Bob Geldof had it right.

To paraphrase those Blackeyed Peas; when I woke up this morning, I had a feeling, that today was going to be a good day. Today was going to be a good, good day. A feeling. Woo hoo. That today's going to be a good... wait.

Sorry, got a bit caught up in the music in my head. As I said, I thought today was going to be fun. Mostly because Elise started up her gymnastics class, and that girl loves her some tumblin'. She had been talking about it all weekend, and was very excited to go. And there's just something about being a parent and watching your child enjoy the crap out of something. Not because she's extremely gifted at it, because let's face it; she has my genes swimming around in her. But because of the pure joy that they get out the experience.

Plus, I really like the bouncy floor we get to run around on.

So fast forward to about 9:15 am. Class starts at 9:30, and I can see the street I need to turn into to get to the rec centre when my car starts to sputter. I frantically try to turn left into the closest parking lot. I don't make it and my car dies straddling the middle of the road.

How crappily sucktastic.

So I sit there with my hazards on, calling Fred, all the while stuck in the middle of a two-lane each way, pretty busy road, with my precious cargo in the back. When I get ahold of Fred and explain my situation to him, he asks me what road I was on.

Let me take a time out here to explain to you guys how we women work: We are not a GPS. We don't know the name of the road we are on, unless it's the street we LIVE on. We know we need to turn left at the 7-11 and that's about all we know. Now that I live in Texas and have no landmarks to guide me, I don't know my north from my south. And when you ask me what road I am on while I am in the middle of a pretty stressful situation, my answer will be so high-pitched and shrieky; only animals and small children will be able to hear it.

Anyway, we manage to figure it out, and Fred tells me he's on his way. Meanwhile, all the fine citizens of the city of Hurst are driving past, either glaring at me, or honking while waving at me with only one finger. You sure have a strange way of greeting people in Texas.

Apparently, my 5 ft. 7, 120-pound frame is too intimidating for anyone to stop and render aid, so Elise and I languish there for 20 minutes. Until two rather nice gentlemen decide I'm not a threat to them, and they help to push my car into a parking lot. I'm thankful they did help... but still, 20 minutes in supposedly one of the nicest states in the union. Not good, Texas. Not good.

I did manage to break down in the not-so-nice section of Hurst, so there were auto shops a-plenty. When Fred arrived, her ran across the street to fetch some help. The guy he brought immediately went to work; banging his rather large wrench against something on the underside of the car. Hey! I didn't know I was qualified to be a mechanic! Apparently, his knowledge did not go beyond thumping on my car and was unable to help.

Fortunately, we have a rather amazing mechanic (no, you cannot have his name), who managed to diagnose the problem OVER THE PHONE. How cool is that? Turns out it was the fuel pump.

This post has gotten rather long, so I'm going to cut it off here and not mention the gut-wrenching stress over being so far away from home, with my child who has diabetes and needed to eat her lunch coming up pretty soon (I was prepared with some food, but not enough to cover her lunch). Nor will I mention the Battle-Royal Elise and I got into over her nap; which led to her falling asleep, face down on her floor, 90 minutes after I put her down.

I will mention that I received a very nice award from the uber-funny Wym. She said (and I quote):

Joanne is the most passionate mother I read about. Her daughter has Type 1 diabetes. Check her out and help her cause.

That, is just about the best thing you could ever say about me and helped to make me feel better about this terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-Monday. I'm also supposed to write 7 things about me and pass the award along to others, but I think I'll save that for another day. Thanks Wym, for the smile!

A post where I complain... a lot

If I were the superstitious type, I'd be wondering if my daughter was ever meant to have a birthday party.

Take for example, last year's "party"; interrupted about 30 minutes into it by Elise's doc telling us to take her to the hospital, she's just been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. Pretty sucktacular.

So this year, as we were away for the actual day of birth, we decided to throw Elise a party for the weekend after we got home. It was all planned; people invited, food bought, decorations thought of... blah, blah, blah.

Then on Wednesday, I got sick. Not just sick, but dear-Lord-of-all-things-good-and-right-everything's-going-dark-no-wait-I-see-some-light-and-I'm-heading-towards-it-sick. But it's okay, I still have my main man Fred to help get things together for the party.

Then on Thursday, Fred starts heading towards the light. The guy who has been sick a total of 3 times in 11 years, who has managed to dodge all sorts of crud that I have incubated including about three rounds of strep throat, Mr. I-doan-need-no-stinkin'-Advil. He's got it too.

At this point, we start contemplating that the party needs to be cancelled, or at the very least, moved to the next weekend. Mother Nature decides to get in on the act, and it's predicted that there's an 80% chance of rain on Saturday. In Texas. In September. My friends, that just doesn't happen here unless it's biblical times and God has just had a little heart-to-heart with a guy named Noah.

And just in case we get any ideas about going forward with the party, Elise then gets sick on Saturday morning, and it rains here like it has never rained before. Talk about twisting the knife.

Do I sounds bitter? Probably... probably. Chalk it up to frustration, I guess. I do have one rather funny tale from when I went to the doctor to see if my crud had a name (and hopefully not one that sounded like Swine Flu).

Fred made the appointment for me, and when the receptionist asked why I needed to be seen, he replied, "she's sick". Straight and to the point, that's my Fred.

So somehow I slipped past all the superb screening, and was sitting in the room waiting to be seen, sans mask. The doc walks in, notes my temperature on the chart (101.6), and asked me if I had been coughing. When I said yes you would have thought I told him I was there to pluck his eyeballs out with my thumbnails.

He jumped up, tore open the door and yelled, "nobody told meeeeeeeeeee", as he ran down the hall. I sat there, feeling very much like a leper.

He returned, from what I am presuming was a Lysol-shower, about 10 minutes later wearing a mask and with one for me. It turns out that I didn't have the flu, just one of the second-rate, run-of-the-mill viruses that doesn't get any press. Poor, un-named virus.

Have we always been so crazy when it comes to germs, or its it just lately that people are going off the deep end? I remember when I was younger, you got the flu, you threw up a little, and drank some ginger ale. At some point, you manage pass it onto your friends and family who threw up and drank ginger ale. Nobody went to the doctor, let alone the press.

Now, I must admit, I'm not so relaxed when it comes to sick people being around Elise, but unfortunately, diabetes makes things a little trickier. But shouldn't we relatively healthy people be a little less freaked out?

Okay, I think I'm done grumbling for now. Keeping my fingers crossed for Saturday. Time for Elise to have a birthday party, even if it is one year and three weeks overdue.

Tip of the iceberg

They say that only about 10% of an iceberg is visible above water. Well, Thursday was my tip of the iceberg day; minuscule compared to what was going to follow.

Most of it has been detailed on my other blog because a lot of it had to do with diabetes. But here is some of what I've been dealing with:

I've been sick since Saturday with what has been determined as a sinus infection. Nay, the mother of ALL sinus infections. Sore throat, fever, muscle aches, the chills, sinus pain and pressure, head ache and now laryngitis; this puppy has had it all and left no stone unturned. Today I have absolutely no voice left and yet I'm still trying to yell at my child.

Yesterday I had the fun adventure of running out of gas. You can read the whole story here. I do have to give a huge thank you to the wonderful guys from the Irving Fire Department for all their help. Yay firemen!

Elise still has some mystery rash that seems to appear when we take her outside in the heat (not heat rash though). The doc said it looks like hives and is probably an allergic reaction. My child is allergic to the heat and we live in Texas. Now I know we're not meant to live here.

We're also going through some fun times of major sleep issues (Elise), and major separation anxiety (Fred, I mean, Elise). This has been causing huge stress around here.

I just got a letter back about some blood work I had done, saying my platelets are low, and I need to repeat the test in two months. I don't even know what that means and the letter offers no explanation. And I will not google low blood platelets because I know it will just show me some scary picture and tell me I have cancer or something.

The last two times I have bought milk for Elise, there has been something wrong with it when I opened it. Both times the milk has had the consistency of whipped cream, but it doesn't smell spoiled or anything. It was the same brand both times. And yes, I read the label properly and it should have been whole milk. So I've been without milk for Elise for two days now, and not able to run to the store to buy some. But I must say thanks to my sweet friend Liz, who brought some milk buy this morning when she came to visit. Yay Liz!

And now Fred has gone to NYC until Friday, leaving me here sick and voiceless with a sleep-deprived, rashy, missing-her-Poppa toddler.

And how has YOUR week been?