Pants to send to YG

I kept thinking about these pants. So I did a sketch. I never intended it to be any particular person, but I failed. It's just pencil- which is why it isn't really clear- but I'll finish it later. And yes, I already made these pants.

Boxer Brief Jeans

DX-iversary

It has been 5 years since my baby was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. 2 years of 5+ needles a day. Almost 3 years on a pump. More blood glucose toe and finger pricks than I could ever count.

I've been thinking about it for days. Very, very calmly. The first DX-iversary was almost crippling. The second was depressing. Third and fourth were sad. This one barely upsets me. I did have a mild freak out last night while watching Faith. The show was sad, and I got overly upset. Sad scenes with Lee Min Ho get to me every time, but this was excessive.

But it was okay. And I know why. Last night, just as I was soon to lose it, the candoc tweet chat started. So, instead of being in the kitchen alone, baking fish and mashing cauliflower, I was in the kitchen with other people who were dealing with diabetes. Chatting about travelling and flying with diabetes. Instead of thinking about how long and lonely the last 5 years have been as my angel's primary caregiver, about how my husband went to Regina and left me in the hospital for a week with E alone after her DX, about how I am the only one who actually does all her care 90% of the time, I was planning how to fly to Barbados. What to take on the plane, how to go through security with all those needles, and what to watch for from the excitement (read stress).

And so, I made it through with the help of the Canadian diabetes online community (candoc). As I sit here in the park, waiting for some strangers to be done wandering around my house, I realize I have accepted her diabetes. I don't yearn for a cure. I am no longer angry, or bargaining. I am at the acceptance stage. I know my baby won't live as long as the rest of us. I know one wrong insulin dosage could put her in a coma, or kill her. I know she will never feel completely normal, that almost every second of her life she will have to be aware of the big D, lurking inside her. But it is what it is. It doesn't mean she can't be happy, be as healthy as possible. As normal as possible. That's better than a lot of people. So I guess I'm happy. There is no chronic pain. No extended hospital stays, not yet. So we're okay. For now.

Noona Love and Remembering Who We Are

The post I did yesterday was about venting. About getting my childish frustrations on paper, so they wouldn't be in my head anymore. I was a little overwhelmed by the response, though.

All these people messaged me. The outpouring of love was, well, almost embarrassing. Really great, but shocking. And suddenly, missing out on the actual get together is okay. I'm still envious, sad that I won't get to join the fun, but I'm suddenly not feeling left out anymore. Like it's okay, and I'll get to the next one.

Being a caregiver, regardless of what the issues are, takes away from YOU. The online girl time, talking about clothes, and politics, and life philosophies, about guys (husbands) and kids and friends and co-workers, that's all just for me. That IS me. Not me the Mom. Not me the caregiver, or me the wife, just me. The person. And missing out on one get together doesn't mean that has to stop. It did, for a while. Like missing this was just another example of me wanting to have a life of my own, and not getting it.

I don't have any friends here. I had one, several years ago, but her husband got moved to the city. I open my mouth, and people tend to look at me weird. I know that the things I say and do are not like those around me. I have never fit in. I don't like the music on the radio, the clothes in the store, the shows on TV. I don't take my kids to sports games, I don't have neighbourhood barbecues. My husband adores me, but often doesn't understand me.

The problem, in this town where fitting in is so very important, is that I am ahead of my time. I don't mean to sound arrogant, but guaranteed, if I like something, it will become huge in 2 to 3 years. Every time. With everything I become really interested in. And so, in a backwards town that thinks it's all that, I am the weirdo. And "I told you so" is really a hollow phrase.

My girls are in school. Finally. after 9+ years, it's time for me. And with the help of the few people who don't avoid me because I'm strange, I'm going to find MYSELF again.

PS To all the Noonas. LOVE YOU!!

Noonas just wanna have fun (with BigBang)

So I've been thinking about sacrifices we make as parents. I still go to school to do my daughter's insulin at lunch, and sometimes at snack if there's a new person who wants to learn about it. I'm on call all day for questions from the teacher or the aids. And something came up recently that hasn't come up since I was a teenager.

A concert.

That's right, there's a boy band I like. They aren't like the boy bands from when I was a kid. They aren't from Canada or the States. They don't sing in English. With all the hype over Psy these days, I don't think me liking them is weird. What is strange is that the fact that I am not able to go to their concert is making me feel like a teenager with a strict father.

My family started planning our first ever big trip last spring. Before the tour was announced. In February we'll be flying to Barbados. I am really excited, and I know we'll have a lot of fun. However, my pocketbook does not have room for me to fly to New York- by myself- in November, and then have the whole family go to Barbados. I was okay with that at first. Then I started to meet a bunch of other women online, women who I could talk to like I haven't since high school. We talk about husbands, TV, our kids, and yes, that boy band.

And so, as I watch them all getting excited for the tickets to go on sale this Saturday, planning all of the things they are going to do when they meet up before and after the concert, I am feeling a level of envy that astonishes me. I had to stop going online. I had to stop following them. I actually cried.

The real question is, why am I so upset? And then I realized. I have been so isolated for so long, stuck up here where no one is interested in the same things as me, with no one I can really talk to, finding these ladies was like a rainbow after a hurricane. Missing out on the gathering, maybe the only one where everyone is going to get together, is like the hurricane suddenly swept down on me again. I'm feeling all the loneliness, the isolation, all over again. I hadn't realized how sad I really was until it all came back.

Today is my daughter's 9th birthday. I know I need to look happy. On the day of her birthday party, with all the family that's coming out, I will need to look chipper. Knowing that the Noonas (as we call ourselves) will be buying their tickets, planning their trips, and talking about how wonderful it's going to be. Without me. Sometimes I just wish it could be about me.

Old poetry pt. 2

Today's poem isn't about a person. It sounds like it, but it was actually a class assignment. An 8 line poem. I happened to be wearing an opal ring at the time, and as I stared at my hands hoping for inspiration, I started to think about the colours in the stone. All kinds of images started to pop into my mind, and I started writing. It certainly isn't complete, but every time I read it, I can't help but think of all the costumes and photo shoots you could make from the ideas in it. So, here it is.

Opal

You are ice and fire,

The touch of you burns my hands like snow.

You are cold and flame.

You are the crimson of amaryllis,

The silver of moon touched magnolias.

When I am with you

My heart is a frozen pond

Gleaming with agitated torches.

Red and silver and moonlight and torchlight and fire and ice! Imagine the pictures!

Old poetry pt. 1

So we're trying to get our house ready to sell. We want as much as possible from it, so we are painting, and flooring, and fixing. While looking through a bunch of papers from the basement, I found some of my old writings. 2 things. 1- I used to be extremely melodramatic. Really, extremely melodramatic. 2- I was also very fatalistic and morbid. I used to have a lot of dreams where I died in a gory way, while trying to get last messages out to those around me. (All my nightmares are about losing my kids, now.)

Anyway, I found a poem about chasing something that you know is dangerous, something that will get you hurt,  and yet you do it anyway. Knowing it will go badly, you reach for it anyway. Thought I would share it. Be nice!!

Willing Sacrifice

Dragon's breath.

Sweet, fetid breath

Upon my neck and back.

I look to it's eyes,

Baring my throat.

My love for the sheen,

The hue of it's scales, 

For the intelligence

Deep in it's eyes,

Sacrifice my life.

Cause me to give my blood

To nurture it's massive, 

Blackened heart.

The elegantly long

Blood-red talons

Rip my ivory skin

To meet my red within.

Steam rises,

Like my soul fleeing my body.

Crimson rivers run eagerly

Across my paling, innocent bosom,

And from the parted ruby

Of my untouched lips.

Then it strikes me.

Horror.

Utter terror gripping my being.

Reaching weakly to my mouth,

I push away an imagined sea,

My drowning lungs,

Bursting through my ribs.

The dragon gazes

With seeming pity and love

Into my wide, confused eyes.

With tears brimming

My focus begins to fail.

I try to tell my dragon,

Express my love for him,

But my blanched lips

And blood-coated tongue

Were never meant to spill my soul.

I see my dragon closing in,

And reach for his beautiful smile.

I can feel his breath again,

Like a final caress

From a tender lover,

Before my vision fades

Into eternity.

Well, no wonder I used to be an insomniac. That was based on an actual dream. See? Morbid.

Finally, a way to post on the go.

Well, I never use my computer anymore. I still have it, use it rarely for things like Dramafever, but can't do much blogging without. So, here is a test post, trying Blogaway on my Android phone. Maybe I can continue to blab away to no one.