That darn sweet tooth!

Tonight I talked myself out of eating an ice cream sandwich. I am both proud of and disappointed in myself. Proud that I was able to not give in to a food craving and disappointed that I didn't allow myself to indulge in a yummy food treat.

This lasted all of 10 minutes.

Then I went downstairs and promptly had a s'mores pop tart. Again I was both proud and disappointed but for reverse reasons.

I am a foodie conundrum. And I blame it all on my sweet tooth. Damn sugar-crazy molar!!

At least this time I didn't follow up my pop tarted goodness with some chips. Usually I need something salty after eating something sweet. For this, I blame my salt-loving taste bud. I think she just gets jealous of the attention my sweet tooth gets and wants in. They're like petty children.

Stupid mouth! Always causing a problem. Too small, overcrowded with teeth, bickering tastes. Jeez!

The last single digit

Today is Little Man's birthday. He's 9.

And in the midst of presents and singing the Happy Birthday song and remembering his birth I realized that this is the last single digit year of his life. This made me both sad and proud.

I'm sad because like so many other parents, I feel like time is going so quickly. I mean, wasn't he just two and watching "Finding Nemo" endlessly? I can still quote the movie from start to finish thanks to that phase he went through. But seriously, 9? Already?

On the other hand, I'm proud. He's becoming a fine little man who has a quick smile, a charming personality and a love of all things action hero-related. Sometimes his diabetes makes him act and seem older than he is. And there are times when he says mature things that no other child would. But then he does something silly and childish and I think, he's only 9 years old. And that's just fine with me.

Happy 9th Birthday Chris.

To wear or not to wear: Part 2

This past Monday and Tuesday we took Chris to some area pools for some swimming fun before school starts again.

Monday we were at Red Rock and Tuesday we were at a local aquatic center. In between swimming and relaxing and just generally having fun I spent some time gawking at what other people wore. Do people seriously look in the mirror and think, "Yeah, I look goooood."?

This prompted me to make another list of acceptable/unacceptable clothing to wear while swimming at the local pool.

Men should wear swim trunks. Period. End of story. Knee length speedos are not attractive. Ever. Neither are short shorts that look as if the man borrowed his wife's bathing suit bottoms. We are not in the South of France, people! I do not want to see all your junk wrapped up tightly in a pair of inappropriate swim whatevers. Invest in board shorts like a normal guy!

Along those same lines I must ask this: Guys, young and older, why do you wear basketball shorts and underwear to go swimming? What is that all about? Doesn't that feel uncomfortable? Like you couldn't quite make it to the urinal in time?

It's bad enough I have to see them walking around on dry land with their pants down to their ankles, advertising to the world what underwear they are wearing. But really, at the pool, too? This isn't your own backyard pool or the local swimming hole in the woods. You're in public! Proper swim trunks are warranted.

Lastly, to the very pregnant woman who was there with her 6 kids (one of whom was wearing basketball shorts and underwear) please note that a bra is a bra and a bikini top is a bikini top. They may look similar and act similar but they are indeed very different. One you wear in private, under your clothes and one you can wear in public. Obviously you got confused about which is which.

The King and I

This post is in honor of the 35th Anniversary of Elvis Presley's death.

When we moved to Las Vegas from NJ three years ago, we drove and stopped at a few notable places. One of those places was Memphis where we took a tour of Graceland.  This had long been a dream of mine having been a fan of his music (and movies) since I was a little girl, thanks to my mom's influence (Thanks Mom!).

We were there a week before his death anniversary (deathiversary?), otherwise known as "Elvis Week". This is his grave, which they say is always decorated with stuffed animals, flowers and pictures left behind by devoted fans.

I was so excited to share that time with Billy (who isn't a big fan but arranged for us to stop there and was a huge sport by even taking pics) and with Little Man. Whenever Chris hears his music he recognizes him as "the guy who's house we visited, who's dead".

Here's me and Little Man walking from the stables on the property. Note the crutches and cast. Yes, well a week before our departure from NJ I fell down some stairs and broke my ankle so I hobbled along on this tour. I think I may have accidentally whacked a couple of people with my crutches inside the actual mansion. Sorry!

The man himself. One of many pics of Elvis displayed on the property.

Maybe one day I'll get back there and re-take the tour, sans cast & crutches. Maybe I'll even go during 'Elvis Week'. Then again, maybe not.


*Please do not copy or dup any of these pics without permission first. Thanks!

RSVP: It's more than just fancy French acronyms

According to acronymfinder.com, RSVP means Répondez S'il Vous Plaît (French: Reply, If You Please; commonly seen on invitations).

It doesn't matter if you knew that or not. Everyone who has ever gotten an invitation knows that RSVP means to reply, "Yes, I'll be there with bells on" or "No, sorry I have better plans" or some such excuse.

Whether or not you can come to a party/event/social misfit gathering the polite thing is to let the party host know. How hard is that?  

So how come the mom of two kids my son plays with at the park could not do this?

For Little Man's upcoming birthday we planned a movie party for today with a few of his closest friends. We chose a day when Bill would be off from work which coincided with that Mom's day off as well. Granted the kids seem a bit sheltered, we crossed our fingers and hoped for the best.

Nothing.

Oh it gets weirder. For the past week leading up to today they have not come to the park. Avoiding us? Not too obvious. If they didn't want to come, or couldn't afford a gift, we (Christopher in agreeance*) told them a gift was unnecessary as he just wanted his friends to be there and we would foot the bill for admission tickets. How much easier could it be?

Well, at least Little Man's best friend and other good, close pal were there and everyone had a good time.

Still, that type of rudeness gets me. It's up there with people who don't say 'Thank You' when you hold the door open for them. When did basic manners start to go the way of the dinosaur?




*I sent the Oxford Dictionary people an invitation to include this in their book and they never RSVP'd.

A few funnies someone sent me by email

I added the smart-alecky captions.

Kinda puts that whole "When one window closes, another one opens" into a whole new perspective.

Preach it, Sister!

My broomstick has Garmin!

Bookasaurus is on the loose!

Run for your lives!

Or, don't. It's your call.

But seriously, I have been devouring books lately. Not just reading but full-on eating them whole. I'm averaging a book every two days.

I realize there are people who read an entire book in one day but I at least allow myself to eat, go potty, see the fam. and oh yeah, sleep. If I didn't then I'd be a starving, cranky, reading zombie doing the pee-pee dance. No one wants that, believe me.

I'd much rather be a book-eating dinosaur. It sounds friendlier too, because who wouldn't want to hang out with a cute dino who just eats up books?

So, if you see me stomping around and rawring, just toss me a book. Or two. And some chocolate. Thanks!

Diabetes breaks my heart. Again.

Every night when I tuck Little Man into bed, we have 'Snuggly Time'. I kneel beside his bed and he lays on the edge. Sometimes he just holds my hand and other times he latches onto my arm. We talk and  giggle about silly stuff.

Tonight as I was preparing to say my final good night he said, "Mom, I don't want to have diabetes anymore."  I hugged him and whispered, "I know."

Then he said, "It hurts." And I held him closer and said, "I know, Baby." And my heart broke. Again.

The same way it breaks when I give him his insulin injection and he winces in pain or bleeds a little because I accidentally hit a vein. The same way it breaks when he gets frustrated while pricking his finger to check his blood/sugar levels. The same way it will always break for him because of this damn disease and how it affects him.

I pray for a cure for diabetes. I want his hurt to go away. I want to stop saying "I know" when I honestly don't.

Long time and time wasters

It's been a little over a week since my last blog post, which in the Blogosphere is like a lunar light year. Sorry?

In my defense I've been doing cool stuff with the Husband and Little Man (which I promise I will write about) and I've been reading. A lot. Not actually reading, more like swallowing books whole the way a baby swallows a spoonful of mashed gobbledygook without chewing, except the pages and words aren't seeping through my lips and running down my chin.

To make it up to you or whoever follows my blathering on of everything and anything, I present to you another time waster:


virtual-bubblewrap

It's almost as much fun as the real thing without the added benefit of annoying the nearest person in the room. Unless you have your speakers turned way up.

Pop on!