Carbs, Insulin, and The Baby-Sitters Club

1,084 shots of insulin and over 1,000 finger pricks.  This was our creative math lesson for the day: trying to figure out how many shots Hudson has received since his Type 1 Diabetes diagnosis in late April.  Honestly, I wasn't sure how I was supposed to react to that number.  Should I be impressed that my 6/7 year old has put up with so much?  Should I be sad that his little body has had to be poked, prodded, and bruised so many times?  Should I be thankful that insulin even exists at all so that he can live a relatively normal, healthy life?

I think I felt a mix of all these emotions as I have over the last nine months.  But I do know that this week our family has felt excited and hopeful.  On Tuesday, Hudson received his first insulin pump, a device that he will wear 24/7 that will inject insulin into his arm based on the information we program into it: his blood glucose number and the number of carbs he will consume for a meal/snack.  Diabetes has not gone away nor most of the everyday worries that come along with it.  But this does mean 1,084 fewer traditional shots in the next 9 months.

Hudson sporting his new insulin pump on his arm.

The story of Hudson's diabetes started roughly twenty years ago.  Strange to say that this is where his story started since he's only seven, but we will call this the foreshadowing part of our story.  As a preteen/teen girl in the 90s, I loved to read.  My favorite series, without a doubt, was Sweet Valley Twins (more foreshadowing, eh?).  But I did try out a few other series: Goosebumps (too scary), Nancy Drew (too predictable), and The Baby-Sitters Club (too many characters).  I would be hard pressed to tell you any of the plotlines of these books today.  But there was one story that always stuck with me.  In the lone Baby-Sitters Club book that I read, Stacy, one of the characters, started going to the bathroom all the time, drinking water constantly, and dealing with unexplained lethargy.  Come to find out, she had Type 1 Diabetes.



Fast forward twenty years past awkward braces, prom, college, a wedding, and the birth of three babies.  What seemed like overnight, my spunky six year old started constantly begging for water.  He would wake during the night to pee--three, four, five times.  Hudson started feeling lethargic and moody, and he began squinting while he read, even though his eyed had just been checked a few months prior with no issue.  And I kept thinking: The Baby-Sitters Club.  This is how Stacy acted like before her diagnosis.  I tried to talk myself out of it for a week or two.  Ben and I chalked it up to a bladder issue or a behavior issue.  But in late April, I couldn't reconcile with my gut any longer.  I took him to the pediatrician for a few quick tests.  A few hours later we found ourselves in a hospital with Hudson hooked up to an IV, and Ben and myself prepping for a two-day crash course in Type One Diabetes.

From that spring day until today, my understanding of diabetes has increased tenfold.  Nine months ago I thought Hudson could just take a daily dose of medicine or an injection, and we would call it a day.  I had no idea that nearly every carb that he consumed would have to be accounted for.  I didn't realize that we would have to figure out his insulin intake every day not only based on the carbs but based on his exercise, growth spurts, and illnesses.  It never occurred to me that we would often have to wake him up at night to give him milk because his blood sugar was dropping too low or that we would have to inject him with insulin while he slept because it was climbing too high.  It has been hard.  It has been a steep learning curve.  It has been a new, unwanted normal.

And yet.  Nine months ago when I checked Hudson into the hospital after first getting diagnosed, there was another mom in the lobby.  She was wheeling her frail, bald daughter.  I remember thinking in the moment how that mom would have done just about anything to trade places with me.   Yes, diabetes is a disease.  Yes, it has no cure.  But it can be managed.  And in 2018 America, it can be managed miraculously well.  My first grader can still run, eat normal food, and live to be an old man if God wills it.

And so we have grieved over his diagnosis, but grieved with perspective.  Diabetes does suck.  I can't think of a more eloquent way to put that.  But it's part of our routine now, part of our family now, but just a small part.  It doesn't define Hudson and for the most part, it doesn't limit him.

Seven years ago when we baptized our baby boys, Ben chose verses to bless each of them with.  For Hudson he chose Joshua 1:9: "Have I not commanded you?  Be strong and courageous.  Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."  Our prayer then was that whatever trials were laid before him, Hudson would go forward with faith and courage.  We never expected such a large trial before him at six years of age.  But he has indeed handled each day with more strength than I ever dreamed he would have.  I have no idea what other trials lay before him or anyone else in our family.  Diabetes may just be a tiny blip of a trial for what is to come.  But my prayer is that whatever trials may come our way, we would walk with the same strength that Hudson has demonstrated for us this last past year.

 

The Truth Behind Those Christmas Cards

I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas cards.  I love getting them from others, and I generally love the finished product of my Christmas cards.  But they're just so NOT REAL.  Not even close to the realm of reality. 

I dragged my feet this year.  My cynical Charlie Brown side said to skip the card instead of giving in to this self-obsessed, perfectionist-craving society we live in.  But then I felt like my cynicism was turning me green and furry and that I might start stealing candy canes from my children.  Alas, I caved at the last minute and ordered cards.

Unfortunately, because of my procrastination, if you're not a relative with an address I already knew, don't bother checking your mailbox for our card.  It's not there.  Sweet friends, I used the money for your card to pay for my expedited shipping.  So next time you see us, just imagine our whole family looking directly at you while smiling simultaneously next to an animated snowman. The picture will be way better in your imagination than it ever was in reality (as demonstrated by the pictures below).

In order to capture a few precious moments of our family, my sister loaned us her lovely camera.  Ben got a littler trigger happy and thought he was shooting a red carpet event.  But on the bright side, he did capture some real "winners."  Drumroll, please.  The pictures that should have been on our card . . .   

"MACKENZIE--I just spent 20 minutes coaxing them to sit together in that swing!  You are not getting your $20 for letting us use your camera!!!!"

"Mom and Dad---does it look like we are done taking pictures?!  Stop photobombing!"

"Stop taking pictures of them.  Where is a nursing home when you need one?  What are you guys doing?  Dancing?!  Why are you still invading our pictures?  Seriously--I'm still waiting for the five of us to smile at the same time.  We're not done!"

"*(*(*&^&&^$@#&*($$!!!!!!"

After kicking my parents back inside, we decided to forgo the family pic and focus on just the kids to make things easier . . .

"Great smile, Hudson.  Just look at the camera, Jovie.  Corbin, now we just need you to smile and we're all done!"

"This is not an advertisement for skinny abs.  This is a Christmas card.  Shirt down!"

"Hudson, wow, again fantastic.  Extra Christmas present for you.  Corbin, great--much better!  Less coal!  JOVIE!  Why the pouty face?  Just one little smile, and we'll be done!  Let's try a new pose.  I bet that will help!"

"We are BACKTRACKING, people!" 

"So help me.  I will ride around the entire yard on this broomstick if it means I can get all of you to crack a smile at the same time.  WHAT?  Who has to go potty?  Just grin and bear it!"

I.  GIVE.  UP.

We're crossing our fingers that Ugly Christmas Photos will be the next new fad. 

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

Preschoolers for President: The Answer to All of Our Nightmares

I spent yesterday freaking out.  I am a generally an unpolitical person, so the fact that I broke out in hives while watching the Super Tuesday results come in, was a bit uncharacteristic.  But today just like that, TA-DAH!  The answer to the country's woes was revealed.  And this isn't just the answer for me, but it's the answer for most Americans.  Drumroll please . . . Hudson and Corbin are running for president!

I know, I know.  This at first seems incredibly ridiculous.  And yes, I did take high school civics.  The minimum age for a president is 35, and they are only 5.  Thankfully, according to Trump, Obama has served two terms as our president, and he's not even an American citizen!  Who knew!  So if Congress waved him through twice, I'm feeling pretty confident they'll look the other way over this little age discrepancy.

So you might ask, what do two 5 year olds have that the other candidates don't?  My answer for you is this: they have it all.

For the Trump lovers: You cry "Anti-establishment!" as your anthem.  My boys would literally scream "ANTI-ESTABLISHMENT!" everyday if they could pronounce that many syllables at once.  What 5 year old boy doesn't fight against restriction and rules?  Just come over to our house after they've gone without a nap and been sugared up with a bowl of ice cream.  You won't even be able to handle the anti-establishment.  Ironically, I asked them today what government meant, and Corbin replied, "I don't know.  A place that takes your money?"  Trump supporters would beam.

We're government rebels at heart. 

Other fans of the Donald cite his amazing business skills as a reason for their votes.  Now, my boys neither have a business degree nor do they own gaudy hotels.  But when I took them to Target and told them they had $15 to spend, they quickly understood what they could afford.  They walked away from the ginormo Lego sets and instead surveyed the smaller, more modest ones.  At first, they were disappointed.  But they resisted their greed, and accepted the circumstances.  And as a bonus: not one claim for bankruptcy on their records!

So we're starting to intrigue the Trump supporters.  How about the others?  The ones who are desperately trying to wake America up with their guttural screams, "Who cares about anti-establishment anymore?  With Trump, we're dealing with anti-morality, anti-common sense, anti-ethics, and anti-decent hair!!!"

Four years of this, America?  Hairdressers all over the globe are wincing in pain.

Strip clubs, affairs, bullying, and a mockery of the Christian faith are a wee bit concerning for some.  For all our morally conservative voters, my boys have this covered too.

To be frank, Hudson and Corbin do at times run around the house naked.  And admittedly, I have had one or two conversations reminding them that mooning each other is gross and completely inappropriate.  But I can proudly say, that as soon-to-be kindergartners, they know that nudity at an establishment other than their own home is never okay.

Worried about faithfulness?  Corbin has been carrying around his two stuffed animal elephants for five years.  In those five years, he has gone only one night without both his Ellies snuggled by his side.  The night that his Ellie was temporarily lost, he cried himself to sleep.  That's faithfulness.

Love at first bite

Sick of all this bullying?  Admittedly, my little men do yell, throw punches, and sometimes swipe toys.  But you know what happens when they do?  They get sent to their room.  This is the beauty of child presidents.  I'm thinking it might be good for a president to get a little discipline once in awhile.  After our boys get sent to their room, we talk to them about asking for God's forgiveness.  They don't need a kindergarten diploma to understand that key to the Christian faith.

What might be the best selling point for Hudson and Corbin's presidential bid is that they're willing to walk across party lines.  They're twins.  Their everyday livelihood is a compromise.  Which birthday party theme this year?  Top bunk or bottom?  A Saturday morning watching "Jake the Pirate" or "Mickey Mouse"?  If a twin can't compromise, no one can.  Their twindom won't just win the moderates either.  These kids have shared everything.  A crib, Christmas presents, a birthday.  Their underwear drawer is one big pile of superhero underpants that they share.  By golly, that's really disturbing if you think about it!  But there is a plus side to all this sharing.  Move over, Bernie.  We're taking your socialists.  Booyah! 

Is there any way we can just share the votes for presidency? 

What about the key voters?  Trump is winning the less-educated.  Well, these boys can't read, and Hudson still consistently writes his "S" backwards.  Which might make signing bills into law a bit challenging, but at least they can identify with that key demographic.

How about the Latino vote?  The African-American vote?  Hudson and Corbin have gone to preschool and befriended kids from other nations and with different skin color than their own.  And yet, race has never come up.  They have never asked why some kids look different than them.  They either have never noticed, or simply don't care.  How can you argue with that?

And the all-important female vote . . . come on.  Have you seen these fellas?  The ladies will be eating out of their hands.

Who needs a spray tan with this natural glow?

And for the feminists, we have an answer for you too.  A female vice president!  And no, she is not of the Sarah Palin variety.  No nasally accent and no plans for a future reality show.  Phew!  Sure, my boys would have preferred to go with Spiderman or the Hulk for their VP.  But let's be honest.  That would have been way too much baggage.  Plus, this girl's sass, spirit, and wit will take care of this ticket's need for a few charismatic fireworks. 

You think Trump's tantrums are fun to watch?  Mine are the real deal!  I'm adding drama to this campaign, baby! 

We're set.  We've got our bases covered.  Preschoolers for President!  Sure, other nations might think it a bit scary that our country will be run by two 5 year olds.  But given the alternative, I'm confident they will soon join this rally.

May the force be with all our supporters!

Cows, Car Repairs, and Underwear on Heads: Our Life in 2015

Highlights (some in hindsight) from 2015:

Highlight #1: Eat Mor Chikin

As always, Chick-fil-a continues to be a driving force in our lives because we crave it.  Constantly.  In July we participated in Cow Day, and ate for free the entire day.  I maybe stopped craving it for a bit after that.  Our kids look forward to this day every year as demonstrated by the below pics. 

No, seriously.  They love being forced to wear spots from head to hoof.  Okay, fine.  Maybe just Hudson.  Although, he is kind of easy going about everything . . .

My love for Chick-fil-a was fully demonstrated this year by camping out at the grand opening of a nearby Chick-fil-a for 24 hours in order to get 52 free meals.  It was cold, sleepless, and absolutely worth it.    

Dan Cathy, the CEO of Chick-fil-a (to my left) camped out with us.  Pretty amazing since he's like a bigger deal than Matt Damon and Brad Pitt combined.  Well, at least in a cow's world he is.

Highlight #2: Car Repair Adventure

 I decided it would be a fun adventure to drop my van off for repair and then sit there stranded for four hours with two 4 year olds and a 2 year old.  Yes, this was one of those fabulous ideas kind of like taking your kids with you to a dental cleaning (see May 2014 post to recount that Hallmark moment).  While we waited, we walked around in the summer humidity, tasted smoothies, strolled to the library, and feasted on pizza.  All this doesn't sound too bad.  And if my life was an episode from Caillou, it would have been glorious, and my day would have looked like this.

But instead, it looked more like this:   

I didn't take any actual pictures because I was too busy pulling screaming kids off the sidewalk, throwing away a nearly full smoothie because, come to find out, the four of us hate smoothies, yelling at my boys to stop dumping salt on their pizza, and going cross-eyed when I found out the cost of the repair. 

The real kicker is that Corbin keeps asking when we can get our car repaired again and walk around town.  Apparently, I was the only one scarred for life . . .

Highlight #3: Laughter

Maybe my kids are getting funnier in their old age or maybe they're just misbehaving more and I'm getting too worn down to keep correcting them.  Whatever the reason, it's been hard to stay too grumpy or mad around these parts in 2015, because someone's bound to grab your mascara and transform into Ozzy Osborne

or run around all afternoon with underwear on their heads (crossing my fingers it was clean underwear).

And in 2015, I found that sometimes those moments are best shared laughing rather than reprimanding. 

I also found it's easier to chuckle at your kids' innocence than to tell them the truth when they think you're the best ever because you bought them kids' meals on their birthdays instead of making them split a 12 count nugget.

Or are the craftiest mom in the world when you let them decorate a pre-built gingerbread house from Target. 

Go for the pre-built houses next year, Moms.  You know you want to!   

We're glad we've got our kids fooled.  But also glad that they've spent another year fooling us with their bright blue eyes and smiles.  It even makes a 4 hour trip to the repair shop worth it.  In much later hindsight.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from our group of crazies to yours! 

I Do!

On a hot as Hades summer day ten years ago, we said, "I do."

The ink had barely dried on our college diplomas, and neither of us had ever held a full-time job.  Our recent residences were college dorms, sketchy rental properties with roommates, and our parents' homes during the summer.  After Ben carried me over the threshold to our honeymoon suite, we decided to start our romantic evening by drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade.  I kid you not.

Yes, we were young, idealistic, and embarrassingly naïve about quality drinks.  But we were in love.

I smashed the cake first.  Just saying.

 

And we still are.   

 

 

Today we remember and reflect.  We remember our wedding: the darling old church with its two air-conditioning vents, our guests who crooned to us with their love songs, my parents doing the chicken dance, the photographer who nearly fainted from heat exhaustion, and the Chick-fil-a meal my parents surprised me with so that I didn't have to endure one bite of fancy food. 

 

 

We remember the previous nine anniversaries that we've celebrated. Some on the sandy, warm beaches of Florida and South Carolina.  Others accented with the historical charm of cities like Savannah and Charleston.  And others of a less magical variety where battles with morning sickness and moving trucks ruled the day.

 

 

 

We remember the years in between then and now.  Our one bedroom, one bath apartment that we lived in for four years--still the longest stretch we've ever lived in a place other than our childhood homes.  We remember the carefree newlywed days, the days of too quiet where we longed for chaos, and the days of late where we count down until 8pm, when the quiet slowly returns.



 

But we also reflect on the future.  We imagine where we'll be in the next 10, 20, or maybe even 50 years.  And if we ever are so blessed as to celebrate our 60th, we imagine that we'll gaze into each other's eyes over a bottle of Glenlivet scotch, and we'll have a conversation much like this:

 

Ben: Remember what we had for our 10th anniversary?

Lindsay: Yeah, we split a bottle of that Oak Creek wine.

Ben: Bah!  Like drinking fermented Kool-Aid! $2.87 a bottle.  Remember that?  What cheapskates we were.

Lindsay: We were frugal.  We were living on a teacher's income with three little ones.

Ben: Frugal my Depends-wearing old rear!  We could have at least sprung for the $6 bottle of Yellow Tail.  Boy, have we come a long way! 

 

So here's to memories, and here's to daydreams of what may be to come.  Cheers!   

 

 

May I Have Some Coffee With My Humble Pie?

Kids have a way of keeping us humble.  If you don't believe me, take a look at this pic:

 

And if you still don't believe me, consider this gem.

 

Enough said.

Whether it's teaching, bus driving, parenting, whatever--when you encounter kids, they have a way of putting you in your place.  My head has been hanging a little lower lately, and it's not just because I am lamenting over the ever breeding stains on my carpet. 

Prideful moment # 1: Our little Jovie is smart as a whip.

Jovie is not advanced verbally, but she understands an incredible amount of what we say and ask of her to do.  And I, of course, beam inside when other people notice her "brilliance" too.  So about a month ago after I finished changing my little Einstein's diaper, I told her to put the old one in the trash.  I then busied myself with getting the boys off to preschool.  We all returned home late that afternoon, and Hudson went to the bathroom. 

"MOM!  There's a HUGE diaper floating in the toilet!"

Have you ever seen a disposable diaper that's been sitting in a big bowl of water for six hours?!  It was like pulling an exploding brick out of our commode.  Needless to say, maybe using "brilliant" to describe Jovie was a slight exaggeration.  But toilet and trash do sound shockingly similar.  They both begin with T . . .

Jovie for President. 

Prideful moment #2: I'm teaching my children to learn from their mistakes.

If I tried to recall how many times Jovie has gotten into my dry pasta and emptied the box all over the floor, steam would start escaping from my ears.  Let's just say, it's been enough that I stopped throwing the dirtied pasta away.  I just stick it all back in the box--it's going to be boiled, right?  Maybe you should just skip spaghetti night at our house.  Anyway, a few weeks ago, Jovie got into my spaghetti box for the umpteenth time. 

"Jovie!!!  Why can't you learn that playing with pasta is not a good idea?!  This is not a fun game!"

"Not a fun game?  What planet are you on?  Of course it's fun.  I just shook a box of noodles which made a cool sound and then got to see them scatter all over the floor.  Next you squealed and squinched up your face in that ridiculous way.  And best of all, we got to pick up all the pasta and put it back in the box--a toddler's favorite game!  Hey Brainiac, I'm not even three feet tall.  Put the pasta on a higher shelf.  Until you start learning from your mistakes, game on."  (Jovie's thoughts as interpreted by her big blue eyes and impish grin.) 


At least my oh-so-wise mother has the sense to strip me down for spaghetti night.

Prideful moment #3: We need to give to those who aren't blessed with as much as we are.

It's been my mantra lately. Stuff has been getting to me.  It is breeding in the same way that the carpet stains are breeding.  And the toys!  There's so many of them.  So many UNPLAYED with toys.  I told the boys to start gathering stuff to give away, including one stuffed animal each.  I was beaming with pride as they collected their piles to give to charity.  But my proud eyes suddenly turned into a scowl.  Corbin chose a stuffed killer whale to give away.  MY stuffed killer whale. 

"Corbin, that whale is mine.  It's not yours to give away."
"Well, why can't you give it away?" he asked.
"Because it's mine.  I'm letting you guys borrow it for a bit.  Isn't that nice of Mommy?  But, it's my very special Shamu-mu.  We can't give it away." 

Shamu-mu is indeed my very special whale.  What kid doesn't dream of owning a stuffed killer whale?  Although I was 17 when I got him, so calling myself a kid is a bit of a stretch.  But don't worry.  After that conversation, I totally saw my own selfishness.  Shamu-mu is now being well loved by a sweet little girl.  Whose name happens to be Jovie.  What a coincidence. 

Kids are indeed humbling.  They remind us of our own imperfections, our own stupidity, and our own absurdity.  But as much as we try to appear like we know it all and have all the answers, maybe our childlike tendencies aren't completely bad . . .