a fun way to live as an adult, either.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006


....the newest girl in the family.

Walk AND chew gum? Are you nuts?

File under: Klutz.

I forgot my lunch today, so I picked up a salad at Wendy's on my way in to work. Lunch time rolls around. I put the dressing and croutons on, then very carefully, re-seal it and start to shake it up. At which point, the lid slides off and lettuce, chicken and parmesan cheese fling themselves with gay abandon around my office.


I now have half a salad from Wendy's.

This is the story of my life. I fall over for no reason, I drop things, I break things, I bump into desks and beds and cars - BIG things, things you shouldn't miss, I trip over. I trip over cracks in the pavement all. the. time. I once fell down in Cambridge. Just fell. Walking along and, whoosh, there I went. Scraped palms, bleeding knees. It was lovely. I wasn't drunk, it wasn't dark, I just fell.

It amazes me that I've never had a car accident. Never even come close (knock on wood, turn around three times, go outside and spit).


So, where does one buy tinted moisturizer? I bought what I thought was a moisturizing makeup, but I think they lied because I put it on and an hour later, my skin was as flaky as a flaky thing. It's really getting annoying - my skin is so sensitive (it's 'cause I'm a delicate, fragile flower. What? Stop laughing.) I need something that's not going to make my skin go nuts.


In diabetes-related news, I've talked O into doing a thigh site on Saturday. I'm holding her to it. I expect lots of protesting and bargaining, but it will be done. Her stomach is a mess; all puffy and her sites are getting infected there. It's disgusting.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

A Shameless Plug

Great Big Sea
Calvin Theatre, Northampton, MA
21 April 2006

Such a fun band. If you're at all into Celtic music - not trad, deedle-deedle-dee music, although they do have some of that - you need to check out Great Big Sea. They're extremely talented and very funny. They put on a hell of a show, too, full of energy and perform with a pure enjoyment and love for their music. They make sea chanties dead sexy and Newfoundland folk songs rock.

Go check them out. Rant and Roar is their US greatest hits compilation and a good place to start. Then find out where they're playing near you and go see them and dance your ass off.

Today, my legs are sore and my throat a bit raw, but man, I had a blast.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Wanted: Peace of Mind

After reading Julia's, Lauralu's and Sandra's blogs and crying all over the place about them, I'm officially a paranoid mess.

I lost a baby a little over 2 years ago, at 13 weeks gestation. She just died. I had an excruciating backache for three days, then some spotting and when I went to the doctor, they couldn't find a heartbeat. I had a D&C two days later. I never got a reason, just a "Sometimes these things happen." And the rational part of my brain knows that, but my heart still can't really accept it.

I spent the first 20 or so weeks of my pregnancy with Isobel being a complete basket case. I was petrified all the time and was positive that every twinge and ache was the beginning of another loss. Even after I passed the 13 week mark, I was still a wreck. I didn't relax until she was actually in my arms.

And now I'm scared again. I don't have a real reason to be - there are no symptoms of anything going on, nothing seems weird, I can feel the baby moving around, and yet I'm making myself sick with worrying. What the hell is wrong with me? Have I become so adept at expecting the worst that I'm incapable of thinking the best will happen? Is it because I have a streaming head cold? Am I just hormonal? Is it because this baby is due 2 years to the week that the baby I lost was due? Did I not grieve enough at the time? That's impossible; I cried buckets then. I still cry about it, I still think about the little girl I never got to meet.

Whatever it is, I wish it would stop, because I hate feeling this way. I hate the feeling of dread and doom. I hate trying not to get too attached to this baby, just in case. It's a horrible, morbid way to live.

I need to still the mad scrabbling in my mind.

Everyone else is doing it,

Why can't I? (Name that [paraphrased] album title)

I am: pregnant
I want: food
I wish: I had long, red, curly hair a la Susan Sarandon
I hate: lies. And liver.
I miss: my friend Caragh
I fear: something happening to my family
I hear: Gene Loves Jezebel - Jealous. And the server humming.
I wonder: how the Red Sox will do this year.
I regret: my first marriage
I am not: very patient
I dance: like Elaine from Seinfeld.
I sing: too often.
I cry: All. The. Freaking. Time. (see #1)
I am not always: neat.
I make with my hands: great meals.
I write: to fulfill a need.
I confuse: left and right.
I need: a massage
I should: file the shit on my desk.
I start: too many books
I finish: this meme

Monday, April 17, 2006

Shut. Up.

O had a soccer match this past Saturday. She's in an under-12 group, so they're not great players, although a few of them are quite good. They're invariably outmatched by their opposing team, though. To their credit, they keep plugging along and O loves to play, even though they haven't won a single game yet this season.

Soccer parents, though. Oh. My. God. Someone needs to come thru and cull them. The coach had to make an announcement at the first practice, telling the parents that they had to keep it down because last season, they were yelling instructions so loudly from the sidelines that the kids couldn't hear the coach's instructions.

Someone must have forgotten to give this one woman the memo. All thru the game, she was running up and down the sidelines, hollering non-stop. "Come on, Dudley, get the ball down the field, Dudley, be agressive, don't let it get away, Dudley, Go Dudley, let's go, Dudley!" Over and over and over. And over. Didn't matter that the girls had the ball in the opposing team's goal end, she was still "Get the ball down the field, Dudley!" Listen, you stupid bint, if it was any further down the field, it would be out of bounds. I was about ready to strangle her. The girls were glaring at her and she still wouldn't stop the screaming.

If I ever, EVER get like that, you all have my permission to take me behind the woodshed and beat the shit out of me.

Thursday, April 13, 2006


Ok, I'm almost done with Sam's Letters To Jennifer by James Patterson and can I just say that I'm loathing it? Jesus, this book is awful. It's so predictable and sappy. From the minute the dude ran down the dock and jumped into the water, I knew she was going to fall for him. I knew there was something wrong with him. I knew the grandmother was going to come out of the coma for one last "important" talk with her granddaughter. The book is about a subtle as a jackhammer and broadcasts the plot in 10 foot-tall neon letters.

And my god, they use people's names a lot. "But Jennifer, I'm telling you, Jennifer, you are the most beautiful girl in the world. Jennifer." What the FUCK? Did you have a word amount you had to hit? And what's with the play-by-play on the songs and the directions to get from point A to point B and the type of car, in overblown detail? I don't CARE. Tell the story without all the filler.

To me, this reads like one of those horrid romance things that are printed in "women's" magazines like RedBook, only way, way, WAY padded out to make it just about novel length.

I don't give a shit about any of the characters, there's no character development and the writing sucks. It's wooden and clunky and reads like something a 13 year-old drama queenmight have written for her freshman English class. I don't have much hope of it improving over the last 40 or so pages I have left.

Here's where I sound like a complete and utter snob. How can people read this crap? Honestly. Do they like having their emotional buttons pushed like that? Do they like being spoonfed the plot? Do they like not having to think?

Before anyone gets all up in arms, I'm not casting aspersions from some ivory tower over here. I read plenty of mass-market stuff. Anne Perry and Maeve Binchy and Jennifer Weiner - and I enjoy them thoroughly. I like a good escape as much as the next person and I am waiting with bated breath for the next Harry Potter book. But jesus, stuff like this is just wrong.

And listen, Mr. Patterson, TWO fucking paragraphs does not a chapter make. Especially not when you continue the same thoughts on the next fucking page! For the love of god, man, I've never taken a writing class in my life and I know that much.

I need to go read War and Peace or something now, to get this drivel out of my head. Blech.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Pop Quiz

This is a cool little quiz. It's based on U.S. info, and the average person only supposedly gets 7 correct. The questions are all based on average, ordinary things you see often, but demonstrates how little most of us really notice about life.

How many can you get right? These simple questions are more difficult than you think. No cheating, no looking around, or using anything on or in your desk or computer. My answers are in the first comment, correct answers in the second.

1. On a standard traffic light, is the green on the top or bottom?

2. How many states are there in the USA? (This troubles me if you're a U.S. resident and you can't answer this...)

3. In which hand is the Statue of Liberty's torch?

4. What six colors are on the classic Campbell's soup label?

5. What two numbers on the telephone dial don't have letters by them?

6. When you walk does your left arm swing with your right or leftleg? (Don't you dare get up to see!)

7. How many matches are in a standard pack?

8. On the United States flag is the top stripe red or white?

9. What is the lowest number on the FM dial?

10 Which way does water go down the drain, counter or clockwise?(obviously this will be a different answer for those down under)

11. Which way does a "no smoking" sign's slash run? (i.e. toward the top of the circle from left to right or the bottom)

12. How many channels on a VHF TV dial? (I've never seen a t.v. with a VHF dial, so yeah.. I got it way wrong)

13 On which side of a women's blouse are the buttons? (Don't look down and check)

14. Which way do fans rotate?

15 How many sides does a stop sign have?

16. Do books have even-numbered pages on the right or left side?

17 How many lug nuts are on a standard car wheel?

18. How many sides are there on a standard pencil?

19. Sleepy, Happy, Sneezy, Grumpy, Dopey, Doc. Who's missing?

20. How many hot dog buns are in a standard package? (this has always irked me)

21 On which playing card is the card maker's trademark?

22 On which side of a Venetian blind is the device that adjusts theopening between the slats?

23. There are 12 buttons on a touch tone phone. What 2 symbols bear no digits?

24. How many curves are there in the standard paper clip?

25. Does a merry-go-round turn counter or clockwise?

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

I bet you thought I forgot

In honour of opening day at Fenway Park, I give you:

The Worst Pun In History

Outside a small Macedonian village, close to the border between Greece and strife-torn Yugoslavia, a lone Catholic nun keeps a quiet watch over a silent convent. She is the last caretaker of a site of significant historic developments. The convent once served as a base for the army of Attila the Hun. In more ancient times, a Greek temple to Eros, the god of love, occupied the hilltop site.

The Huns are believed to have first collected and then destroyed a large gathering of Greek legal writs at the site. It is believed that Attila wanted to study the Greek legal system and had the writs and other documents brought to the temple.

When the Greek church took over the site in the 15th Century and the convent was built, church leaders ordered the pagan statue of Eros destroyed, so another ancient Greek treasure was lost. Today, there is only the lone sister, watching over the old Hun base.

And that's how it ends:

No Huns, no writs, no Eros, and nun left on base.

Play ball!

And another one

Swiped from Nearest Distant Shore

Go to Wikipedia and type in your birthday. Don't include the year. Record three events, three births and three deaths that happened on the day you were born.

And here I thought nothing ever happened on my birthday.

1851 - Herman Melville's novel Moby-Dick is published in the U.S. by Harper & Brothers, New York

1922 - The British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) begins radio service in the United Kingdom.

1978 - Jonestown Massacre: 913 people commit suicide by drinking a cyanide laced punch.

1840 - Claude Monet, French painter (d. 1926)

1891 - Frederick Banting, Canadian physician, recipient of the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine (d. 1941) - for inventing insulin - how fucking cool/weird/oooh, twilight zone is that??!

And I was going to put P.J. O'Rourke, or maybe Prince Charles, but then I saw this:
1966 - Curt Schilling, baseball player. Baseball player. So nonchalant is Wikipedia. It's Curt SCHILLING! The mighty Schill! The bloody sock, the pinned-together ankle, a member of the 2004 World Champion (god, that still feels fantastic to say) Red Sox. And we share a birthday - even down to the year. How did I not know this before today??

1687 - Nell Gwynne, English mistress of Charles II of England (b. 1650)

1915 - Booker T. Washington, American inventor, educator, and author (b. 1856)

1997 - Eddie Arcaro, American jockey (b. 1916)

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Now this is a cool Meme

A book meme! Yay!

I probably should be embarassed that I haven't heard of or read a lot of these....

Instructions: Bold the ones you've read. Italicize the ones you've been wanting/might like to read. ??Place question marks by any titles/authors you've never heard of?? Plus I'm adding this, as Turtlebella noted that the choice of books by each author is a mite idiosyncratic: put an asterisk if you've read something else by the same author.

Allcott, Louisa May Little Women
Allende, Isabel The House of Spirits
Angelou, Maya I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Atwood, Margaret Cat's Eye
Austen, Jane Emma
??Bambara, Toni Cade Salt Eaters??
??Barnes, Djuna Nightwoodde??
Beauvoir, Simone The Second Sex
*Blume, Judy Are You There God? It's Me Margaret*
*Burnett, Frances The Secret Garden*
Bronte, Charlotte Jane Eyre
Bronte, Emily Wuthering Heights

Buck, Pearl S. The Good Earth
Byatt, A.S. Possession
Cather, Willaâ y Antonia
Chopin, Kate The Awakening
*Christie, Agatha Murder on the Orient Express*
??Cisneros, Sandra The House on Mango Street??
Clinton, Hillary Rodham Living History
??Cooper, Anna Julia A Voice From the South??
??Danticat, Edwidge Breath, Eyes, Memory??
Davis, Angela Women, Culture, and Politics
??Desai, Anita Clear Light of Day??
Dickinson, Emily Collected Poems
Duncan, Lois I Know What You Did Last Summer
DuMaurier, Daphne Rebecca
*Eliot, George Middlemarch*
??Emecheta, Buchi Second Class Citizen??
??Erdrich, Louise Tracks??
Esquivel, Laura Like Water for Chocolate
Flagg, Fannie Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe
Friedan, Betty The Feminine Mystique
Frank, Anne Diary of a Young Girl
??Gilman, Charlotte Perkins The Yellow Wallpaper??
??Gordimer, Nadine July's People??
Grafton, Sue S is for Silence
Hamilton, Edith Mythology
Highsmith, Patricia The Talented Mr. Ripley
*hooks, bell Bone Black*
Hurston, Zora Neale ust Tracks on the Road
??Jacobs, Harriet Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl??
Jackson, Helen Hunt Ramona
Jackson, Shirley The Haunting of Hill House
Jong, Erica Fear of Flying
Keene, Carolyn The Nancy Drew Mysteries
Kidd, Sue Monk The Secret Life of Bees
Kincaid, Jamaic “Lucy
*Kingsolver, Barbara The Poisonwood Bible*
??Kingston, Maxine Hong The Woman Warrior??
??Larsen, Nella–Passing??
L'Engle, Madeleine “A Wrinkle in Time
Le Guin, Ursula K. The Left Hand of Darkness
Lee, Harper To Kill a Mockingbird

Lessing, Doris The Golden Notebook
??Lively, Penelope Moon Tiger??
??Lorde, Audre The Cancer Journals??
Martin, Ann M. The Babysitters Club Series
McCullers, Carson The Member of the Wedding
McMillan, Terry Disappearing Acts
??Markandaya, Kamala Nectar in a Sieve??
??Marshall, Paule Brown Girl, Brownstones??
Mitchell, Margaret Go with the Wind
Montgomery, Lucy Maud–Anne of Green Gables

??Morgan, Joan When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost??
*Morrison, Toni Song of Solomon*
??Murasaki, Lady Shikibu The Tale of Genji??
Munro, Alice Lives of Girls and Women
Murdoch, Iris Severed Head
??Naylor, Gloria Mama Day??
Niffenegger, Audrey The Time Traveller's Wife
*Oates, Joyce Carol–We Were the Mulvaneys*
O'Connor, Flannery A Good Man is Hard to Find
Piercy, Marge Woman on the Edge of Time
*Picoult, Jodi My Sister's Keeper*
Plath, Sylvia The Bell Jar
*Porter, Katharine Anne Ship of Fools*
Proulx, E. Annie The Shipping News - started it, hated it, never finished it.
Rand, Ayn The Fountainhead
*Ray, Rachel 365: No Repeats*
Rhys, Jean Wide Sargasso Sea
??Robinson, Marilynne Housekeeping??
??Rocha, Sharon For Laci??
Sebold, Alice The Lovely Bones
Shelley, Mary Frankenstein

Smith, Betty–A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Smith, Zadie–White Teeth
Spark, Muriel The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie
Spyri, Johanna Heidi
Strout, Elizabeth Amy and Isabelle
Steel, Danielle The House (much as it pains me to admit)
Tan, Amy The Joy Luck Club

??Tannen, Deborah You're Wearing That??
??Ulrich, Laurel A Midwife's Tale??
??Urquhart, Jane Away??
*Walker, Alice The Temple of My Familiar*
Welty, Eudora One Writer's Beginnings
Wharton, Edith Age of Innocence
Wilder, Laura Ingalls Little House in the Big Woods

Wollstonecraft, Mary A Vindication of the Rights of Women
Woolf, Virginia A Room of One's Own

Friday, April 07, 2006

...the best diabetic...

Everyone has them. Those moments that grab you by the heart and shake the living shit out of you. I had one yesterday.

O had an endo appointment in Boston. We were driving in, talking about, of all things, Northern Ireland and the situation there now compared to ten or twenty years ago. Then we got on the topic of what we were going to discuss with Dr. Ricker. We talked about getting her on the study for the MM 722 prototype (which O wants just about as much as I do) and about how that works. She then said that she was talking to her school nurse about diabetes the other day, telling the nurse she had this endo appointment and the nurse said "You're the best diabetic I know."

Wham. Right in the chest. I choked out a laugh and a strangled "Well, that was nice of her to say," and as O prattled on about the nurse and the other things she had told O, my brain was screaming "But I don't want her to be the best diabetic. She should be the best piano player or best hopscotcher or best big-brother-botherer." Blah. And once again, I'm reminded, forcefully, how much I hate this fucking disease.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

We Are Not Amused

Snow. It's fucking APRIL FIFTH, people! Joke's over, pack it up and get outta Dodge. It's not funny any more.

And the sky is that lovely grey-white colour - the colour it gets when it's going to snow for HOURS or DAYS as opposed to just a flurry. I can hear the daffodils saying "What the fuck, man? I shoved my way out of the cold, dark earth for this? Fuck this for a game of soldiers." Well, I wholeheartedly agree.

It doesn't help that last night was awful. After spending a couple of hours, off an on, trying to get the Boo to go to sleep, I gave up and got into bed with her because I just couldn't deal any more. I have a chest cold and my head, I swear, was about to fall off my neck, it hurt so bad. Even after snuggling with me, she still wouldn't go to sleep, so after half an hour of wrestling with her, I brought her out to TCBIM and dozed off for a while. I guess he put her down in her crib after a while, but she wasn't asleep, so of course, she screamed blue murder, which woke me up. I got her AGAIN and she laid in the bed, crying, until 10:30. At this point, I have such a headache that I feel like I'm going to puke. Got up to get some tylenol and check O's sugar and lo and behold, there's no insulin left in her pump. She does this to me all the time - the pump alarms when it gets low, but she never tells me. So at nearly 11 p.m., I'm trying to change out the reservoir in her pump while also trying to keep my head from splitting down the middle. Get that sorted, go back to bed and the friggin' radiators start their clanging and banging. Got up AGAIN to shut off the heat and get back in bed. Now I'm wide awake. Wide. Awake. So I played Mah Jong on my phone until midnight. Faaaaaaaaantastic. I overslept this morning. Is it any wonder?

Two to four inches of snow and the Sox lost last night. It just keeps getting better and better.

Monday, April 03, 2006

You handle it

Reading Sandra's post started me thinking about O and how my ex-husband and I handled her diagnosis. For so long, I knew there was something wrong with her. She was listless and seemed to be losing abilities - first it was a few words, eventually it was the ability to walk. And no one would listen to me - not the doctors, not my mother and definitely not my soon-to-be ex-husband.

So I pushed on. I pushed for something to be done for her, for someone to listen to my pleas for help. Most of the time, I felt like I was in a dream, screaming and screaming, but nothing was coming out.

Finally, I got the pediatrician to do something. I took her in to the pediatrician AGAIN, for a diaper rash from hell. The exhole wouldn't leave me the car that day, so I pushed her stroller the three miles to the doctor's office, then pushed it back. I hadn't even gotten my coat off after getting back to our apartment when the phone started ringing.

"You need to bring her right back to the hospital. She has sugar in her urine and it's very high."

"Is that bad?"

"Yes. Get to the ER. Now."

Well, fuck. Called a cab, since ex-hole still wouldn't come home from work (or, more likely, the bar) and sat in the ER with O, who was almost passed out at this point, and A, who was more than a little freaked out, while doctors drew blood and started IVs and waited for the pediatric endocrinologist to show up. And, of course, the ex-hole.

Her blood sugar was something like 980. This number meant nothing to me at the time but now, still, manages to convulse my heart with paroxysms of fear.

And that was that. She has diabetes, they said. You have to do X, Y and Z, they said, and give her shots and check her sugar and see us every three months.

So that's what I did. I kept logs, I made her 30g carb meals and 15g carb snacks. I made sure she ate every 3 hours. I made sure we had test strips and syringes and insulin and log books. And we never talked about it. I'd try, but he wouldn't. It wasn't to be mentioned again. So we didn't.

And I can't blame the divorce solely on the diabetes, but it did open my eyes to the fact that he just wasn't ever going to be there, that if there were problems, physical or mental, then they were MY problems and he didn't want to hear about them. And that the answers to most of his problems lay in the bottom of a can of beer.

This is the way it's been since then. Just me (only occassonially falling apart) and O, plugging along, doing what needs to be done. Only she and I talk about it. A lot. We talk about site locations and new treatments as they become available and other d kids and camp and all kinds of non-diabetes stuff, too. And I talk to TCBIM about it, and anyone else who will listen.

And I'm so glad to have this place, even though I don't write too often about diabetes, because when I do, I get you guys. And you guys? You guys rock.

...helplessly and permanently a Red Sox fan

It's opening day. Yeah, they're in Texas and won't be at Fenway until the 11th but whatever. It's opening day! Play ball!

"As I grew up, I knew that as a building (Fenway Park) was on the level of Mount Olympus, the Pyramid at Giza, the nation's capitol, the czar's Winter Palace, and the Louvre — except, of course, that is better than all those inconsequential places." - Baseball Commissioner Bart Giamatti

"Fenway is the essence of baseball." - Tom Seaver in the Christian Science Monitor (July 1999)

"I'm helplessly and permanently a Red Sox fan. It was like first love...You never forget. It's special. It's the first time I saw a ballpark. I'd thought nothing would ever replace cricket. Wow! Fenway Park at 7 o'clock in the evening. Oh, just, magic beyond magic: never got over that." - Art Historian Simon Schama in History in Brilliant Brushstrokes (1999)

"That's the magic of Fenway Park. That’s why people love it so. Come to think of it, at Fenway almost every year is a wonder year." - Red Sox Announcer Ned Martin (1977)

"The ballpark is the star. In the age of Tris Speaker and Babe Ruth, the era of Jimmie Foxx and Ted Williams, through the empty-seats epoch of Don Buddin and Willie Tasby and unto the decades of Carl Yastrzemski and Jim Rice, the ballpark is the star. A crazy-quilt violation of city planning principles, an irregular pile of architecture, a menace to marketing consultants, Fenway Park works. It works as a symbol of New England's pride, as a repository of evergreen hopes, as a tabernacle of lost innocence. It works as a place to watch baseball." - Martin F. Nolan in A Ballpark, Not A Stadium (1999)

"We love Fenway Park because we love antiques, be they rocking chairs or ballparks. But we love it even more because the eccentricities of the place mirror our own. It is, like us, difficult and cranky. And this makes it a mighty hard place for a player to play in. Too bad. Players come and go, but Fenway Park may become an American Pyramid." - Boston Red Sox Sportscaster Clark Booth in Fenway by Dan Shaughnessy

"You can say, 'Well, if they tore down Fenway Park, we can build a new one.' But you wouldn’t build it right. It’s better to make the accommodations, to save the old ballparks. If Fenway Park needs sky boxes to bring in the poverty-stricken owners enough money to save the stadium before they tear it down and move it someplace else, then build the damn sky boxes. ...Make the damn structural improvements, but save the ballpark because when you try to rebuild a cathedral five hundred years too late, it doesn’t come out the same." - Sportswriter Tom Boswell in The Story of America's Ballparks (1991)