Liv is getting ready to use the potty and spots a tampon on the counter. Sorry, TMI. But it’s essential to the dialogue that follows.

Liv: “Mama, that’s to help you poop, right?”

Me: “No, Liv.”

Liv: “To help you pee?”

Me: “No, Liv.”

Liv: “Toot?”

Me: “No.” I’m just hoping she will tire of this line of questioning, finish doing her business, and move on to something else so I don’t have to go anywhere near explaining what it’s actual use is.

Liv: “Then what?”

Me: “I’ll tell you all about it when you are older.”

Liv: “Okay.” Then she runs from the bathroom, anxious to get her cowboy boots back on (don’t ask).

Sometimes I really wish this job came with a manual. I also wish that I would remember how easily Liv accepts my answers…or lack thereof.

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Yesterday, Kyle and the kids waited in the car while I ran sprinted into the library to pick up Book 9 in the Sookie Stackhouse series (don’t ask me how the library got it before it’s release date, but South Euclid is hooked up).

I get back in the car smiling at the thought of my Bon Temps escape.

Kade: “Mama, you love vampires.” This is a statement. Not a question.

Me: “Kade, I love to read about vampires.”

Kade: “You kiss vampires.” (said in the tune of na-na-na-boo-boo).

Me: “I can’t kiss a vampire because they aren’t real.”

Kade: Sings. “I am a vampire. I am a vampire. But I have lost my fangs again.” See Juno soundtrack.

Now you know why I love that kid? He’s funny. Really. Really. Funny.

I’ve had so many posts just begging to be written, but Facebook and Twitter seem so much easier to bang out. Alas, the blog has been left by the wayside…sad and lonely. This particular post keeps resurfacing with me, so it’s time to write…more than 140 characters that is.

I had my first “diabetes event” experience last week. Animas and Camp Ho Mita Koda brought in Rick Philbin who gave a talk about diabetes and sports, which was geared to the parents of children with type 1 diabetes, but I was hoping for some guidance for my running and lousy blood sugar past. I never expected to walk into such a packed room (there were over 100 people there). I counted five kids who walked past me with their little insulin pump pouches hanging from their hip. It made me scream inside. Okay, so I have to deal with this crap, but why kids? Seriously. Why?

The people I noticed even more, though, were the parents. They moved table to table, devouring all of the latest information on insulin pumps, glucose monitors, advocacy, camp, you name it. I watched them discuss basal rates and how they treat lows and what pump their child was using. This was their disease just as much as it was their child’s. I was proud of them, of their knowledge, of their desire to learn more and do more. I saw the fear in the eyes of a mother whose child was diagnosed one month ago. I saw the beaming smiles of a father whose daughter knew all of the answers to the speaker’s questions. I saw my tired mama eyes reflected in the eyes of many of the parents and understood that raising children is tough, but throw in a chronic disease and it’s got to be damn near exhausting (and the worry…can you even imagine the worry?).

I met a friend of a friend who has had type 1 for over 20 years and is currently pregnant with her first child. She is a diabetes educator and nurse and told me that she had to help two different families that week with 2-year old children who were recently diagnosed (again, why?). She said when the parents found out that she too had type 1, they couldn’t believe that she looked so “normal.” They imagined their children would grow up to look sickly and visibly different. The desire to be just like everyone else runs deep, and these parents would do anything to give it to their children. It’s the normalcy that we are all after, which is why it actually felt good to be in a room that was full of beeping pumps and clicking lancets. We rarely get to forget about this invisible disease and just be.

The speaker was very engaging, articulate and informed. He was an athletic, 32 year old when diagnosed with Type 1, which immediately peaked my interest and connected me to his experience. I learned a tremendous amount and was smacked in the face with the fact that nearly everything I was doing before, during and after a run had been wrong, or at least detrimental to performance. He gave me the tools to perform to the best of my ability during a race, rather than simply get through the run. I’m anxious to put it to use, but I have to get my arse past the 8 mile mark I’ve been stuck at.

He gave these families inspiration. Their children don’t have to be like everyone else. They can not only play sports, but excel at them. Diabetes may be a challenge, but it is not insurmountable.

Who wants to be like everyone else, really? I’d much rather be great.

Kade: Mama, you are hott.

Kyle: Kade, do you even know what that means?

Kade: Yes, I have a sexy mama.

Okay…I guess he does know what that means, but he did not learn it from me. I swear.

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Me: Liv, you are a ragamuffin. Please wipe your mouth.

About an hour later, while cleaning up from dinner…

Kyle: Hey little sweet petunia.

Liv: I’m not a sweet petunia. I’m a ragamuffin.

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Kade: Give me back my filet-o-fish…

Liv: Give me that fish.

They may make me scream on a daily basis, but they also make me laugh. It’s all about balance…

Running in sunshine does wonders for the soul (and my blood sugar…currently a perfect 124).

Apparently, swinging in sunshine does wonders for the soul too (the kids are basking in it’s glow right now).

Hopefully, cleaning up dog crap fits into the same category because that’s what Kyle is doing at the moment…poor guy.

I guess it’s what we all needed…ahhh, Spring.

I baked way too many of these.

And I even managed to make this, thanks to the kind woman at the local cake supply store who thought I was slightly crazy, but was nice enough not to say it out loud as she dug though her back store-room to find Halloween sugar decorations for me…on the first day of Spring.

I even survived a house full of costumed children who were hopped up on sugar.

And an equally crammed house-full of family on Sunday because I had the brilliant idea of knocking out both the friend and family parties in one weekend. Note to self: next year, give yourself at least a few days in between to recoup, or make sure there is some Glenlivet in the liquor cabinet. Either one will suffice.

My son, who is now 5 and holding for the next two years because I can’t imagine going through another birthday weekend until then, loved every minute of both of his parties. Seriously…just look at those pearly whites.

Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite. He can shout demands and order his minions around like nobody’s business, but those fangs are harmless.

After all the festivities (and 7 days full of craziness this week), I’m slowly coming back to life. I haven’t been on Facebook in almost two weeks so I feel completely disconnected from the world, and I’m too afraid to log on because of the daunting task of catching up, so please bear with me.

I’m still coming to terms with the fact that my son is 5. A friend asked me last week if I was sentimental about it because when her oldest turned 5, it was emotional for her. I told her that I was more emotional about Liv turning 3 than I was about Kade’s upcoming birthday (the typical “no more babies in the house” thing), but on Saturday night after the party was over, the mess was cleaned up, the house was quiet, and my tired children were snuggled up on my lap, it hit me. I held Kade close and cried into his hair as I wished him the happiest of birthdays. Liv asked me why I was sad. I told her that my tears were happy tears because I was so proud of her brother and how he has grown. They were thankful tears because he may be 5, but he isn’t too old to let me hold him close, rock him, and tell him I love him. They were sad tears too, because I will never get these 5 years back, but when I think of what’s to come I can’t help but smile. Until I think about high school. I am so not ready for that…

Kyle and I aren’t Goth (although this summer my aunt asked me if I was because my toes were painted with black polish), we don’t dabble in the Dark Arts, and our home isn’t decorated with ravens, skulls and red velvet, but we’ve managed to have a child who is obsessed with Halloween, skeletons (especially Jack Skellington), vampires, and all things spooky, frightening and just plain odd. Apologies to all the Goth, Dark Art dabbling, Edgar Allen Poe-design-style folks out there…didn’t mean to stereotype you. I just wanted to make a point that Kade didn’t get this from us. To be honest, I’m wondering if he caught the bug from my grandmother.  She is a witch (not of the Dark Art variety, but of the earth-loving, wiccan strain)…and she does decorate with ravens, skulls and velvet, and maybe she did read Poe to me at bedtime. Okay, so mystery solved. On with the post.

So that’s the theme…Halloween. In March.

I think it’s pretty freaking cool. And the decorating and planning will be easy since Kade knew he wanted a Halloween birthday party the day after his Spiderman party last March, which gave me an entire year to plan and buy discounted crap at the after-Halloween sales.

It’s the cake I’m worried about. I’ve set a precedent and it’s now biting me in the backside.

It all started out so simple…

Then he had to go and fall in love with The Wiggles (I can’t take credit for the store-bought sheet cake, but the Big Red Car was all mine).

Then things really got interesting when he decided on the pirate theme. This had to be the most fun I’ve ever had making a cake. It even made me think I could do it for a living, but taking two days to complete one cake doesn’t seem all that lucrative).

Last year’s was tedious and time-consuming (still nothing compared to the Ariel cake) and I had the bright idea of making spiderweb cupcakes to go with it because I have absolutely no idea how many people one cake will serve when it isn’t shaped like a circle, square or rectangle.

And that leaves me with next weekend. Two parties. Two cakes. One mama. And a ticking clock…

I’m thinking Jack Skellington cupcakes for the kids party (totally doable and requires no frosting tinting…bonus). We can always throw in other Halloween-like characters too, but that might require me to dye and bag a crap-load of frosting, which is not the goal here.

And a tombstone cake for the family. Or maybe a vampire cake. I’ll make it a surprise.

Actually, I love making the cake for my kids birthdays. I’m not a crafty, hands-on, let’s get messy kind of mama. But twice a year I get creative and put my heart and soul into something that takes two days (or more) to make and lasts but a few hours before it disappears forever. It’s my gift to them. And sometimes, just sometimes, it’s their favorite one…

She was a pro, sitting there with her cape on, all excited about being a “big girl…just like Kade.” Thinking back to the screaming fit that was Kade’s first haircut experience just made me smile, and I can’t even begin to tell you the flood of relief I got when I realized that now I don’t have to argue all morning with little miss “no pigtails today, mama.”

I pulled the camera out when we got home and managed some shots. And for some reason, it just hit me…my kids are big and grown up and so far from being babies that I feel almost panicked that it’s happened too fast and I’ve missed something.

You can look at those little faces every day, but I guess it takes a photo to really “see” them.

In reality, the only reason I am able to get my pump infusion sets in without a problem is because I use a rapid inserter that is primed and when I push the button the needle shoots into my skin with no thought on my part. I could never go back to injections. I would aim the needle over ten times before finally puncturing my skin, which I always did much too slowly because I would chicken out at the last second. It hurt. And my food was always cold by the time I finally could sit down to eat it.

I fought like crazy to get my glucose sensors covered by insurance, but inserting them makes me pass out so I haven’t used them in months and my control over fluctuating blood sugars is suffering because of it.

I have to have my blood drawn every three months in order to find out my A1c level, which is a measure of how “well” your blood sugar has been controlled. My dreaded visit to the lab was this morning and I still have to look away while the tech does their thing. I have been known to pass out, which almost happened this morning right in front of my two-year-old daughter…

Liv could tell I was having problems (she was unfazed by the needle in my arm collecting vials of blood) and gave me her pink teddy bear to hold on to. It worked. Looking at Liv centered me and the fuzzy blackness that was closing in started to clear, the sweating subsided, and I managed to stay conscious. Just barely.

When I was having my blood drawn to find out if we were pregnant with Kade, I dropped like a rock. Thank goodness Kyle was with me, but I was a mess. It was a hot day in July and I had on a tight pair of cotton pants. I had to ride the bus back to our apartment with sweat stains that outlined my ass…lovely.

Although I’ve always told myself and the world that I gave birth to both of my children without meds because I wanted the experience, I really think it’s because I was more afraid of the pain of the epidural than I was of the pain of childbirth.

Maybe two years isn’t enough? Maybe it’s a five year learning curve before I’m totally desensitized? Whatever the case, I’m looking forward to the day that needles don’t make me cringe in fear…and pass out…and cry like a baby.

I’ll tell you…

It happened this morning at Giant Eagle. At the exact moment I decided that tuna noodle casserole sounded like a fine option for dinner this evening.

What’s next? A minivan? A “my kid’s smarter than your kid” bumper sticker? Mom-jeans?

Oh well, at least it’s not Tuna Helper…

Sorry, Mom. You know I love you…and your jeans…and your tuna helper.