I know it's boring to talk about the weather, but...

Dang! It's hot! Someone said the heat index got to 107 today. Okay, not as hot as the normal summer day in Dhahran, so many years ago, but still... not far off. I had difficulty distinguishing between 110 and 120 degrees, anyway.

Thank goodness the pool felt cool.

I saw an ad from minimed the other day -- they make a new infusion set dressing. I wonder if anyone has tried it, and whether it helps keep the set in place on hot, sticky days. It is here. We've used medical tape across the set, but that doesn't always work. I wonder if that is something I should get for Daniel before he goes off to college.

In addition to all the regular stuff -- sheets, towels, pillows, fan, etc., I plan on putting together a medicine box. Sort of a mini version of our upstairs linen closet, where I store all the dayquil, nyquil, advil, and other --ils. I remember getting sick when I was in college, and dragging myself out of bed to the little school store that carried everything from tampax to orange juice. I stared at all the medicine boxes, trying to figure out what it was that we had at home that I would usually take... I think I just bought orange juice.

Taking Daniel to the endo tomorrow. Fingers crossed for a good A1c! He is also participating in a study about older teens/young adults with diabetes who are starting to take on the responsibility of their own care. Should be interesting.

We are also saying goodbye to our usual endo, Dr. P, who has been so wonderful. She is moving to a different office, much farther away. I hope the next endo is as nice, and as thorough.

Then... one more day until GRADUATION!!

Writing is Hard

I love writing. I don't have much time to do it. Lately I've been going back to my "paper blog," or as I used to call it, my journal. A few minutes at night, a few thoughts on the page, and sleep comes more easily. I also have been thinking alot about writing on line, privacy issues, and what I should or should not say. After a public, online tussle with a relative, I stopped posting so much on Facebook. I disconnected my blog (I think) from my Facebook page. Really, it's not worth getting into online arguments, it's like shouting ugliness in the streets. It goes against my beliefs, and my attempts at right action and right thought.

But there are some things that are nice to put out there into the world. Good thoughts, happy ones. Sending them out like lovely, sparkling fireworks for anyone to enjoy, if they wish. Here's one: my baby is graduating high school. My big, hairy, irreverent, funny, kind, man baby. He is going to go out into the world to do his own thing, to learn to be an adult, to care for his body and mind, to make a place to call his own. I am happy. I am grieving. I am insanely proud.

I wish him Godspeed, good friends, love, and luck. Serendipity. Health. The excitement of discovery. A guardian angel. The swagger of self confidence. Gentle eyes with which to see the world.

Working on the Resolutions

Laugh more. Stress less. Write more, and flow. Crank down the criticism. Make time for games. And hair cuts (today's felt good). Let go of worry. Maintain a sense of humor. Just keep rowing.

Remember the wonderful things I've learned through yoga: to be still in the moment, to pay attention, to breathe.

Kindle flames of friendship, and let the warmth suffuse my life.

Enjoy the process of moving through life, changing from one day to the next, making connections, making statements, creating worlds of thought. Look people in the eye, find the light in everyone.

Cherish my children every day. How quickly they grow and move on!

Remember who I am.

White Chicken Chili

I had friends coming over for a meal, and wanted to make Giada De Laurentis' recipe for white chicken chili. The recipe calls for ground chicken and of course when I was looking for ground chicken, I couldn't find it anywhere. But hey, no problem -- I had, hiding in my pantry, the meat grinding attachment for my Kitchen Aid mixer. Time to put that piece of kitchenware to use! I bought a combination of boneless chicken breasts & thighs.

It was easy to put the attachment onto the mixer, and soon I was grinding with ease! I called Dominic over to check it out, knowing how he loves cooking and all things mechanical. He started helping to push the meat through the chute.

"This is pretty cool!" he said.

"Yes," I replied. "I haven't done this in a long time. Not since I was a kid."

"Why did you do this when you were a kid?" he asked.

"I used to make chopped liver with my mom," I said. We used to grind up the cooked liver and onions and some other stuff. But I don't do that anymore."

"Why not?" he asked.

"I don't eat liver anymore," I answered.

He looked at me, and asked, "Because you stopped being a cannibal?"

Then I explained that it was cow liver, not human liver, that we used to cook, and somehow he thought that was even more disgusting.

Mentoring

When Daniel was diagnosed with type 1, a wonderful woman, C., took me under her wing. C also had a son, a bit older than Daniel, who was dx'd about a year before. C emailed me long letters daily, making sure that we were all okay. She answered all my questions in detail. When I could no longer stand to hear or read anything else about diabetes, she just sent notes that said, "I understand. I'm sorry." She found resources for me, and went with me into Daniel's high school when we had our 504 plan meeting. When the diagnosis happened, we felt like we suddenly had to assimilate an incredible amount of knowledge in order to keep our son alive and functioning. It was hard to remember everything; we had lists and spreadsheets littering every surface of the kitchen... it was crazy. Looking back, it seems so long ago, although three years is not so long. Three years ago, in the middle of the maelstrom, I couldn't imagine regaining a sense of balance, and normalcy.

Fast forward, and we are standing on our feet again. Diabetes is always lurking, ready to lash out if Daniel lets down his guard, but now he knows what to do to keep it under control. And I know what I have to do. In the US alone, 40 children are diagnosed with type 1 diabetes every day. Forty sets of parents grip needles for the first time, trying their best to overcome their fears and inject their children. Thousands upon thousands of bits of data swirl around in their brains, as they try to remember blood sugar to insulin ratios, correction factors, emergency phone numbers. I know I have to be the person at the other end of the phone or the email, ready to say, "I understand. I'm sorry."

Tonight's phone call was pretty difficult. The family was 6 weeks in, and the child was only 8. Mom was unable to give her child a shot... she just couldn't do it, and relied on her husband. She is volunteering in her son's school constantly, because she is scared to have him be there without her. She can't trust anyone else with her son, but she also barely trusts herself!

I remember that feeling of dread, the horrible dreams that I measured out the wrong amount of insulin, that I calculated the carbs wrong, that I sent my child into an awful low. Dreams of endless nights at Children's Hospital. I was just reliving those feelings as I listened to this woman's voice.

We both talked & shared for a long time. I think sometimes it just helps to have someone listen to your fears -- someone who truly gets it. The best I can do right now is just to be there when she calls or emails, and to let her know that her son will be okay, and that they will get through this awful time.

I think it's kind of sad that they call this newly diagnosed time, when your body is still producing some insulin, the honeymoon period, as if it is a lovely thing. As if getting to know this companion, the one who will be with you the rest of your life, is a cause for celebration.

8 Days a Week

So I thought it would be a good idea to take online courses in Educational Technology Integration so that I could get a certificate which could somehow lead to the job I'm trying to create for myself at some point in the near future. I've jumped into the world of online classes, Grad School a la Chat, with reading assignments up the gazork. I feel like I'm in a 24/7 conversation. It's a bit maddening, and quite different from my previous grad school experience.

But then again, my previous experience was a delicious, self-indulgent soak in poetry. The all night conversations included, at times, visiting artists, and shared bottles of wine. The connections made in that environment were bone deep, and have continued over these many years. The connections I'm making in my current class are through Skype, and can so easily disappear with the last click of the mouse on my final exam.

This class isn't a bad thing, but it feels like a necessary thing. Something to get through. It's difficult though, to do homework of my own, after sitting down to help my children with their homework. I'm ready to discuss "Tuck Everlasting," or write about the Cheyenne Indians, rather than a comparison of the educational value of Learning Today's Smart Tutor program to Math Missions Spectacle City Adventure.

So if I haven't responded to an email, or given you a call for a while, it's because I'm trying to make a deadline, and figure out how to write coherent sentences. I'll come up for air when this class is over, or when I'm out of chocolate, whichever comes first.

September evening

I love the hiking/biking trail that goes through our neighborhood. I like to walk in the early evening, when the heat loses its grip on the day, and the woods are alive with the chatters and chirps of many little creatures. Today on my walk there were joggers, bikes, scooters, people on the phone, groups of friends, and a man, iPod in ears, singing to himself in a language I did not understand. Bike wheels spoke, “thump thump thump” over the wooden footbridge, then, “hissssss” on the paved trail as I walked along.

I can tell that fall is approaching, even though the air is still hot and dry, and the trees are starting to crisp from lack of rain. The sunlight has changed – golden honey dripping through the branches, catching up loose leaves in its flow and scattering them on the ground. On the last part of my walk I saw a medium sized buck standing away from the path, in a patch of sunlight near a stand of oak trees. As I passed him he heard the whisper of grass under my feet, and he looked up, chewing. For that moment, there was no one else on the trail. The grasshoppers fiddled melodies, and somewhere a clock ticked closer to autumn. The oak trees understood, and released a fall of acorns. They rained down in the sunlight in front of the deer. A sprinkle. A nutstorm.

Then it passed, as storms do. The trail traffic resumed, the deer looked away, and I walked past, to the road that leads to my house.