Friday… But wait there’s more!

Oh yeeeeah baby…

6 more hours OT tomorrow!

I’m Fucking T.I.R.E.D.

BUT… I had a very productive week at work, plus I can add on all I get done tomorrow without interruptions…

Princess Punk is still speaking to me… She is even folding laundry without complaint… Alternate universe anyone?

The Zen Master is in a decent mood and had homemade cookies (ok, Pillsbury fridge cookies but still fresh-baked) coming out of the oven as I walked in the front door like some 50’s-era housewife. The only thing missing was the martini.. or gin and tonic… or whatever those stereotypical 50’s dads drank. I brought my own wine so it’s all good.

Who needs sex anyway?? Ok… I’ll leave that one alone.

I have a BIG glass of fairly cheap White Zin (not a screw-top but damn close)

I have a whole pint of Ben and Jerry’s Pistachio-Pistachio ice cream all to myself.

Assuming The Peach is cooperative (which is likely since it’s almost 8pm and she’s still making kisses at The Zen Master) I will get an extra hour of sleep tomorrow.

After my OT tomorrow, I plan to finish my grocery shopping. And yes, I am over-budget this week, but I did work it out and after my OT pay, I still have enough left over to put a chunk into our sunken savings.

I will actually have TWO whole days off this week. Because I am NOT working on Labor Day, even though it would probably be a good opportunity for a decent chunk of OT.

I’m going to do naughty things to you Doughboy…

Tomorrow morning, I plan to have a lovely breakfast with The Princess including eggs, Scrapple (Oh. My. God. If you haven’t ever tried it… Do. Just don’t look at the ingredients or nutritional info…) and Pillsbury (are you noticing a trend? Can you say coo-pun?) Flaky Cinnamon Rolls.

I might be able to get something done around the house this weekend. But if I don’t? I. Honestly. Don’t. Care.

So it’s Friday. Bring it.

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Holy Gray Hair Batman!

It’s official.

I’m old.

Ok, not old but… I’m aging. Not that I really give a shit but every day I seem to have sprouted at least 5-6 more gray hairs. I don’t care too much about the gray, it’s not like I’m going to run out and buy some Nice N’ Easy or something. I kinda feel like it’s a badge of honor. The thing that is hitting me is…

OMG, you mean Will Smith was a RAPPER???

I’m like… Grown up. Not, “I’m a grown-up, a responsible adult” kind of grown up but more akin to, holy-shit-I’m-a-33-year-old-married-mother-of-a-teenager grown up. I’m older, an age where the music I like is played on the “decade” stations; 90’s Rock, 90’s alternative, Mellow 90’s. Oh and my favorite? Old-skool hip-hop. Really?

I knew the dance an e’rethang…

 

I make pop culture references that adults I talk to don’t get because they’re too young. I call my daughter’s music “crap” (cuz the stuff I listened to at her age was so good… insert NKOTB joke here) and the idea of going to a bar to hang out is absolutely ludicrous. And I’m going gray. Oh yeah, and I guess since my body doesn’t want to make me feel too old… I have raging acne too. My skin was damn near perfect all through my teens and 20’s. I turned 30 and now I have acne that is rivaling my daughter’s. Woo.

It’s friggin weird. Part of me doesn’t feel like I’m old enough to be getting gray hair and part of me is wondering why I didn’t get them sooner. And really… Pimples? Come ON…

If you have to ask who they are, you’re too goddamn young.

I don’t know how to put into words…

… How much it sucks to be the parent of a pre-teen/teen with a potentially life-threatening chronic illness.

It totally sucks sweaty donkey balls. (gross right? Nastiest I could come up with at the moment)

Princess Punk is going to kill me. Slowly, a teeny bit at a time, she is going to cause me to lose enough brain cells from the stress of worrying about her that my brain will cease telling my heart to beat and I’m just going to drop dead.

Yeah, because this is what a 12yo wants to deal with 24/7

We’re staying on Princess Punk as much as possible but we can’t watch her 24/7. She had a waking blood sugar (Bg) of 247 this morning, a high morning number even for her (she has been running around 150-180) so I told her to test again at school around 9-930 and if it was still over 250 to do another injection site change for her pump (even though she did one last night). She’s using her arms all the time and eventually scar tissue will build up and then ~poof~ shitty insulin delivery and she’s not getting what she needs. Nurse calls me at 11:20 and she’s 405. She apparently “forgot” to test at 9. After several text message reminders from me and a verbal reminder from The Zen Master on her way out the door. I told the nurse to have her do a site change and to be sure The Princess uses her belly and NOT her arm. At 1:30 and when she got off the bus at about 3:30 her Bg was in the 200’s. Better but still too high. Oh, and when she got home? In her arm.

“I DIDuse my belly but I wasn’t getting any insulin so I had to change it. Gawdmom….”

Sweet.

Honestly?
Totally at a loss. I don’t know how much more I can do. She has to take some kind of responsibility for her own health. She is 12 years old. She will be a teenager in a few short weeks. She’s a KID. Not an adult. Thinking about it logically, it’s ludicrous to put the responsibility of someone’s long term health and LIFE on the shoulders of someone that young.  But it is what it is. That’s life for her now. For us. All of us. And it will effect every part of her life from now until forever or until they find a cure. So we deal. That’s what we do. Someone at work said something about how they admire me, for dealing with all the shit me and my family have been through the past few years.

But that’s just it… It’s our life. It’s what we do, it is what it is. I’m bipolar. So is my mom. I deal with awful chronic pain and a fucked up digestive system from bariatric surgery and massive weight loss. My eldest daughter has a chronic illness that she will deal with for the rest of her life and if she doesn’t learn how to manage it and soon, she will end up with major organ damage and be facing the possibility of limb amputation, blindness, kidney failure and death. My younger daughter is happy and healthy but required a shit load of trying, emotional and physical turmoil and lost her twin before she even became more than just a cluster of cells. We’re broke. We live in a house that is too small (or at least too cramped) for our family and there’s no way to sell it. But we deal. We press on, we live our lives. We love each other. We can laugh together and we can comfort each other when we cry. We have jobs. We have a roof over our heads. We have each other. So everything else? It’s just shit that happens. We live with it. We work it into our lives because all of that shit? All of those things that totally suck and make things hard? They are a part of us too. They make us who we are.  It’s not to be admired. Respected maybe but not admired. We’re surviving and we’re okay and that’s our life. And all together? In it’s totality? Looking at the big picture? We’re pretty fucking lucky. So The D-Monster will NOT conquer Princess Punk. She’s too strong for that. WE’RE too strong for that. So again I say-

Fuck you Diabetes. Fuck you and your big sweaty donkey balls.

At least hers is pink… Oh shit… she HATES pink. Fuck.

Princess Punk needs a wake-up call

We saw Princess Punk’s endocrinologist and psychiatrist last week. Her Hemoglobin A1c, a test that gives an average blood sugar for the past 3 months has been creeping up all summer. 2 months ago it was 8.9 (which translates to an average blood sugar of about 200) and last week it was 9.2 (roughly 220). Obviously, this is not a good thing. When we saw her doctor 2 months ago, we were both chastised; her for being non-compliant, and me for not monitoring her better. Looking at a summary report downloaded from her insulin pump, it was VERY clear she had not been checking her blood sugar as often as she should and she was frequently not covering the food she was eating with a bolus of insulin. Unfortunately, this means that although her blood sugars ranged mostly from about 140 to over 500, there was no way to adjust the amount of insulin she was getting because the doctor didn’t know if that 562 at 4pm was because her insulin dosage wasn’t right or because she ate a cookie and didn’t bolus.

Say the doc goes by the numbers and changes the lunchtime bolus from 1 unit of insulin to every 8 grams of carbohydrates eaten to maybe 1 unit of insulin to every 6 grams of carbohydrates eaten. Doesn’t seem like a big change right? But say that 562 that The Princess had was because she hadn’t had ANY insulin at all. Then she “remembers” to bolus at lunch with the updated ratios and all of a sudden her blood sugar takes a nose dive and she ends up unconscious because now she has too much insulin. Confused yet? Welcome to my life.

Anyway. Doc tells us that if we can’t get our shit together and make sure she is testing her blood sugar regularly and covering what she eats with the right amount of insulin, Princess Punk will have to be admitted to the hospital for a week so she can be monitored 24/7 so her dosages can be adjusted correctly. Actually, what she said was, “Do you vant to go downstairz and be admitted now or should ve vait for a month and see if ve can get zis under better control? Becauze right now I can do nuhzing vith zis.” Princess Punk’s endocrinologist is a young, petite woman of some sort of slavic origin who has a body that I am simultaneously jealous and appreciative of. Sidetracked… Anyway, I left the clinic feeling like a total failure as a parent and concerned and upset that my (big) little girl is facing some major problems if we don’t get this under control soon. I’m talking kidney dialysis in her 20’s kind of problems. When we returned last week, terrified that we weren’t going to actually be able to leave, Dr. Hottie said her compliance was slightly better and she had enough information to make some tweaks to start getting this kid’s blood sugar under control. We are to return in 6 weeks to review and recheck HgA1c to see if it has improved at all. If it continues to go up, Dr. Hottie will be hospitalizing Princess Punk.

And when we met with her psychiatrist the following day, he suggested we look into behavioral therapy. Which would require us driving to Burlington at least every other week for sessions. Because we don’t have enough doctor appointments to go to.

On the way to the car, Princess Punk said,

“I’m tired of having to see all these different people. I don’t like talking to them, they’re grown-ups. Ugh.”

Me too kiddo.

And just to really drive it home how much this sucks, we went to dinner at Texas Roadhouse and when we asked for a copy of the nutritional information, the waitress looked at us like we were retarded.

“The calorie info is printed right there on the menu.”

“Yes, but we need the carbohydrate count. So we need the nutrition info.”

“Um… We don’t have that.”

“I’m sure you have something, somewhere. I’m sure people don’t ask for it very often but we really need it.”

(now she’s getting snippy) “I’ll go ask my manager.”

Manager comes to the table…

” I understand you are asking for the nutrition information? We don’t have that available. As you can see, the calorie count is right on the menu.”

“Yes, I can see that. Unfortunately, that’s not really helpful since we need to know how much carbohydrates are in the kid’s rib basket because my daughter has diabetes and we need to know how much insulin to give her.”

“Oh. I can understand that.” Really? Could you? Somehow I doubt it “Let me see if I can find it online for you.”

“No, I’m sorry, I couldn’t find it online anywhere. I agree, we probably should have that information available.” (REALLY? Nooooo)

And that was it… Aside from a rather fake-looking “I’m sorry” face and then a complete avoidance of eye contact we didn’t get anything else from the manager. The waitress looked alternately annoyed and full of pity. I don’t know which pissed me off more. I spent a good portion of the meal trying not to cry.

I shouldn’t have to tell a complete stranger that my daughter has diabetes. Ok. I mean most of you reading this are complete strangers but I mean why should I have to announce to a restaurant manager and his pissy waitress that my daughter has a chronic disease?  Princess Punk is self-conscious enough. IT’S NOT THEIR FUCKING BUSINESS. And why should I be made to feel like I have to justify why we need to know the goddamn carbohydrate count on some friggin ribs? Like we’ve put our 12-year-old on the Atkins diet and are trying to keep her under 30 grams of carbs for that 2-week startup phase.

Fuck you. Really. And Fuck you too Diabetes, you suck.

And she’s not even technically a teenager for 6 weeks

Princess Punk and I got in a fight the other night… Sort of.

I made dinner for my mom at their house as her birthday present. Prior to dinner, I asked The Princess to set the table and get things ready for dinner and whatnot. She managed to tear herself away from facebook for a total of 90 seconds to toss some dishes on the table. Keep in mind, she had already been on the computer at my mom’s house for at least an hour, had watched television for an hour before that and had spent the entire morning watching TV at home. She generally has a 2-hour per day limit on screen time, which includes pretty much everything except texting on her phone. So I thought I was being pretty nice letting her lay about and be lazy all day and watch TV and play on the computer. Not to mention that although she cleaned our kitchen that morning, she had done a piss-poor job and had not cleaned her room or bathroom as she is supposed to do before any electronic device clicks on. But I let it slide. I figured she could take it easy a bit before school started and whatever, it was fine for her to slack off for a day or two. SO I was mildly annoyed when she copped a tude when I asked her to please tear herself away from the computer for a few more minutes and make the table look nice, make sure there were hot pads to put serving dishes on and to make sure everyone had a clean plate and silverware. But I took a deep breath and I let it slide. Again. I figured we were both a little grumpy since it was at least an hour past our normal dinner time since my parents’ idea of an “early dinner” is about 7:30pm. So we ate dinner and had a lovely time and all chuckled at The Peach eating Cheerios and banging her head against the table and then looking around to make sure everyone was watching before she put on The Pout and started crying. My dad started making peach ice cream (that would be the fruit, not the baby)for dessert in their fancy assed ice cream maker (which I honestly can’t begrudge them for buying because the stuff my dad makes is sooooooooooooo good). I’m not sure honestly how it came to be that Princess Punk was cleaning the kitchen, I assumed someone asked her to start as it had already been decided (and amicably agreed to by The Princess herself) that would be her contribution to Mima’s birthday dinner. Regardless, all I hear is her stomping about and slamming dishes around in the kitchen. My mom called from the living room,

“Why are you stomping around? If you’re mad, please don’t take it out on my dishes…”

STOMP STOMP STOMP SLAM BANG

I took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. At this point I didn’t really give a shit why she was mad. I told her (nicely and calmly, I swear) to please stop slamming dishes around before she broke something. Her response was to take the most expensive platter my parents own and slam it into the dishwasher. I’m really glad it didn’t break or I might be writing this from jail right now from either killing her or standing by while my father did. (I am taking some creative license here; don’t go calling child protective services or anything) I did however slap her. ON THE ARM AND NOT VERY HARD. I don’t even think it made a red mark. I have no idea though because she started crying hysterically and screaming “I HATE YOU!” as she ran out of the kitchen and slammed herself into her room (which is actually the guest room at my mom’s house but is where The Princess resides when staying over there).

I took a deep breath and walked back into the living room.

My dad, sitting on the couch said,

“What the hell is her problem?”

I couldn’t come up with an adequate answer and shrugged and proceeded to start packing up The Peach’s stuff to get ready to go home. It had already been established that Princess Punk was spending the night over there and at that point, I didn’t have the energy to deal with her anymore. I quietly confiscated The Princess’ DS as a consequence for being rude and careless with other people’s things.  I put away the food, packed up my computer, had some lovely homemade ice cream and a small slice of carrot cake and gave The Peach a bottle. Princess Punk emerged from her room long enough to skulk around the dining room (I’m assuming she was deciding if she was going to wait until I left to have dessert) and pointedly ignore me. I remained calm, strapped the now sleeping Peach into her car seat and gave my goodnight kisses. I went into the kitchen, told Princess Punk I loved her, gave her a kiss on the cheek and went home. She said not a word. She sent me a text a few minutes after I got home that simply said,

Y dd u take my ds?

That’s all I got.

She apologized the next day and was relatively un-pissy for the rest of the week which was somewhat of a relief given the total insanity. 2 days after the initial blow-up, she finally got around to cleaning the kitchen at my mom’s. The Zen Master made her fold the laundry mountain and she has been otherwise moderately helpful. Things have been generally calm. This should make me feel good that my eldest is actually acting like a human being for a few days but all I can do is dread the inevitable moment that she will slide back into a hormone-induced funk that will produce behavior that will cause me to lose another piece of what remaining sanity I have left.

Why can’t I just enjoy the calm? Even just reading back over this post I see I spent a lot of time describing the bad and little time dwelling on the good. That can’t be right. Maybe she would have a better attitude for a longer period of time if I wasn’t expecting the shit-storm.

Or maybe she’s just a teenager (almost) and I should just suck it up.

It’s been a loooong time…

Okay, I suck, but I totally have an excuse…

This past week has been CRAZY. Like 14-hour-day minumum, 2 1/2 tanks of gas, 15 new gray hairs crazy. Monday I worked 12 hours. Tuesday, Princess Punk had endocrinologist (1 hour drive one way) then work til 7. Wednesday, work at 6:30a then Princess Punk had psychiatrist (1 hour drive one way), running errands with my mom, argument with my mom, home 9-10ish? Thursday, Princess Punk’s First day of school, 12 hours at work with a nice lunch break with some friends (one of which is moving to FREAKING TEXAS ~sob~) then home to cornrow Princess Punk’s hair. The Peach decided sleep was overrated and was up til 10:30p. Which, by the way, was the most time to that point I got to spend with her awake all week when she wasn’t strapped into the carseat behind me (well, not directly behind me but whatever). Friday morning, a moment to breathe, 30 extra minutes of sleep (Thank GOD), breakfast with my girls, took Princess Punk with her freshly braided hair to school, The Peach to my mom’s, cuppa coffee with mom, PT then work til 7. Collapse into bed while murmuring something that kinda sounded like “I love you” to my husband. Today… going to a crafts fair with my mom to help her out with her stuff… She has a tent this time! Then home by probably 3ish, hopefully get some laundry done and maybe I will get a chance to visit my mother-in-law in the hosptal this weekend although that’s another hour drive one way.

And on top of all that of course was The Pain. And since I was getting home so late I didn’t dare take the ativan for fear I would be completely unable to function when I most needed to be in high gear. So I went through 2 (um, large) bottles of wine throughout the week to alleviate enough of the pain so I could get a few hours of sleep. I was actually pretty worried about how much I was drinking until I got the ativan and I was able to completely stop without a second thought. So it really was pain relief and I wasn’t using the pain as an excuse to drink. Which is good to know. Because a drinking problem is the one thing that would truly drive The Zen Master away from me (and not just The Fear, he has actually said it) and that’s just a horrible thought.

Damn. It made me tired just typing that.

Next week should be a teeny bit better… I should get home by dinner time at least twice during the week!

FB posts from a bored pre-teen

In the process of trying to keep my mind occupied while worrying about my MIL’s surgery today (out of surgery now and in ICU but will probably need a pacemaker on top of everything else) I was monitoring my older spawn’s internet usage… which has increased exponentially since the fact she has realized she starts back at school in a week (THANK GOD)…

Princess Punk’s Facebook Posts today…

about an hour ago

to show how retarded i am
i walked into a wall starded laughing and said ” i wouldnt b on the floor laughing if the wall just had the balls to move itself” …..then i starded laughing even more

2 hours ago

Z.A.- How do u spell H.I.V
Me- H.I.V
Z.A.- U possitive?
Me- No
Z.A.- Then your dum?
Me- Maybe i am…. wat does I.M S.T.U.P.I.D spell
Z.A.-………Um…. I’m Stupid?
Me- Yes yes u r

2 hours ago

2 hours ago

August 11

What guys think in there head:
I love you ( I hate you)
I love you ( I hate you)
I love you ( I hate you)
I hate you ( I love you)

Oh yeah… She’s my kid alright.

 

Oh, and BTW….

To my mom (the one who birthed me that is…)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOMMY!

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