We're celebrating my parents' 50th anniversary soon, and I'm thinking of cake. Gluten free cake. I'm trying to decide what direction to go. GF cheesecake is easy, but not everyone likes cheesecake. A pavlova would be lovely and light, but I've never made one before. While I was surfing around today, I found a wedding cake & food guide pdf on the Pamela's Products page that gives tips on how to make GF wedding cakes. Hmmm. I don't want a four-tiered wonder, but some of the tips look helpful, like sprinkling simple syrup on the layers to keep them moist, and using "magic strips" to stop the layers from doming while baking. I may have to give that a try.
Okay, I have to help Daniel with a site change now, so I guess I'll put this blog post off until later. It seems that every time I sit down to write, a child starts a major conversation with me. What is it with their timing? Daniel is still talking to me as I type! It's amazing! Now he says I'm mean... Bye...
Showing posts with label anniversary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anniversary. Show all posts
Friday, May 1, 2009
Thursday, May 8, 2008
One Year Later, Life is Beautiful
Matt asked me if we wanted to celebrate... no, not celebrate. Commemorate. Bring attention to. Get a cake or something.
I said, how about we light a candle and say a prayer?
One year ago Daniel was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. One year ago, at this time, I sat beside him in the intensive care unit, willing him to heal. One year and half a day ago I had no idea what diabetes meant.
Daniel isn't paying much attention to this anniversary. But as a parent, I can't help it. I'll never forgot the rush to the hospital, the switch to another hospital, the frank diagnosis, the kindness of nurses. The snoring, buzzing sounds and hushed voices in the common sleeping area for parents with kids in the ICU. The 3 sleepless days and nights.
Days and nights that followed in a blur of shots and numbers, watching the clock, clocking the test results.
I told a friend today that when Daniel comes home from school I don't ask, "How was your day?" I ask, "What were your numbers?" That needs to change.
One year later, I no longer have nightmares night after night about giving the wrong dose of insulin, making mistakes with carb counts, causing Daniel to sicken. I no longer cry myself to sleep every evening with my hand clapped against my mouth so he won't hear me down the hall. We're in a routine. Daniel counts carbs & gives himself shots. He has taken on this disease, he's roped it in.
So one year later, I *do* celebrate. I celebrate the strength and courage of my child. I honor his ability to go with the flow. I am in awe of his constant, happy demeanor.
I light a candle and say a prayer.
Let there be a cure in our lifetime.
I said, how about we light a candle and say a prayer?
One year ago Daniel was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. One year ago, at this time, I sat beside him in the intensive care unit, willing him to heal. One year and half a day ago I had no idea what diabetes meant.
Daniel isn't paying much attention to this anniversary. But as a parent, I can't help it. I'll never forgot the rush to the hospital, the switch to another hospital, the frank diagnosis, the kindness of nurses. The snoring, buzzing sounds and hushed voices in the common sleeping area for parents with kids in the ICU. The 3 sleepless days and nights.
Days and nights that followed in a blur of shots and numbers, watching the clock, clocking the test results.
I told a friend today that when Daniel comes home from school I don't ask, "How was your day?" I ask, "What were your numbers?" That needs to change.
One year later, I no longer have nightmares night after night about giving the wrong dose of insulin, making mistakes with carb counts, causing Daniel to sicken. I no longer cry myself to sleep every evening with my hand clapped against my mouth so he won't hear me down the hall. We're in a routine. Daniel counts carbs & gives himself shots. He has taken on this disease, he's roped it in.
So one year later, I *do* celebrate. I celebrate the strength and courage of my child. I honor his ability to go with the flow. I am in awe of his constant, happy demeanor.
I light a candle and say a prayer.
Let there be a cure in our lifetime.
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