Nearest Distant Shore

Sugar Blues

Today was the last day of Liam's vacation.  Again it rained, but he was so tired and out-of-sorts that it was just as well; we really just needed to stay in.  My little boy is such a creature of routine, and this three-week break has really played havoc with his.  Twice today he just broke down and cried for no reason he that could articulate, and the only thing that seemed to help him calm down was for him to sit in my lap with my arms wrapped around him until he could stop crying. Lovely cuddle time, and all too rare now that he's such a big boy, but it brings me such sorrow to see him so distraught.

We are having hell's own time with his blood sugar.  He's been waking up every morning way higher than he should, and none of the changes that we've made in his regimen have solved the problem without making him go low in the middle of the night, which brings its own set of problems.  Every parent of a child with diabetes knows the terror of a hypoglycemic episode.  We've been very lucky that it's only happened a bare handful of times in the three and a half years since he was diagnosed.  They are so scary, but every time so far Liam has responded fairly quickly to the treatment and gone on about his day (knock wood, turn around three times, spit). 

Hyperglycemia seems to be much harder on his little body.  It makes him so tired, and starting the day off high means that he essentially spends a good part of the day trying to recover from the fatigue, and several days in a row is not good for him at all.  I also worry about the long-term implications, since so many of the complications from diabetes that wind up killing people are directly related to poor blood-sugar control. 

I get so angry sometimes at the capricious nature of this disease.  There are seemingly endless things that can cause his blood sugar to go out of whack, but very few fixes and, of course, no solutions at all.  And I get angry that he has to deal with it, too.  I wish that I could take away the pain of endless finger sticks (sometimes as many as ten a day) and shots (currently five a day), and I wish that I could take away the sadness that comes to him because he has diabetes, and none of his friends do. 

And if I'm being totally honest, I am just worn out.  He was diagnosed on November 11th, 2001.  Since that time I could probably count on my fingers the nights that I've had a decent night's sleep.  Every night at some point in the wee hours, I wake up and check his blood sugar.  Some nights he's low, and I have to wake him and get him out of the bed and give him something to bring him back up (usually chocolate milk).  Then I have to check him again in 15 minutes, and again in an hour.  Hopefully the chocolate milk has done its work, but if not, I have to wake him again and give him something to eat. 

I couldn't even say when the last night was that I slept more than five or six hours.  I'm always tired, but not doing it is not an option at this point.  And even on the nights that I ask Sweetie to do it, I usually wake up anyway, so it's hardly worth interrupting his sleep, too.

When Liam was in the hospital that week after he was diagnosed, one of the things that I said over and over again was that it could be so much worse; he could have (insert your worst nightmare here).  And it could be worse.  I am very grateful that his disease is not immediately fatal, but I was so woefully uninformed about the severity of juvenile diabetes, and I had no idea how it would turn our lives inside out. 

And most days, like Liam, I just handle it without whining and complaining.  But right now I'm tired and frustrated and worried, and I guess I just needed to sing the sugar blues for a bit.

Azaleas and Jelly Beans

Spring, glorious spring, is finally here!  For the past few days we've had blue clear skies and warm temperatures and lots and lots of sunshine, and I could feel the winter grouchies flying away with the breeze.  We've had a few teases before now, and to be fair we do usually get one more good freeze after Easter, but for now I'm gratefully declaring it spring on the Carolina coast.

This was the first season of Lent since I broke up with Jesus and while it felt a bit odd not to go to Ash Wednesday service and not to take on a Lenten discipline, I've been fine.  And now on Easter, that holiest of days for Christians, I'm a little wistful that I wasn't on Wrightsville Beach this morning for the Great Vigil; the ties of history and memory tug hard at me.  But I'm not sad.

I am a little sad about one thing, though.  Normally by Easter, Wilmington is awash in azaleas; they're everywhere and it is a glorious sight.  But this year Easter is a little early and winter hung on for a really long time, so we're just now seeing daffodils in bloom-usually they've been and gone by mid-March.  Which means is that Liam's traditional Easter picture in front of the azaleas can't be taken, and I am sorry about that. 

The house where we lived when Liam was born had big Formosa azaleas planted all along one side of the property line.  Those are the azalea bushes of my childhood; I can remember hiding underneath Miss Maggie's in games of hide-and-go-seek with my brother and sister.  The ones at our house on Jefferson Street were wild and unpruned, and they made a beautiful backdrop for Liam's first Easter picture. I love that picture so much, and after that year, it became our custom to have him stand in front of those bushes in his Easter finery so that I could take his picture.

Last Easter we had moved from Jefferson Street, and our new yard has no azalea bushes. So after Easter services, we rode around Greenfield Lake until I found the perfect bank of azaleas and I took his picture there instead, so handsome in his little blue blazer. 

This year he has neither finery nor azalea bushes, so I guess I'll have to content myself with the pictures I snapped this morning when he found his Easter basket.  He did look cute, sleepy-eyed in his handed-down-from-Daddy Giants shirt, and for the first time, he was able to read his note from the Easter Bunny with only minimal assistance.  And in a couple of weeks we can walk to the lake and take some pictures.  It won't be the same, but that's okay; it's a new season in all kinds of ways.

And meanwhile there are chocolate bunnies and Starburst jelly beans and Cadbury creme eggs to be had.  Life is good.

Hope the bunny was generous at your house!

Hip-Hoppy Easter

I really needed this laugh, and so do you.

The Politics of Hypocrisy

I don't normally write much about politics here, being neither articulate nor well-informed enough to do so (not that that has ever stopped anyone else in the larger blogosphere, but there you go).  But the most recent shenanigans by the values party in Congress has me so distraught that I've spent a great deal of time over the past several days obsessively reading everything I could find about the Terri Schiavo situation. 

There's a lot of information out there (not all of it helpful), and seemingly everyone with a computer has weighed in on what is at its very core a painful, private family matter about which the vast majority of us should be totally unaware.  That no longer being the case, I found these places to be good sources of information:

Abstract Appeal, who has no apparent dog in the fight, covers all of the legal aspects of the case, with links to the courts' decisions.

Hilzoy at Obsidian Wings presents one of clearest overall views of the case that I've found anywhere (and I opened a lot of oysters before I found that pearl).

Respectful of Otters' Rivka has two beautiful, thoughtful posts on the medical and ethical issues involved.

From Digby, an excellent post that gets to the very heart of the politics of the matter:

This issue gets to the essence of the culture war. Shall the state be allowed to interfere in the most delicate, complicated personal matters of life, death and health because a particular religious constituency holds that their belief system should override each individual's right to make these personal decisions for him or herself. And it isn't the allegedly statist/communist/socialist left that is agitating for the government to tell Americans how they must live and how they must die.

One of the things that we need to help America understand is that there is a big difference between the way the two parties perceive the role of government in its citizens personal lives. Democrats want the government to collect money from all its citizens in order to deliver services to the people. The Republicans want the government to collect money from working people in order to dictate individual citizen's personal decisions. You tell me which is the bigger intrusion into the average American's liberty?

Digby also links to my friend Julia at Sisyphus Shrugged, who shares a story about a mother who has been in the Schindlers' shoes, and her take on the situation.

And this post from Tutterfly at Democracy Cell Project is one of those posts that I wish I could have written; it is simple and heartfelt, full of such grace and kindness.

As a parent, my heart breaks for the Schindlers.  I don't know how anyone ever recovers from losing a child, and that pain is surely at the root of their desperate fight.  But as an American citizen, my blood runs cold at the way in which their pain has been co-opted by people whose only concern is shoring up their power base while diverting attention from other newsworthy activities. 

I wish that I believed in hell, for it would give me some measure of comfort to believe that the ringleaders in this latest Washington circus would be roasting on a spit for all eternity.  I guess I'll have to settle for their becoming unemployed, and the sooner the better.

Lovely Day for a Guinness

I was introduced to the goodness of Guinness at a local pub called Lula's.  Lula's was, and remains, the perfect local.  It's small.  It's downtown, but off the beaten path, so tourists don't easily find it (a real plus when you live in a tourist town).  The bartenders are just the right mix of friendly and surly.  The jukebox is well-stocked, and the bartenders have no qualms about skipping a song if it's been played to death on a given night (they'll skip it if they hate it, too-when Sweetie worked there he never let Ring of Fire play past the mariachi trumpet intro).  There's always someone there to argue with, there is rarely live music, but almost always a hotly contested foosball match in progress, and most importantly, they know how to pour a perfect pint, which is critical to the success of any pub that serves Guinness. 

My flirtation with Guinness didn't blossom into full-blown love until the wedding reception of my friends J and L.  The party was a fabulous blend of the Southern bride (the cake was cut with a Civil War sword) and the Irish groom (oceans of stout).  I wasn't quite sure that I could hang with this crowd of Guinness-lovers until someone (and you know who you are) said "why don't you try a Black Velvet?"  As a lifelong Southerner, most of what I knew about black velvet had to do with Elvis, but this was something altogether different.  Although it sounded vile, it was ambrosia and it quickly became my new favorite.  Later, I learned to appreciate the dark beauty of straight Guinness, but I'll never turn down an invitation to drink a Black Velvet.

Now that I'm no longer single or childless (not to mention old as dirt), my champagne and dancing days, while not completely over, have become much more occasional than they once were.  But I've been working very hard lately and I'm thinking I'm due a celebration.  Having been in the past both a celebrant and a bartender, you couldn't drag me out on St. Patrick's Day with a 40-mule team, but once amateur night is over and the pubs are returned to the regulars, I think there might be a stool with my name on it at Lula's, and a perfect pint waiting for me.

Sláinte!

More Than You Ever Wanted to Know About Me

1. If you could build a second house anywhere, where would it be?
   the Outer Banks of NC
2. What are your favorite articles of clothing?
   floaty twirly skirts
3. The last CD you bought?
   Mary-Chapin Carpenter, Between Here and Gone
4. What time do you wake up in the morning?
   6:00 on school days, 7ish otherwise
5. What is your favorite kitchen appliance?
   Of the ones I have, my dishwasher, but I do covet a KitchenAid stand mixer.
6. If you could play an instrument, what would it be?
   mandolin
7. What's your favorite color?
   red
8. Which vehicle do you prefer, sports car, motorcycle, or SUV?
   I'm shopping now for a small SUV, but I really want an old GTO.
9. Do you believe in the afterlife?
   Sometimes I do.
10. Favorite children's book?
    I couldn't choose just one favorite, but I loved the Little House books and Beverly Cleary's Ramona books.
11. What is your favorite season?
    autumn, especially at the beach
12. If you have a tattoo, what is it?
    no tatoos for me
13. If you could have one superpower, what would it be?
    I can't decide between being invisible or being able to fly.
14. Can you juggle?
    Every mama can juggle.
15. Someone from your past that you wish you could go back and talk with?
    my granny
16. What is under your bed?
    an overnight bag, the glass from our front storm door and a box full of pennies
17. What is your favorite day?
    Sunday-big fat paper, long, leisurely breakfast and football all afternoon (in season)
18. Sushi or hamburger?
    hamburger
19. Of the people who normally read your blog, who is most likely to respond first?
    I haven't the slightest idea.
20. On which blog did you find this meme?
    Vindauga
21. What is your favorite flower?
    tulips and irises
22. What is your favorite meal?
    very fresh seafood-shrimp, scallops, mussels, clams, almost any kind of fish.  homemade french fries.  anything made by my granny.
23. Describe your pjs.
    oversized flannel shirt for cool weather, oversized cotton tee for warm weather
24. What is your favorite breakfast?
    lots of pig (country ham, sausage, bacon; it's all good), very fresh eggs (scrambled), home fries, biscuits.  or shrimp and grits with fresh fruit, if I'm feeling extravagant.
25. Do you like your job?
    most of the time
26. What is your dream job?
    retired billionaire
27. What age do you plan to retire?
    realistically, probably never
28. Where did you meet your spouse or significant other?
    the late lamented Shanakee pub
29. Something you would like to do that you have never done before.
    a comparative study of tropical islands

Enough about me; tell me about you!

Media Matters

This made me laugh when I found this over at Verbatim; visit her to find out where she got it.

1. The Wall Street Journal is read by the people who run the country.

2. The Washington Post is read by people who think they run the country.

3. The New York Times is read by people who think they should run the country and who are very good at crossword puzzles.

4. USA Today is read by people who think they ought to run the country but don’t really understand The New York Times. They do, however, like their statistics shown in pie charts.

5. The Los Angeles Times is read by people who wouldn’t mind running the country -- if they could find the time -- and if they didn’t have to leave Southern California to do it.

6. The Boston Globe is read by people whose parents used to run the country and did a far superior job of it, thank you very much.

7. The New York Daily News is read by people who aren’t too sure who’s running the country and don’t really care as long as they can get a seat on the train.

8. The New York Post is read by people who don’t care who’s running the country as long as they do something really scandalous, preferably while intoxicated.

9. The Miami Herald is read by people who are running another country but need the baseball scores.

10. The San Francisco Chronicle is read by people who aren’t sure there is a country or that anyone is running it; but if so, they oppose all that they stand for. There are occasional exceptions if the leaders are handicapped minority feminist atheist dwarfs who also happen to be illegal aliens from any other country or galaxy provided, of course, that they are not Republicans.

11. The National Enquirer is read by people trapped in line at the grocery store.

12. None of these is read by the guy who is running the country into the ground.

Woman Plans, God Laughs

God may be laughing; me, not so much.  All of my careful planning has basically exploded in my face.  My originally scheduled March was all lamb; my new reality is all lion, and a hungry one at that.

First Liam got sick, postponing his trip to his grandparents' house.  Now his grandpa has the flu, so it's been postponed again; maybe he'll go, maybe he won't.  Meanwhile my workload has magically quadrupled.  Oh, and all the teenagers I could possibly hire to sit next week, well, they all go back to school next week.  Fun, fun, fun (not). 

The one good thing about this is that it has solidified my resolve to find a mother's helper for summer.  My best friend's daughter came and hung out with Liam Friday afternoon, and it was so great to be able to close my office door and just power through the work.  Not only did Liam love having an audience, he managed to follow the Don't Knock* rule, too.  I had to laugh at him, though-when I went to get my wallet to pay A, Liam looked at me and said, completely incredulous, "SHE GETS PAID FOR THIS?"  Hahaha.

*The Don't Knock Rule-Do not knock on Mama's closed office door unless you are bleeding or on fire.  Please note that this rule is only in force if there is another adult (or reasonable facsimile) in the house.

Spring is teasing me again-today it was all blue skies and warm breezes, with temperatures actually cracking 70.  Late this afternoon I stood at my kitchen sink peeling shrimp and looking out the window at the cats sunning themselves in the neighbor's yard.  I was drinking a beer and had the radio set on the oldies station that I love, and for the first time all winter I really felt like maybe we've turned the corner into spring.

And just in time to celebrate spring's arrival, I received a call from the nice folks at Carolina Coastal Adventures.  Last week when I went to the summer camp expo I talked to the people staffing their booth and entered a drawing that they were having.  And I won a two-hour kayak tour!  I've never been kayaking, but I have been canoeing, so how hard can it be?  (Even though that was long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away, and I wasn't all that good at it, so maybe that's not much comfort)  Anyway, I was tickled to have won something so fun, and I can't wait til the water is warmer so we can go. 

(And all of you who know me in real life can pick yourselves up off the floor and cut out the unseemly snorting and guffawing.  Yes, dammit, I'm going kayaking.  No, that was not a pig you just saw flying past your window.)

Tempting Spring

In the fine tradition of sprucing up for spring, it occurred to me that maybe I needed something new here.  I have no talent for this kind of thing and even less patience, and I really like the sandy brown color palette that I've been using for winter, but this color will do for now, I think.  I'm usually not much for green, but I like how this picks up the tiny bit of water showing in Liam's picture.

Whaddaya think?

The Universe Hates Me

Today is the first official day of Liam's spring break/intercession.  Because he is in year-round school, he won't go back until March 29th.  Pray for me now and in the hour of my death, which I calculate to be about day 17 of this little party. 

Because Liam has type 1 diabetes, finding care for him involves a little more than just picking up the phone and checking out childcare centers; I have to find someplace or someone who is willing to help him manage his diabetes care.  They have to be aware of the signs of hypoglycemia, what Liam calls "going droopy," and be vigilant in making sure that doesn't happen.  His blood sugar has to be checked before every meal and an insulin shot given after he eats, and since he doesn't have quite the fine motor skills necessary to do it himself yet, someone in the facility needs to do it for him.  It's not at all difficult to learn or to do, but between liability issues and just plain fear of needles, many, many places are not willing to have him in their charge.

This winter has been insanely busy for me and somehow this quarter just flew by (I swear, it was just Christmas).  Before I knew it, I found myself staring spring break in the face with nobody but me to do any Liam-minding, so I did what any sensible grown-up woman would do--I called my mommy.

My mother and her husband adore Liam and love having him come to visit, but with their schedules it requires planning akin to that needed for the invasion of Normandy.  So after consultation with astrologers, a strict reading of the Old Farmer's Almanac and a careful study of the phases of the moon, we decided that I would take him down there on Sunday (yesterday) and he would stay until Thursday evening, an excellent plan which would give me four whole days to myself (for those of you with no children, that's the equivalent of a vacation in Jamaica. Or even Myrtle Beach.). Even though I have a fairly big job on my desk that I'd have to work on, the anticipation of that little mini-vacation has been a shining beacon at the end of this long cold winter, and I was sooooo ready.

So of course Liam is sick.  Not too sick, thankfully, but just sick enough to not want to go anywhere.  I'll give him credit; he really wanted to go and he tried to stick to the plan, but when all was said and done, he felt just lousy enough that he wanted to stay home.  So I called his grandparents (who rebounded beautifully and are now juggling things so we can just push it to next Sunday) and here I am, at home with the boy. 

I'm grateful that he doesn't have strep throat, as we first thought, but boy howdy, Mama really needed this little vacation. 

And while I'm pissing and moaning at the universe, how about some springtime, please?  Today is March 7th, Mother Nature.  By now on the coast of Carolina we should be awash in daffodils and tulips, breaking out our Rainbows and sporting the first pink cheeks and noses of the season, not still slogging around in wool socks and fleece, bundled up against the northeast wind.  What's up with this? 

And (more gratitude), I'm grateful that it's not bitterly cold here, but for the love of Pete, one of the reasons I choose to live in the south is for the warm weather (it sure as hell isn't for the politics)!  Who gives a damn if it's 18 degrees in Fargo when it's 58 here?  They signed up for that when they chose North Dakota!  58 is not warm!

Ahem.  I think I've used up my quotient of ire, not to mention exclamation points, for the rest of the week.  Anyway, my kid is sick but on the mend, I may or may not get a break and it's freaking cold here.  I think I'm done now.

And in a sad-but-brave attempt to look on the bright side, I got a way cool bubble pen yesterday at the Summer Camp Expo sponsored by Wilmington Parent.  It's from the Wilmington Athletic Club, it's a very pretty shade of blue, writes pretty good and has been a great stress reliever today.  Wish I'd picked up two. 

I bitch a lot, but I'm easily amused.