I recently discovered that many more people than I thought are reading this blog. It is so funny to think that I am in isolation when writing and sharing any information, but the truth be told there could be at least 461 people reading what I write. (461 is the number of Facebook friends that I have and the only place that I publicize the fact that I have written something) Anonymity sorta gives you a feeling like you are sharing your story, but that only a very limited number are actually reading it. Sitting in my office at home gives me a feeling of being anonymous, when really I am not that at all. Funny how my thoughts began to change when 3 people in 1 day told me that they had read this blog. My first thought was oh goodness, should I have posted that? It's easy to tell friends about troubles in your life or events that happen, and even funny to fill them in on craziness that comes your way, but when you post a blog you are sharing your story with so many more (possibly). My next thought was I wonder what they think of me now? Usually I walk around with a smile on my face and lots of laughter coming out of my lungs. What can I say? I am a happy person. The credit for all of that is the Lord's. However, there are times when it is much easier faking a smile than trying to explain a frown. I have mastered the "poker face."
My last post was not jolly. I know that most of my friends are used to the jolly person and I also know that my closest friends know there is much more to me than a quick smile and a loud laugh. The funny part about this blog is that I forget that others are viewing my inner most thoughts. Until recently, the posts were light hearted and funny because that is the best part of life. Besides, my parents make great comedy (not on purpose) and I just want others to realize what "crazy" can look like. So one of my readers told me that my last post made her cry. I didn't know how to feel about that. I don't want to make people cry over my writing. I also don't want others to think that I am a Debbie Downer. With that being said, I also want people to know the truth about me.
I want you to know that I am sad. Sad about still being single. Sad that I don't have children. I'm struggling in a way that hurts way down deep and I am seeking answers and advice where ever possible. Just know this, that I hope that my life continues to have lots of laughter and fun, but bare with me if it takes a slight downward slide. I appreciate the comments that come my way and please let me know if you are reading. There is just something about knowing that someone already knows your story that makes this intriguing.
:o|
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
This is not what I expected …
There are a million and one things that I could write about tonight, but for some reason this is what is on my mind. “This” being what I have expected out of my life. I will admit to thinking that 5 years ago, 10 years ago, 15 years ago, 20 years ago (I’ve been teaching my students to count by 5s.) I had a pretty decent life picked out for myself. This life that I'm living is not what I expected …
One of the most vivid conversations I remember having with my grandmother on a hot summer day was my desire not to return to school. I mentioned in passing that I wished that I never had to go back and she decided that was an opportune moment for a life lesson. She said that I had a lot more school years left ahead of me. I would have to go to middle school, then graduate from high school, and after that go to at least 4 years of college. I also remember thinking in that moment that she was “crazy” and that I would never go to college. What a shock that I now hold 4 degrees. This is not what I expected …
I always thought that after college I would return home to the place I love most (the North Georgia mountains) and begin my teaching career at my former elementary school as a 2nd grade teacher. I used to imagine about a classroom of my own while I was still in elementary school myself. I stood before a small chalkboard and mimicked the things that I heard throughout my day. “Turn to page 54, write down the words in bold print, turn to the glossary in the back, and write the definition for each word. When you have completed this assignment, bring it to me to check.” I practiced this speech until it was perfected in my little voice with just the right amount of firmness and love. Now I never get to say that. Instead, I repeat 100 times a day, “Write your name on your paper, sit down on your behind, and STOP TALKING!” However, for those of you who are wondering, we will get to the glossary (and its purpose) soon. I do this all in a 1st grade classroom in Dawson County in a school that I helped open, 8 years ago as a 2nd year teacher. This is not what I expected …
From a very young age, I dressed up in a white night gown that belonged to my mom and pranced around the house like a bride. I married several different men. The men included, but were not limited to, Scott Baio, Kirk Cameron, and in later years Dean Cain (when he was playing Superman). I cooked dinner while taking care of the children and rode to the grocery store in my Volvo. Really I was just playing around in my parent’s ’79 lemon yellow Toyota truck. I married right out of college. I had a lavish wedding with lots of guests. Did I mention that I had at least 4 wedding showers? We got everything we registered for. I only worked for a few years before starting to grow our family. We rented for a few years and then bought some property and built a huge house. None of this has happened for me. Instead I did not marry right out of college. I did not get the Volvo, but I did get a Rodeo and I bought a 1970s house on a little under 2.5 acres of land that I love. I live alone in my 3 bedroom 2 bath house with no one else’s laundry to do, but my own. I pay all the bills with the Lord’s help and for now, the bank and I own my house. In just under 27 years, it will all be mine! This is not what I expected …
In my life plan at the almost tender age of 33 (my 33rd birthday is only 6 months away), I envisioned 2 or 3 children with my last name. By the way, while I was thinking this, I once thought it would be one boy and one girl, or one boy and 2 girls, and then it turned into 3 girls, then triplet girls, then triplets with 2 girls and a boy. What I have instead are 17 students. I get to celebrate some of the most amazing future champions of this world every day. I know that one day they are going to be productive citizens that contribute to society in big and small ways, but for now I am just teaching them to read and write and learn their math facts while also teaching them empathy (this must be developed by the age of 8 or it will never come to fruition). I get to celebrate other people’s children all the time, but none of my own. This is not what I expected …
Life has not really turned out the way that I thought it would. I had big dreams as a child and have seen dreams that I never dared to dream come true. I am more blessed than anyone I know, but I will admit that there are some dreams that I am still waiting on. This is not what I expected … It is so much more and in some ways so much less!
:o|
:o|
Thursday, September 23, 2010
It's All About the Bees!
As usual on my way home from work, I called my mom to check in. We discussed current events about the day and finished up with plans for the evening. I had a few new purchases to return and thought tonight would be a good time to get that accomplished. I also wanted to do something that required no thinking and/or someone calling out Ms. Gaddis while tapping on my arm (just a few of the joys of being a 1st grade teacher). As we are ending up the phone conversation, my mom throws in a very interesting tid bit of information.
There are a few things you should know before I continue. The first is that my dad NEVER does anything half way. If he decides that he wants to get a bird feeder, he buys 5 of the most expensive ones, rushes home to fill them with 50 pounds of seed, and will even build metal stands to hang them from. Notice that he can't just have one. He needs many. My dad has more hobbies than anyone I have ever known. He is never bored because he is always experiencing something new. What I am telling you is that my dad has done it all. He has an expired pilot's license. He has developed his own photography. He can make pens and other fun things from wood. He has more tools than Lowe's, Sears, and Home Depot all put together. With these tools, he has fixed many things. (He likes to tell us every time he uses a tool that it "sure is a good thing I have this useless tool" wink, wink.) The only problem is that he often has more than one of each thing. I can't tell you how many chainsaws that he owns, but never fear if there is a need to clear a forest because he alone has enough equipment. With all of this being said, my dad always has the best on the market, but also EVERYTHING that might go with it. (This drives my mother crazy. However, she is his number one enabler. If he wants it, she will do her best to make sure he gets it. He has an amazing ability to convince her that he "needs" this stuff and she falls for it every time.)
The second thing that you should know is that my dad is a wonderful teacher. When he discovers something new, he loves to share that information. I can't tell you the number of people he has taught how to do some hobby or another. (His latest interest is wood working. He creates pens, ornaments, trinkets, and other things.) So with all of his interests, he tends to spend more time teaching others how to do it than doing it himself.
The third thing you should know is that my friend, Melisa, married a man that enjoys hobbies almost as much as my dad. He tends to get really involved in something and after a little while moves on to something else. My dad began showing Ryan how to make pens (Ryan has learned how to make many more things since then) and now they have a booth in Gainesville this weekend to sell their wares. From the outside looking in, it appears that if my dad will be interested in it, then Ryan may very well follow suit before too long because wood working is not their only point of interest. Now back to the conversation with my mom.
As I am getting ready to hang up, she mentions that my dad has done something outrageous (in her opinion). I ask what and she says that he has ordered bees. (My dad has said for my entire life that he would like to have several bee hives. It appears that he has just now decided to fulfill that fantasy.) My mom discovered that he ordered three sets of bees to put into three different colonies. (This is also an appropriate time to mention that my dad has NO hives. He has said that he will be building them. He does nothing if it is not perfect so the bee hive making could take quite a long time. He only has until the spring before the bees arrive.) My mom wonders aloud why he chose to order 3 and not just start with one. As I mentioned before, he does nothing half way. If one bee hive is good, then 3 will be amazing.
My mom is relaying this information to me and is getting madder by the minute. She is frustrated that it will not just be a little bee endeavor, but a big bee event. My parents have always worked as a team and my dad made this play without consulting with her. One of the first things that she asked him was why didn't he discuss this with her before beginning this process. She figures that she might have talked him into starting small and then going big. At this point, I am already imagining him in full bee attire and she says, "He doesn't even have the clothing. He is going to have to buy all those bee clothes now, too!"
I decide to intercede to give my dad a little help in simmering my mom's anger (this is not always a good choice because I am a lot like my dad and that can sometimes have her angry at both of us when I am just trying to help). I finally stop her ranting and say, "Mom, there is one consolation in all of this." She responds with, "WHAT?" I tell her not to worry, that before long Ryan will be growing bees, too! We both died laughing and then I decided to call my dad and let him in on our conversation.
I have all of us on 3 way and start asking my dad about the bee adventure we are about to embark upon while my mom remains silent in the background. He begins filling me on all the details and when my questions become very pointed, he just says that he can't explain it, but will just have to show me. He also mentions that the honey bee is becoming extinct and that if we aren't careful we could loose a major source to growing food. (Apparently, you can't garden without honey bees.) That is when I tell my mom that she must stop being mad. Dad is being completely selfless in growing honey bees. He is doing it for all mankind. She says something along the lines of "yeah right." She also brings up the point once again that 1 or even 2 would have been enough. I ask my dad about the bee apparel and he says that he is going to have a bee keeper (friend of his) come and "rob" the hive the first time to show him how to do it. He says the only thing that he will need is a "bee" hat. (My mom says under her breath that it will probably cost $400.) I told her not to worry about the hat. We can go to Wal-mart and buy one of those lingerie laundry bags and use a baseball cap to make my dad a "bee" hat. (By the way, the cost of each colony of bees is about $75. That is very reasonable in my opinion.)
I also pointed out to mom something that she has not even considered. In one year, we will be bottling honey and before long we will all have honey money coming our way. I imagine that she was rolling her eyes, but it was too funny to resist. I will admit to being very excited about this bee adventure. Call me next fall if you are interested in purchasing organic, fresh honey. I know where you can get some.
:o)
There are a few things you should know before I continue. The first is that my dad NEVER does anything half way. If he decides that he wants to get a bird feeder, he buys 5 of the most expensive ones, rushes home to fill them with 50 pounds of seed, and will even build metal stands to hang them from. Notice that he can't just have one. He needs many. My dad has more hobbies than anyone I have ever known. He is never bored because he is always experiencing something new. What I am telling you is that my dad has done it all. He has an expired pilot's license. He has developed his own photography. He can make pens and other fun things from wood. He has more tools than Lowe's, Sears, and Home Depot all put together. With these tools, he has fixed many things. (He likes to tell us every time he uses a tool that it "sure is a good thing I have this useless tool" wink, wink.) The only problem is that he often has more than one of each thing. I can't tell you how many chainsaws that he owns, but never fear if there is a need to clear a forest because he alone has enough equipment. With all of this being said, my dad always has the best on the market, but also EVERYTHING that might go with it. (This drives my mother crazy. However, she is his number one enabler. If he wants it, she will do her best to make sure he gets it. He has an amazing ability to convince her that he "needs" this stuff and she falls for it every time.)
The second thing that you should know is that my dad is a wonderful teacher. When he discovers something new, he loves to share that information. I can't tell you the number of people he has taught how to do some hobby or another. (His latest interest is wood working. He creates pens, ornaments, trinkets, and other things.) So with all of his interests, he tends to spend more time teaching others how to do it than doing it himself.
The third thing you should know is that my friend, Melisa, married a man that enjoys hobbies almost as much as my dad. He tends to get really involved in something and after a little while moves on to something else. My dad began showing Ryan how to make pens (Ryan has learned how to make many more things since then) and now they have a booth in Gainesville this weekend to sell their wares. From the outside looking in, it appears that if my dad will be interested in it, then Ryan may very well follow suit before too long because wood working is not their only point of interest. Now back to the conversation with my mom.
As I am getting ready to hang up, she mentions that my dad has done something outrageous (in her opinion). I ask what and she says that he has ordered bees. (My dad has said for my entire life that he would like to have several bee hives. It appears that he has just now decided to fulfill that fantasy.) My mom discovered that he ordered three sets of bees to put into three different colonies. (This is also an appropriate time to mention that my dad has NO hives. He has said that he will be building them. He does nothing if it is not perfect so the bee hive making could take quite a long time. He only has until the spring before the bees arrive.) My mom wonders aloud why he chose to order 3 and not just start with one. As I mentioned before, he does nothing half way. If one bee hive is good, then 3 will be amazing.
My mom is relaying this information to me and is getting madder by the minute. She is frustrated that it will not just be a little bee endeavor, but a big bee event. My parents have always worked as a team and my dad made this play without consulting with her. One of the first things that she asked him was why didn't he discuss this with her before beginning this process. She figures that she might have talked him into starting small and then going big. At this point, I am already imagining him in full bee attire and she says, "He doesn't even have the clothing. He is going to have to buy all those bee clothes now, too!"
I decide to intercede to give my dad a little help in simmering my mom's anger (this is not always a good choice because I am a lot like my dad and that can sometimes have her angry at both of us when I am just trying to help). I finally stop her ranting and say, "Mom, there is one consolation in all of this." She responds with, "WHAT?" I tell her not to worry, that before long Ryan will be growing bees, too! We both died laughing and then I decided to call my dad and let him in on our conversation.
I have all of us on 3 way and start asking my dad about the bee adventure we are about to embark upon while my mom remains silent in the background. He begins filling me on all the details and when my questions become very pointed, he just says that he can't explain it, but will just have to show me. He also mentions that the honey bee is becoming extinct and that if we aren't careful we could loose a major source to growing food. (Apparently, you can't garden without honey bees.) That is when I tell my mom that she must stop being mad. Dad is being completely selfless in growing honey bees. He is doing it for all mankind. She says something along the lines of "yeah right." She also brings up the point once again that 1 or even 2 would have been enough. I ask my dad about the bee apparel and he says that he is going to have a bee keeper (friend of his) come and "rob" the hive the first time to show him how to do it. He says the only thing that he will need is a "bee" hat. (My mom says under her breath that it will probably cost $400.) I told her not to worry about the hat. We can go to Wal-mart and buy one of those lingerie laundry bags and use a baseball cap to make my dad a "bee" hat. (By the way, the cost of each colony of bees is about $75. That is very reasonable in my opinion.)
I also pointed out to mom something that she has not even considered. In one year, we will be bottling honey and before long we will all have honey money coming our way. I imagine that she was rolling her eyes, but it was too funny to resist. I will admit to being very excited about this bee adventure. Call me next fall if you are interested in purchasing organic, fresh honey. I know where you can get some.
:o)
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Waxing
It's time for me to get my eyebrows waxed again. For many women, this chore is not too major, but for me it is something that I dread from the time I leave getting waxed until I return. Why you ask? It's because I am literally getting my face peeled off. I realize that it hurts no matter who you are, but for me the pain is much more. (That will always be the case if you are wondering because this is all about ME!)
I leave my house with my mission in mind. My heart is pounding and I am developing a slight sheen of sweat on my forehead. I drive 5-6 minutes down the road and pull into the parking lot. My stomach starts feeling as if frogs are inside. My face turns red as I open the door and quietly pronounce that I am here for an eyebrow wax. I take the dreaded steps through the door that has a beaded entry to "ensure" privacy and I lay down on the champagne colored surgical (or not) bed. The lady who will be performing my procedure begins with small talk, but I have already begun with the wringing of my hands and I'm having a difficult time following her accent anyway. So, I just smile and nod my head when appropriate. She shoves my bangs into a teeth/claw like headband (my hair never looks pretty when I leave) and she dips the popsicle stick into the hot wax and blows to cool it down.
I am squeezing my hands together as tightly as possible and my eyes are closed. I try to think about 10 minutes from now when I feel her touch my face and apply the wax. She takes a thin strip of cloth and places it over the warm wax and then rubs it (the rubbing is not soothing at all). After about 5 seconds, she then holds my brow taught and rips the cloth that is glued to my face away. This continues over both brows and 10 minutes pass and then she takes out the terrible tweezers ...
The tweezers are used to thin out the areas in, around, and between the eyebrows. I'm still wringing my hands together because I know it isn't over yet. She takes the tweezers and begins pulling over and over and over at small hairs that are still in place. She stops and suddenly I feel relieved. I open my eyes and realize that she isn't finished, she is just comparing one side of my face to the other. She leans over me again and is back for more. Finally it is over, she hands me a mirror to take a look. (I always say it looks great because I have no energy to remain in the chair.) The masochistic lady then takes some kind of oil and does her best to remove any remnants of wax. After nearly rubbing my face off with the oil drenched cotton ball, she fills another cotton ball with aloe and smooths it over my eyebrows. It isn't soothing, it is cold and that in my opinion is the only advantage. The headband is jerked from my hair and my bangs fall into the remaining aloe. Now my hair looks greasy and unwashed. Great!
I somehow manage to sit up, put one foot in front of the other, and walk to the counter to pay. As I pull out my card, I realize that I have just spent the last 20 minutes in agony and now I am going to pay for it with a smile on my face. Have I mentioned yet what I look like? Well, this is the fascinating part. Besides having greasy parts to my hair, my entire upper face is blood red. All the way from the inside of my eyebrows to my hairline. I look as if I have been in a fight and I didn't win. The really bad part is that I will remain this way for the next 5-6 hours. So when I get a wax, I must be able to either wear my sunglasses or return home to hide out as a recluse.
I once asked someone who was waxing my eyebrows why it hurt me so bad and she said because my eyebrow hairs were "deep" in my skin. That in my opinion is a good reason to leave them there. It is not unusual for me bleed and also have the skin removed during this process. Several days after a waxing, my eyebrows will still be tender and dry due to the skin being removed. So if you happen to see me wondering around with bushy eyebrows, don't judge. It's because I have yet to work up the nerve to have my eyebrows waxed. It is really worse than having an operation because at least during an operation you can sleep.
:o)
I leave my house with my mission in mind. My heart is pounding and I am developing a slight sheen of sweat on my forehead. I drive 5-6 minutes down the road and pull into the parking lot. My stomach starts feeling as if frogs are inside. My face turns red as I open the door and quietly pronounce that I am here for an eyebrow wax. I take the dreaded steps through the door that has a beaded entry to "ensure" privacy and I lay down on the champagne colored surgical (or not) bed. The lady who will be performing my procedure begins with small talk, but I have already begun with the wringing of my hands and I'm having a difficult time following her accent anyway. So, I just smile and nod my head when appropriate. She shoves my bangs into a teeth/claw like headband (my hair never looks pretty when I leave) and she dips the popsicle stick into the hot wax and blows to cool it down.
I am squeezing my hands together as tightly as possible and my eyes are closed. I try to think about 10 minutes from now when I feel her touch my face and apply the wax. She takes a thin strip of cloth and places it over the warm wax and then rubs it (the rubbing is not soothing at all). After about 5 seconds, she then holds my brow taught and rips the cloth that is glued to my face away. This continues over both brows and 10 minutes pass and then she takes out the terrible tweezers ...
The tweezers are used to thin out the areas in, around, and between the eyebrows. I'm still wringing my hands together because I know it isn't over yet. She takes the tweezers and begins pulling over and over and over at small hairs that are still in place. She stops and suddenly I feel relieved. I open my eyes and realize that she isn't finished, she is just comparing one side of my face to the other. She leans over me again and is back for more. Finally it is over, she hands me a mirror to take a look. (I always say it looks great because I have no energy to remain in the chair.) The masochistic lady then takes some kind of oil and does her best to remove any remnants of wax. After nearly rubbing my face off with the oil drenched cotton ball, she fills another cotton ball with aloe and smooths it over my eyebrows. It isn't soothing, it is cold and that in my opinion is the only advantage. The headband is jerked from my hair and my bangs fall into the remaining aloe. Now my hair looks greasy and unwashed. Great!
I somehow manage to sit up, put one foot in front of the other, and walk to the counter to pay. As I pull out my card, I realize that I have just spent the last 20 minutes in agony and now I am going to pay for it with a smile on my face. Have I mentioned yet what I look like? Well, this is the fascinating part. Besides having greasy parts to my hair, my entire upper face is blood red. All the way from the inside of my eyebrows to my hairline. I look as if I have been in a fight and I didn't win. The really bad part is that I will remain this way for the next 5-6 hours. So when I get a wax, I must be able to either wear my sunglasses or return home to hide out as a recluse.
I once asked someone who was waxing my eyebrows why it hurt me so bad and she said because my eyebrow hairs were "deep" in my skin. That in my opinion is a good reason to leave them there. It is not unusual for me bleed and also have the skin removed during this process. Several days after a waxing, my eyebrows will still be tender and dry due to the skin being removed. So if you happen to see me wondering around with bushy eyebrows, don't judge. It's because I have yet to work up the nerve to have my eyebrows waxed. It is really worse than having an operation because at least during an operation you can sleep.
:o)
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Diabetes and I
Here in the south many people refer to diabetes as "sugar." In fact, that is the first thing that a friend said to me after I finished all 4 of my cokes and then moved on to her sweet tea. I had a great-aunt on one side of the family with diabetes, a great-uncle on the other side, and one second cousin that was also struggling with it at the time. I went home that evening and went to bed around midnight. I awoke every hour from midnight until 6:00 a.m. to get more to drink and use the restroom. The next day I was seeing a doctor and within one week was administering 2 shots a day. I was 18 years old and a freshman in college. The diagnosis of diabetes completely changed my life and most of them are not good.
I don't walk around spouting that I am diabetic because that is just embarrassing. I tell people if I am asked and those that are frequently around me know (I sometimes need assistance). I have quite a collection of crazy antics, funny, and horrific stories to tell about my experiences with diabetes, but most of them involve me being stupid. In the interest of not making a complete idiot of myself, I will share only a few.
My nephew was around 7 (he just turned 15) years old. I spent the day with him and my sister-in-law at Gold Rush. I came back to their house and fell asleep on the couch. At some point, my brother recognized that something was wrong and phoned my parents. They advised him to feed me honey (it goes quickly into the blood stream) and follow that up with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. During this fiasco, I managed to "hit" my brother with my nephew as the main witness. The only thing I remember from that experience is waking up while my nephew is sitting beside me with the sandwich in hand feeding it to me. To this day, my nephew will still ask when my blood sugar is low if I am going to hit anyone. He thinks its funny now, but at the time I must have scared them all to death.
I have also woken up several times in the hospital not knowing how I got there. I have woken up with my parents sitting in my living room watching t.v. and me having no memory of anything being wrong. I tell you these stories because being diabetic really stinks most of the time. The only times that I have even heard it to be a good thing is when visiting Disney World. Apparently, they let you go to the front of the lines.
Having diabetes comes with having the craziest questions asked of me. Here are some of the dumber ones.
1. Does it hurt to give yourself a shot? Of course, it hurts. A needle going into your body NEVER feels good.
2. Does it hurt to check your blood sugar or do you get used to it? Of course, it hurts. A needle going into you finger NEVER feels good.
3. Do you ever get to eat sugar? It isn't so much sugar, but carbohydrates that I have to worry with. I eat both, but in moderation. (I sometimes eat them in excess because it is difficult not to.)
4. What makes you do crazy things when your blood sugar is low? My brain is attending to the most important functions. The craziness comes because my inhibitions are gone. It is very similar to someone who is drunk. I sometimes laugh and other times weep terribly. I will sometimes get really quiet and sometimes talk a person's ear off. I sometimes get really sleepy and other times be unable to fall asleep.
5. Have you ever watched the movie Steal Magnolia? Yes, yes I have. Thanks for bringing up a woman who dies after having a too short life/marriage and a baby that she adores.
I realize that living with diabetes is not as bad has having many other diseases. I live my life to the fullest and try not to let it stand in my way, but there is never anything that goes into my body that I don't consider what it will do to my blood sugar. I don't put in a piece of gum, candy, any drink, dessert, vegetables, or meat without the thought going through my mind that my blood sugar will be effected. So let me tell you, diabetes is not for the faint of heart.
I know that unless the Lord comes back first, I could very well pass away from complications due to diabetes. (Don't say I could die in a car crash because then you are just preaching to the choir. I realize that I could die of many things, but if I live a "normal" life diabetes will always play a key role.) I worry that my kidneys will not always work. When I get sick, my first thought is to check my blood sugar. I never take any medicine without reading the description and warnings that come with it. I have fears about having children AND seeing them grow up. I am also concerned that my life is not what it could have been before my diagnosis or maybe I am better because of it. Either way, the Lord has blessed me through diabetes. He continually protects me from danger and "warns" me when something is wrong. I once feared that I could never live alone and yet I have done so for 9 years. I don't understand His love for me, but if He is making a recording to show of funny stunts that we as humans do, I am certain that I will have a few. Too bad, I can't blame them all on diabetes!
:o)
I don't walk around spouting that I am diabetic because that is just embarrassing. I tell people if I am asked and those that are frequently around me know (I sometimes need assistance). I have quite a collection of crazy antics, funny, and horrific stories to tell about my experiences with diabetes, but most of them involve me being stupid. In the interest of not making a complete idiot of myself, I will share only a few.
My nephew was around 7 (he just turned 15) years old. I spent the day with him and my sister-in-law at Gold Rush. I came back to their house and fell asleep on the couch. At some point, my brother recognized that something was wrong and phoned my parents. They advised him to feed me honey (it goes quickly into the blood stream) and follow that up with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. During this fiasco, I managed to "hit" my brother with my nephew as the main witness. The only thing I remember from that experience is waking up while my nephew is sitting beside me with the sandwich in hand feeding it to me. To this day, my nephew will still ask when my blood sugar is low if I am going to hit anyone. He thinks its funny now, but at the time I must have scared them all to death.
I have also woken up several times in the hospital not knowing how I got there. I have woken up with my parents sitting in my living room watching t.v. and me having no memory of anything being wrong. I tell you these stories because being diabetic really stinks most of the time. The only times that I have even heard it to be a good thing is when visiting Disney World. Apparently, they let you go to the front of the lines.
Having diabetes comes with having the craziest questions asked of me. Here are some of the dumber ones.
1. Does it hurt to give yourself a shot? Of course, it hurts. A needle going into your body NEVER feels good.
2. Does it hurt to check your blood sugar or do you get used to it? Of course, it hurts. A needle going into you finger NEVER feels good.
3. Do you ever get to eat sugar? It isn't so much sugar, but carbohydrates that I have to worry with. I eat both, but in moderation. (I sometimes eat them in excess because it is difficult not to.)
4. What makes you do crazy things when your blood sugar is low? My brain is attending to the most important functions. The craziness comes because my inhibitions are gone. It is very similar to someone who is drunk. I sometimes laugh and other times weep terribly. I will sometimes get really quiet and sometimes talk a person's ear off. I sometimes get really sleepy and other times be unable to fall asleep.
5. Have you ever watched the movie Steal Magnolia? Yes, yes I have. Thanks for bringing up a woman who dies after having a too short life/marriage and a baby that she adores.
I realize that living with diabetes is not as bad has having many other diseases. I live my life to the fullest and try not to let it stand in my way, but there is never anything that goes into my body that I don't consider what it will do to my blood sugar. I don't put in a piece of gum, candy, any drink, dessert, vegetables, or meat without the thought going through my mind that my blood sugar will be effected. So let me tell you, diabetes is not for the faint of heart.
I know that unless the Lord comes back first, I could very well pass away from complications due to diabetes. (Don't say I could die in a car crash because then you are just preaching to the choir. I realize that I could die of many things, but if I live a "normal" life diabetes will always play a key role.) I worry that my kidneys will not always work. When I get sick, my first thought is to check my blood sugar. I never take any medicine without reading the description and warnings that come with it. I have fears about having children AND seeing them grow up. I am also concerned that my life is not what it could have been before my diagnosis or maybe I am better because of it. Either way, the Lord has blessed me through diabetes. He continually protects me from danger and "warns" me when something is wrong. I once feared that I could never live alone and yet I have done so for 9 years. I don't understand His love for me, but if He is making a recording to show of funny stunts that we as humans do, I am certain that I will have a few. Too bad, I can't blame them all on diabetes!
:o)
Thursday, September 2, 2010
He's Dangerous!
I called my mom on my way home tonight after having dinner with a friend. I usually talk to my dad every morning on my way to work and then talk to my mom every evening. This one was no different. She was filling me in on how her day was and asking me questions about my day. Then I remembered that I hadn't told her OR my dad about this blog. I tell her that I have started it and then have to define what a blog is. I tell her to turn on the computer and I will be right over to show them.
I walk through the door and go into the living room. She is watching t.v. and acts surprised that I am there. I then ask if she has turned on the computer. She responds with a little too harsh, "yes!" and I then realize that she has turned on the "old" computer instead of the newer, sleeker lap top. (The one that has wireless capability and will let me sit in the living room with her while I read my blog aloud.) I get the correct computer turned on, head back into the living room, and wait for my dad to enter. I finish up the conversation with my mom about life and then tell my dad about the blog. I have to define it for him also and then I get started reading it. (I am doing this because neither of them really know what they are doing online. If it involves much more than the on button, I usually have to assist. However, it is funny that they manage to sometimes order "stuff" without my help.)
I'm reading my first post to them and neither are really responding. When I get to the part about Bill, my dad interrupts me and asks if I have put his entire name on there? He then asks how much personal information I have listed. Then he wants to know if I know that now people can go online and find out exactly where you are! He tells me to be careful because people are crazy. (He doesn't realize that by just typing in his name I can find out his phone number and address.) Basically, my dad knows just enough information about the Internet to be dangerous. He can get online and order tools. (He has no idea how to determine if a site is secure.) He can check his email when I am there. He can respond to emails as long as I do all the typing and I hit "send." How is it that he knows that people can now locate where you are exactly? (This is a new feature of facebook. One that I am not using.) The answer is because he has gotten these facts off the news. (We all know that the news is a "safe" and "reliable" source.) The Internet is "dangerous" and I really have to be careful about what I tell people. I mentioned that I have my name, phone number, address, and social security number listed, but that is all. He did not find any of those comments funny. He also never noticed that I called Bill "Princess," he was just concerned that I used both his first and last name. Not recognizing that "Bill" is a nickname.
My mom is just sitting there listening and not responding because she realizes that she is no threat to anyone. She can't even turn on the right computer. So in her mind, she is safe as long as when she makes online purchases, she can call me and I can track the history and find the people and the phone number to the company and I can call to take care of the bill for her.
:o)
I walk through the door and go into the living room. She is watching t.v. and acts surprised that I am there. I then ask if she has turned on the computer. She responds with a little too harsh, "yes!" and I then realize that she has turned on the "old" computer instead of the newer, sleeker lap top. (The one that has wireless capability and will let me sit in the living room with her while I read my blog aloud.) I get the correct computer turned on, head back into the living room, and wait for my dad to enter. I finish up the conversation with my mom about life and then tell my dad about the blog. I have to define it for him also and then I get started reading it. (I am doing this because neither of them really know what they are doing online. If it involves much more than the on button, I usually have to assist. However, it is funny that they manage to sometimes order "stuff" without my help.)
I'm reading my first post to them and neither are really responding. When I get to the part about Bill, my dad interrupts me and asks if I have put his entire name on there? He then asks how much personal information I have listed. Then he wants to know if I know that now people can go online and find out exactly where you are! He tells me to be careful because people are crazy. (He doesn't realize that by just typing in his name I can find out his phone number and address.) Basically, my dad knows just enough information about the Internet to be dangerous. He can get online and order tools. (He has no idea how to determine if a site is secure.) He can check his email when I am there. He can respond to emails as long as I do all the typing and I hit "send." How is it that he knows that people can now locate where you are exactly? (This is a new feature of facebook. One that I am not using.) The answer is because he has gotten these facts off the news. (We all know that the news is a "safe" and "reliable" source.) The Internet is "dangerous" and I really have to be careful about what I tell people. I mentioned that I have my name, phone number, address, and social security number listed, but that is all. He did not find any of those comments funny. He also never noticed that I called Bill "Princess," he was just concerned that I used both his first and last name. Not recognizing that "Bill" is a nickname.
My mom is just sitting there listening and not responding because she realizes that she is no threat to anyone. She can't even turn on the right computer. So in her mind, she is safe as long as when she makes online purchases, she can call me and I can track the history and find the people and the phone number to the company and I can call to take care of the bill for her.
:o)
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
I'm in a relationship
I'm not really in a "relationship" with anyone (except Jesus), but I couldn't think of another title for this post. I will tell you that I am having some car issues and I am getting a little annoyed with it.
The first thing you should know is that I am a get in and drive 'em only kind of girl. I feel as if my only responsibility is to fill it up with gas, occasionally have it washed, and it gets an oil change when the light comes on and says that it is needed. I see no need in wasting my time when the lights are supposed to tell me when it is in danger. I really dislike having to do any maintenance on it either. I realize that normal wear and tear will create a need for new tires, breaks, and all the other mechanical stuff that I have no idea what it does, but these things really badly get on my nerves. I also hate the feeling I get in my stomach when a light suddenly appears and I have no idea what it means. Emergency brake light comes on while I am driving. Do I have my emergency brake on? NO! Why the light then? My dad says maybe I should get my brakes checked. Really, dad? Why isn't another light coming on that says that. This is my emergency brake light. He responds with there are only so many lights on a car. Well, there should be a different one for the brakes than for the emergency brake.
The second thing you should know is that my car has been wrecked several times. Only 2 of them were my fault. Well, 2 out of 4 isn't so bad and weather played a key role in one. The road was damp and so was the grass when I left the road. Not really my fault at all if we are pointing fingers. (Except I am not really a very good driver.) Hence the reason that I have one black mirror and one white mirror. (I turned my car over on its side.) When ordering the replacement mirror, they asked the color of the CAR, not the color of the MIRRORS! So now as I drive down the road, my car is flirting with everyone it meets. That's because it winks at everyone. Crazy I know, but what can a girl do?
The third thing you should know is that as much as I love my car, I really want a new one. However, with the economy the way it is and jobs being so hard to find, I have decided to forgo a new car and drive mine until the wheels fall off. I thought that it might happen sooner than later the other day when I got in and cranked it up and the "winter drive" button came on instead of the "power drive" button (overdrive). It wasn't snowing and the buttons hadn't accidentally been pushed. So my thoughts are that the computer might be messing up. Who knows? Not me, I tell you because I'm a get in and drive 'em only kind of girl.
The last thing you should know is that I have a friend who is just like me. We call and warn each other when our dads, boyfriends, or grandparents ask if we've checked the oil lately. If I'm asked and get yelled at, I know it is only a matter of a few days before the same question and yelling are headed her way. The funniest part of the entire story is one morning a couple of weeks ago, I tell her about the brake light that is coming on. She then starts asking me mechanical questions about fluids, brake lines, and a bunch of other nonsense. I answer each question with, "I don't know" or "I have no idea" and then realize who I am talking to. She knows as much about this stuff as I do and let me tell you that is VERY little.
My car is getting checked out this weekend. I am hoping there are only small repairs if any that need to be done and I am also hoping the price is within my budget of $30 or less. If not, then I may have to drive around going 10 mph because the winter drive and my emergency brake are on.
:o)
The first thing you should know is that I am a get in and drive 'em only kind of girl. I feel as if my only responsibility is to fill it up with gas, occasionally have it washed, and it gets an oil change when the light comes on and says that it is needed. I see no need in wasting my time when the lights are supposed to tell me when it is in danger. I really dislike having to do any maintenance on it either. I realize that normal wear and tear will create a need for new tires, breaks, and all the other mechanical stuff that I have no idea what it does, but these things really badly get on my nerves. I also hate the feeling I get in my stomach when a light suddenly appears and I have no idea what it means. Emergency brake light comes on while I am driving. Do I have my emergency brake on? NO! Why the light then? My dad says maybe I should get my brakes checked. Really, dad? Why isn't another light coming on that says that. This is my emergency brake light. He responds with there are only so many lights on a car. Well, there should be a different one for the brakes than for the emergency brake.
The second thing you should know is that my car has been wrecked several times. Only 2 of them were my fault. Well, 2 out of 4 isn't so bad and weather played a key role in one. The road was damp and so was the grass when I left the road. Not really my fault at all if we are pointing fingers. (Except I am not really a very good driver.) Hence the reason that I have one black mirror and one white mirror. (I turned my car over on its side.) When ordering the replacement mirror, they asked the color of the CAR, not the color of the MIRRORS! So now as I drive down the road, my car is flirting with everyone it meets. That's because it winks at everyone. Crazy I know, but what can a girl do?
The third thing you should know is that as much as I love my car, I really want a new one. However, with the economy the way it is and jobs being so hard to find, I have decided to forgo a new car and drive mine until the wheels fall off. I thought that it might happen sooner than later the other day when I got in and cranked it up and the "winter drive" button came on instead of the "power drive" button (overdrive). It wasn't snowing and the buttons hadn't accidentally been pushed. So my thoughts are that the computer might be messing up. Who knows? Not me, I tell you because I'm a get in and drive 'em only kind of girl.
The last thing you should know is that I have a friend who is just like me. We call and warn each other when our dads, boyfriends, or grandparents ask if we've checked the oil lately. If I'm asked and get yelled at, I know it is only a matter of a few days before the same question and yelling are headed her way. The funniest part of the entire story is one morning a couple of weeks ago, I tell her about the brake light that is coming on. She then starts asking me mechanical questions about fluids, brake lines, and a bunch of other nonsense. I answer each question with, "I don't know" or "I have no idea" and then realize who I am talking to. She knows as much about this stuff as I do and let me tell you that is VERY little.
My car is getting checked out this weekend. I am hoping there are only small repairs if any that need to be done and I am also hoping the price is within my budget of $30 or less. If not, then I may have to drive around going 10 mph because the winter drive and my emergency brake are on.
:o)
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
highlights and wrinkles
I had a very interesting conversation with a friend last night about getting older. She is in college finishing up her degree and is not considered a "traditional" student. Meaning that she is out of her teens. The professor was speaking to the class and mentioned that most of them would not understand what he was saying due to the fact that most of the students were born in '91. My friend was appalled and rolled her eyes with this comment.
I started thinking back and took myself on a little journey to "Back When I was 17..." Back when I was 17, I remember someone asking me why I didn't color or highlight my hair. My response was an easy because I LIKE my hair, it is healthy, pretty, natural, easy to manage, and until that changes I am content with what I've got. I will also admit to being a little nervous that it might turn a crazy orange color because I do have a slight red tent to my hair (or so I've been told). Anyway, fast forward 8 years later (and several teaching years later) and this is the conversation I had with my hairdresser. (Note that I began getting gray hair at the ripe young age of 25.)
Me: What do you think I can do to cover up these gray hairs?
Hairdresser: We can color and highlight it.
Me: I'm scared it won't look right for me and I'll end up with crazy hair all the time instead of just some days.
Hairdresser: It will look fine. Do you want to do it or not?
Me: I guess, but let's wait until I come back in 6 weeks. I need to work up the nerve.
Hairdresser: Can't wait!
6 weeks down the road ... I've sat in the salon for 2 hours. My hair has been colored, highlighted, washed, and rinsed. I look in the mirror ...
Me: Oh my gosh, it's too blonde!
Hairdresser: No it isn't. It looks great!
Me: No, too blonde! We have to fix it. What can you do?
Hairdresser: I can put a little toner in to soften the highlights. It fades out over time and you will never notice it.
Me: Okay, let's do that because I can't leave here looking like this!
Hairdresser: Oh geez!
15 minutes later...
Me: I like it! It isn't too blonde and I can't really tell like I've had anything done except now there is NO gray hair.
Hairdresser: It does look great.
Me: Sheeesh, I was nervous there for a minute because it was REALLY blonde!
Hairdresser: That will be $50.
Back to last night's conversation with my non-traditional college student friend. We are discussing the fact that we are indeed getting older and there are changes being made all the time to our appearance. I tell her that I'm not sure at what age I should start using wrinkle cream (because I have now realized just like I did when I noticed the gray hair on my head that I will definitely have to do some maintenance) and she then flatters me by saying that I have no wrinkles. I respond with, of course not. That's because I keep getting fatter and the wrinkles get filled in. In my opinion, that was an amazing sentence. She called me crazy and I then realized that I had discovered the solution to every woman's wrinkle problems. Gain weight. What a break through. Now to those of you cynics that think I'm crazy, that is fine. Just know that while you are spending money and years trying to preserve your youth, I will be dining out and enjoying time with family and friends wrinkle free.
:o)
I started thinking back and took myself on a little journey to "Back When I was 17..." Back when I was 17, I remember someone asking me why I didn't color or highlight my hair. My response was an easy because I LIKE my hair, it is healthy, pretty, natural, easy to manage, and until that changes I am content with what I've got. I will also admit to being a little nervous that it might turn a crazy orange color because I do have a slight red tent to my hair (or so I've been told). Anyway, fast forward 8 years later (and several teaching years later) and this is the conversation I had with my hairdresser. (Note that I began getting gray hair at the ripe young age of 25.)
Me: What do you think I can do to cover up these gray hairs?
Hairdresser: We can color and highlight it.
Me: I'm scared it won't look right for me and I'll end up with crazy hair all the time instead of just some days.
Hairdresser: It will look fine. Do you want to do it or not?
Me: I guess, but let's wait until I come back in 6 weeks. I need to work up the nerve.
Hairdresser: Can't wait!
6 weeks down the road ... I've sat in the salon for 2 hours. My hair has been colored, highlighted, washed, and rinsed. I look in the mirror ...
Me: Oh my gosh, it's too blonde!
Hairdresser: No it isn't. It looks great!
Me: No, too blonde! We have to fix it. What can you do?
Hairdresser: I can put a little toner in to soften the highlights. It fades out over time and you will never notice it.
Me: Okay, let's do that because I can't leave here looking like this!
Hairdresser: Oh geez!
15 minutes later...
Me: I like it! It isn't too blonde and I can't really tell like I've had anything done except now there is NO gray hair.
Hairdresser: It does look great.
Me: Sheeesh, I was nervous there for a minute because it was REALLY blonde!
Hairdresser: That will be $50.
Back to last night's conversation with my non-traditional college student friend. We are discussing the fact that we are indeed getting older and there are changes being made all the time to our appearance. I tell her that I'm not sure at what age I should start using wrinkle cream (because I have now realized just like I did when I noticed the gray hair on my head that I will definitely have to do some maintenance) and she then flatters me by saying that I have no wrinkles. I respond with, of course not. That's because I keep getting fatter and the wrinkles get filled in. In my opinion, that was an amazing sentence. She called me crazy and I then realized that I had discovered the solution to every woman's wrinkle problems. Gain weight. What a break through. Now to those of you cynics that think I'm crazy, that is fine. Just know that while you are spending money and years trying to preserve your youth, I will be dining out and enjoying time with family and friends wrinkle free.
:o)
Monday, August 30, 2010
Poker Face
You can't read my poker face, papapapapa poker face, papapapapapapa poker face, papapapapapapa poker face, papapapapapa poker face. Don't be fooled by what you think you know because I have mastered the "poker face."
It's Just Me!
I could sit here and type all day about the experiences in my life that have made it amazing, but let's face it ... that would be awfully boring. Instead, I am going to only tell you about why I have decided to start this blog and then spend the next, oh I guess 100 blogs, telling you about ME!
I have friends that say I am funny. I have people who say that I am a good writer. "They" have encouraged me to write a book and I have decided to start with a blog. I figure that if I can't keep this up it will be a good indicator that I shouldn't ever quit my day job to write a book.
I settled on a title for a book a long time ago, Single in the Country, but when I went to title my blog just that, someone else had stolen it. My first thought was OH MAN, I thought I was an original, but once again that is not true. The fact that this other person also lives in a small town of about 700 people and moved there to find herself AND true love made me guess that I don't have the single in the COUNTRY mindset as much as I thought. So with that being said, I had to rename my blog and the credit belongs 100% to my friend, Bill "Princess" Johnson ...
Bill and I have known each other for a very long time. We met our first year of college (he says it wasn't until our 2nd year, but as usual he is wrong and I AM RIGHT!) and he is just one of those people that you want to either be around or make fun of the entire time you are together. For me, it is a combination of both. Anyway, he started a blog a long time ago and titled it Out of November because that is when he was born. I asked him the other day if I could borrow his title and name my blog Out of April since that is my birthday month and when Sherylpalooza starts and he could barely contain his excitement as he was telling me yes, yes, yes you can!
So here I sit with just a short start to what I hope is a fun endeavor into the wonderful world of writing. I will be seeing you guys on the flip-flop (that comes from my very funny nephew who doesn't take nothing off the mean kids on the bus).
:o)
I have friends that say I am funny. I have people who say that I am a good writer. "They" have encouraged me to write a book and I have decided to start with a blog. I figure that if I can't keep this up it will be a good indicator that I shouldn't ever quit my day job to write a book.
I settled on a title for a book a long time ago, Single in the Country, but when I went to title my blog just that, someone else had stolen it. My first thought was OH MAN, I thought I was an original, but once again that is not true. The fact that this other person also lives in a small town of about 700 people and moved there to find herself AND true love made me guess that I don't have the single in the COUNTRY mindset as much as I thought. So with that being said, I had to rename my blog and the credit belongs 100% to my friend, Bill "Princess" Johnson ...
Bill and I have known each other for a very long time. We met our first year of college (he says it wasn't until our 2nd year, but as usual he is wrong and I AM RIGHT!) and he is just one of those people that you want to either be around or make fun of the entire time you are together. For me, it is a combination of both. Anyway, he started a blog a long time ago and titled it Out of November because that is when he was born. I asked him the other day if I could borrow his title and name my blog Out of April since that is my birthday month and when Sherylpalooza starts and he could barely contain his excitement as he was telling me yes, yes, yes you can!
So here I sit with just a short start to what I hope is a fun endeavor into the wonderful world of writing. I will be seeing you guys on the flip-flop (that comes from my very funny nephew who doesn't take nothing off the mean kids on the bus).
:o)
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