Am awful/Am awesome

Oh yeah. It’s going to be that kind of post


Today I was an awful teacher.

I yelled at students and I gave a pop quiz simply because there was no possible way to interact with that particular class without going to jail. I promised to return papers, that I didn’t, because I hadn’t marked them. I rolled my eyes at my 10th graders who didn’t remember the French for ‘and’. “AND”!!!!!!!!

I sneered, I sighed with the gusto of a harangued hurricane and I slunk my way around corners to avoid That Perky Student who’d probably want ANOTHER hug. (Seriously, I have found myself saying “IT IS NOT!” just to contradict her impossibly bright “good morning, Misssssss!”)

If I were to look at it from an administrative standpoint, and also just a basic human being one, I’d say that today was a categorical fail in the whole  Good Teacher sweepstakes.

Like I said. I was an awful teacher. I couldn’t WAIT to leave the school and just get home to the warmth and joy of my family.

Then I got home.

And I was an awful mom. Continue reading “Am awful/Am awesome”


Inside my diabetic head

Every word

Angry diabetic. Sad cauliflower.

Once upon a time, if you had asked me about my ideal soulmate, I would have leaned forward with stars in my eyes, and a love blush blooming on my cheeks as I shyly whispered one word with firm conviction:


Yeah, back then if Carbs were a person, I’d have had him in a three piece suit then a three course meal before he even fully gained the robust aroma of a good, thick pizza. Or the fluff of a soft, buttery roll. Of the swirl of a perfectly baked cake. Or the goop of a rich, thick pasta plate. I could do this all day.

No offense to my husband, whom I love with my entire being, once upon a time,  a well dressed hardo bread or slice of black forest cake could have whisked me away from right under his nose, dollops of butter and sugar lighting the way to our sinful hideaway. Continue reading “Angry diabetic. Sad cauliflower.”

The thing that happens when the world knows you’re sick

There is this thing that happens when it becomes known that you have a chronic condition. All the communities of which you have ever been a part, no matter how long ago, or how far away you may have drifted, come together, swelling sympathetically to wrap themselves around you. The non stop murmurs for your well being and inquiries about that day’s bio statistics and health measurement units begin to form a permanent part of your life’s soundtrack. They seem to hum the refrain “We love you. We care,” and, “Should you be eating that?”

I hate it.

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.I hate it.

And that’s me being shy about my feelings.


I understand the awkward burden of loving someone who’s got a problem you can never fix. I get it. The helpless verbal hug that first lodges itself in your throat then hurtles out past your lips before you can stop it in an explosive “GOD KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING!” Or worse. Much, much worse, “IS IT BECAUSE YOU’RE FAT, YOU THINK?”

Continue reading “The thing that happens when the world knows you’re sick”

So you have “The Diabetes”

So you have the Diabetes.

Well hello there little partner, I see you’ve gone and got yourself a little bit of the Big D.
Are you confused about what that does and what it all means? Well buckle up, small friend, cause have I got the educational tour for YOU!

Mmmmm. Sweet, sweet diabetes.

Let’s talk about Type 2 first.
She’s still a D, but she’s not necessarily the worst kind to have. Type 2 has frequently been referred to as the ‘adult onset’ diabetes and in more current (and cruel) trends the ‘fat people disease’. Yes. People can be mean. Especially when they only have about a quarter clue about anything.

It’s funny because he’s fat AND he can’t spell!


The sad truth is, however, that about 90% of people (which now increasingly includes kids and teens) with the Type 2 Diabetes ARE overweight and sedentary. The happier truth is that it generally does not require insulin injections for its management, and pills are enough. That’s because your pancreas haven’t fully lost their mind and are still producing insulin, it just needs a little help managing and processing that magical hormone. Continue reading “So you have “The Diabetes””

Nag Free Me

Four years in, I can honestly say that more now than ever my marriage feels like a honeymoon. I can’t wait to see my husband. We steal touches, hugs and kisses while navigating jobs and kids and bills and the other sharp edges of real life. We steal away for night time ice creams or we just curl up in front of a turned-off TV just talking about life and dreams and hopes. It is pure bliss.

But how? you may sputter. Kids! Mortgages! LIFE!

How? Simple: I changed almost everything about myself.
“Wait, what?” you shriek in indignance, “isn’t he supposed to love you for who you are, imperfections and all?”
Every latent feminist bone in your body demands I assert myself and demand he accept me for EVERYTHING I am.

But the thing is…. he does. He always did. And if current trend continues, it seems he always will. Life changed for the better when I asked myself: Do I do the same for him?

The answer surprised me. Because no I did not.

Thing of beauty
Thing of beauty

He was my ultimate project. Now I can only use those words in retrospect. At the time, and in those earlier moments, I would have been furious with anyone who suggested I didn’t love my husband for all he was. And that yeah sure, there were things to be tweaked but wasn’t that what wives were for?

But the thing is… is that what wives are for? Who exactly was it that decided that men who try to change us are jerks, but women who try to change them are ‘improvers’?


“Put em together and what have you got? Bippity boppity UNEVEN SOCIO-NORMATIVE GENDER EXPECTATIONS, NARRATIVES AND LABELS” Boom.

Continue reading “Nag Free Me”

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