A fragment.

Last weekend, I worked on Friday morning, and spent the afternoon dashing about a neighbouring town visiting shops and having the damage to my shoes from the recent lunch time escapade repaired.  The rush hour congestion on the journey home made me run too late to catch a train I was planning to take, and so I was an hour late for an evening out with friends.

T stayed at home looking after B, and I travelled (by train) to a town about twenty minutes' travel away and met one of my friends at the station.  We joined the other two at a pub in the town, and after a drink we headed off for pizza.

The pizza place was already full as we had got there late and none of us that thought to book ahead. And so we headed off deeper into the town to a restaurant that used to sell pizza, but is now a curry house.  Much curry eating ensued.  The order was messed up insofar as one of the vegetarians was served meat, but other than that, it was a good meal and we were all happy with it.  There was, I remarked to a fellow diner, a worrying profusion of things on the menu that had been shot.  Though, I commented, I don't see how much could possibly be left after shooting a quail - perhaps they are killed some other way. Such as by being steam-rollered?

Apparently, shooting is exactly what happens to the little things.  And presumably also to the hare, grouse, and venison that were on the menu.  I had okra, and very nice it was too.

Through dinner we chatted about old films, old friends, old enemies, and old times.  We all went on a trip to walk along part of Hadrian's Wall a couple of years ago and would dearly love to repeat the experience, or something like it.  It was one of those perfect trips that will, I fear,  never be matched.

After the meal, I missed my train and had a drink with the friend who waited with me.  It was a good chance to catch up since we hadn't seen each other in a while.

On Saturday, I did some work on the allotment.  This was quite a feat when you consider that someone had screwed our back gate shut.

When you have a toddler, any few minutes you can grab to do something like a past-time are very rare and precious things.  So when, after doing some housework and eating some breakfast, I grabbed my tools and gloves from the shed, chucked them into the wheelbarrow and marched down the garden intending to go out of our back gate and into the allotments, you might imagine that I was somewhat less than impressed to find that the back gate wouldn't open.  Upon closer inspection, I discovered that the shaft of a screw could be seen between the gate and the post.

Swearing a little (ok, quite a lot), I had to take the long way round to the allotments with my tool case to try to take the screw out of the gate so that it would open.  I did manage to get one of them out, but the second resisted me with all of its 3 1/2" and I had to get T to remove it.

Mini-Friday is the best day of the working week.

I went for a walk at lunch time today. It's a shame that lunch times are short because the weather was gorgeous and those trees that weren't in full blossom are already budding into spring foliage. Lost in conversation, and delight at having the opportunity to mentally link together roads that had previously existed miles apart from each other in my imagination, I managed to forget just how much my shoes were killing me.

I tend to wear sensible shoes for driving, but enjoy wearing heels in the office. I am only 5'4", so the extra few inches is usually a bonus when it comes to things such as spotting colleagues hiding at the other end of the building. I love high heeled shoes and have quite a collection of them; I can't actually walk in all of them for more than a few paces, but I don't care. It's probably not healthy, and I should probably get help, but oh how beautiful my deep red suede sandals with 6" heels are. One day I will even dance in them. But I must learn to walk properly in them first.

I digress.

Heels + urban hiking = much pain and wrecked shoes. Also funny looks from colleagues whilst hobbling a bit when doing the coffee round.

Still, my feet will fix themselves, I can get the shoes mended, and I'm quite convinced that nothing I do would surprise my colleagues any more.  Besides; it was worth it for finding somewhere new to go for a stroll.

T came home early to look after B as we had no childcare for him this afternoon. I think they both enjoyed themselves though T did have to get some work done too. In fact, he has now been doing it all evening, and is still not finished.

We had a dinner of cod florentine, oven baked curried celeriac chips, and peas.  I forget how much I love celeriac in between having it!  Hopefully I will have some success with it on the allotment later in the year - tomorrow, I'd like to do some digging if I can find someone to watch B for a while.

A rainy Sunday

I am a bit worried about T's foot. He has done something to a nail that has all but been pulled off at the base - too much information, perhaps, but that is life. If it were me, I'd put a plaster over it and forget about it until I was able to deal with it effectively. But because it is his and not mine, I just worry.

Today has been less successful, due in part to the weather, and in part to it being Sunday. T doesn't like Sundays. Also he is coming down with another cold - as am I, but I tend to shake things off pretty quickly.

The weather forecast was once again correct (for this neck of the woods, anyway), and when it wasn't threatening rain, it was in fact actually raining. And it was more action than threat.  Whilst the feeling of cool rain on hot skin whilst working hard is truly one of my favourite things, I am sure that work on the allotment today would have been reminiscent of the scenes in WWI films involving Ypres, or the Somme; just with less blood and more squirrels. And so the allotment has been left for another day - it's just such a bloody shame that the dark evenings mean that I can't work on it after I've finished at the office during the week. I leave work early on Fridays, but at the moment, I couldn't possibly do the digging without someone to watch over B. As wonderful as the allotment is, it is still full of extremely dangerous things for a toddler such as short stakes sticking up that could be easily fallen onto, or glass cold frames. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

After not going to the allotment, we spent much of the day at home, popping out only to go to our local Lidl. I can count on one hand the number of times I have been there, and I am always surprised at how good is is. We had steak this evening; reasonably priced, and it tasted like good meat though after T had cooked it for the same length of time as the fish fingers for B, the texture left a little to be desired (oh gods, I hope T doesn't read this - he'll never cook for me again)!

We also purchased a tub of duplo-type bricks for B to play with. He already has a few Thomas the Tank Engine bits and bobs that are made to fit with this sized brick, and we thought that he might enjoy having more to build with. Now, B is only a few days past two years old, and so we were not too surprised when his interest only went so far as putting together and breaking apart a couple of bricks at a time.  B did rather enjoy pushing trains and tractors through the simply enormous (what can only be described as a) triumphal arch* that T built for him.

T and B shared a bath that involved lots of bubbles both as foam, and blown using bubble mixture by me. B ate only the biscuit of a strawberry cheesecake that I presented to him as a sneaky way of getting him to ingest fruit and calcium (I really do despair). I had a long and supremely enjoyable bubble bath of my own.

And that about sums up today's events!

*Think Arc de Triomphe

A lovely Saturday

Today has been fun.

The day dawned misty and damp with a cold wind and grey clouds. I knew that rain had been forecast for later on, and so after a quick breakfast I pulled on my boots, grabbed a spade, and headed down to the allotment.

It was quiet - but it was still before 9am and I imagine that the households surrounding the allotment on all sides were still concerned with the business of getting up and breakfasting. The silence was a good thing for me; it has been an intense week at work, and as well as making a start on preparing the soil for planting soon, I was looking forward to having the physical and mental space to simply be. Not to be anything in particular; just to be.

The membrane that was laid before Christmas was pooled all over with water that had clearly evaporated and been replaced a number of times; the puddles were ringed with a greenish mould and contained flotsam and jetsam that can only have come from larvae. As I peeled the plastic back from the earth and saw the various creatures scuttling, sliding, and flying away from the tide of dank water, and the cold light, I remembered how small a part in all of this mine is.

It is easy to lose yourself in enjoyment of the smell of the soil and grass as you drive your spade through it. It is difficult to describe the pleasure produced by the slightly sharp and gritty sound of a spade pushing into the resistance of the earth.

I forgot the time, and just worked until the arrival of rain eventually blinded me by covering my glasses. My mum came to help, but we didn't dig for long before we headed back to the house to wait for the rain to move on.

We dug again later, and then, after she had gone back home, I spent the rest of the day with T and B. T cooked a lovely meal, and B had a fun day too.

This evening I have helped a friend out with an Excel problem, chatted to another couple of friends using social networking, and written this blog all whilst watching Star Trek and drinking wine.

Happy days!

Apathy and anticipation

A long day at work today has resulted in general apathy towards the kitchen on my part. T never really has anything but apathy, and so, pizza is on the menu tonight.

I am tired. I have not been getting as much sleep as I ought to have been and since I start work quite early, it can't really continue. The problem is that once I get stuck into something, I find it quite hard to stop unless it is impossible to continue. Currently, it is family history; an interest to which I return periodically when some new lead shows up. And they have been showing up in a tantalising, almost reachable, but not quite, kinda way.

Perhaps I'll do some more whilst the pizza is coming...

Bday

Okay, so we have just finished hosting the social event of the year. Well, for us, anyway.

B's birthday party went off without a hitch. We evicted the cat and squeezed 23 people into our three bedroomed terraced house. There were no arguments; everyone was amazingly helpful; and despite barely knowing each other, our guests seemed to get on brilliantly. And they ate a lot of food. Which is good because we had prepared a lot of food and then some! I am starting to think that I should keep a seperate blog just for food.

B had a wonderful day; he saw lots of aunts, uncles, and cousins; three sets of grandparents and two of his great grandparents, as well as longstanding family friends. He had SO many presents and is destined to become a train fanatic, I think.  But that is certainly fine by me, just so long as he also likes science fiction too.

I was worried about T's blood sugar level today, but he was totally in control; he had three pieces of cake and was content to let it fly for one day.

What's the point of being alive if you don't live, hey?

Actually, I think I might just start to use this one for more; I forget how much I enjoy writing in between my gluts of posting.

Happy days

Today is the second birthday of our son, B.

Two years ago, I was about 45 minutes away from delivering him and very much appreciating the copious quantities of gas and air that I was knocking back with complete abandon.

Before I continue with that, a quick rundown of the day is in order.  It began before we went to bed at about 1am.  T wouldn't let me wake B up to wish him a happy birthday and so, after seemingly hours of wrapping (by me), we eventually trudged off to bed.  Only to get up again, in the blink of an eye (6 or so hours later).

The morning was filled with crumpet eating, coffee drinking, balloon inflating, baking, excitement, encouragement, pleading, and resignation (us); porridge eating, squash drinking, present opening, balloon bashing, present fatigue, present refusal, and box-fetishism (B).  He did rather enjoy opening and playing on his balance bike, though.

After his morning nap, we took B off to buy a helmet, and then to a nearby farm shop for lunch (which he refused to eat), and then a play on some diggers in the sand pit.  B had a play too.

Later on, there were Skype calls with grandparents (my mum had spent the day with us, but T's parents live too far away), and there was much excitement when CBeebies showed his birthday card.

B went to bed happy, and although we didn't manage to find time to sit down with a birthday cake (though he actually has two waiting for him), he couldn't have enjoyed the day much more without exploding.

And neither could I, either today, or two years ago.

You see, the birth of B was overdue to the tune of about a fortnight and I had to be induced.  Without going into too much detail, I was lucky enough that the first 'assistance' that women in the UK tend to be given worked a treat and labour kicked off.

It was mercifully fast, and in between the bits that made me make cow-like noises wince, there was no pain at all except in the faces of passers-by as I marched around the hospital like a woman on a mission (due to being a woman on a mission).  In between contractions I could easily forget that I was in labour; forgetting that I was pregnant would have been impossible, but labour was ignorable for much of the time that I was in it.

When I eventually had to stop walking and talking during contractions, I started to use techniques of hyno-birthing that I had learned during the preceding months, and which enabled me to focus.  Anyway; short story shorter, B came along in under two hours, and I was lucky enough to have managed with gas and air.

Whilst I am certain that I couldn't have endured a much more intense labour without more intense anaesthesia, I thoroughly believe that my mental state helped me to birth in the way that I did.*

The way in which this related to my experience with T's diabetes is this...
I have found coming to terms with him not being able to simply 'fix' himself, or have others 'fix' him quite difficult.  I guess this must be something that many people in a similar situation experience.

Knowing that something like childbirth is natural and has happened to many women before, and will happen to many women again is a great comfort.  Knowing that should things progress in an unexpected, or difficult fashion, medical help would (probably - but that's another story) be available, was also instrumental in helping me to feel safe.  There is help available for people with diabetes, obviously, and there is help available for complications of diabetes. But since diabetes is not something, like childbirth that is actually expected (after a fashion), I find it a whole lot more scary.

It is late, and I am rambling now.  Tomorrow I shall say what I was actually trying to say.

Hopefully.


*I do of course accept that my own memory may have become altered with time, but I did write down much of my experience very soon after the fact so that I could revisit it later if I wanted to be sure of what I thought happened.  I do not believe that it is a magic formula that will cure birth complications, nor that any woman should have any less medical help in childbirth than she reasonably believes she requires.

It's Friday!

Actually, I lie -it's Thursday. But as I have taken annual leave tomorrow, It might as well be. Without wanting to do down the suffering of those who have been unfortunate enough to experience this; I feel as though I have been run over by a truck. Nothing much out of the ordinary has happened, but I think I have been stretched at work, and am preparing to fly solo for my first period end. If, dear readers, I ever made out that I was anything more glamarous thaan accountant, I was lying then too.

I don't think I was ever that deceitful though.

I have been thinking about deceipt quite a lot lately. It may not seem relevant to diabetes, but it is. Or at least denial is, and that is obviously a form of deceipt.

More later, if I can stay awake...

Also, I can no longer spell deceipt / deceit. The more I look at it, the weirder it seems ans I can neither decide on that 'p', nor be bothered to find a dictionary.

Once more

I have left it too long between posts.  Life tends to make that happen; one minute it's Christmas, then in a whirlwind of presents, indigestion, birthdays, frosty mornings, working, sleeping, cleaning, playing, and more working, whoosh it's already almost the end of February.

T's blood sugar level has been on the up again.  He thinks that he is lacking exercise and that even with his diet slippage, he would probably be okay if there were just a few more hours in the day into which to fit exercise and possibly more sleep.

We have a toddler; sleep is naturally high on the agenda.

I have been baking a lot recently; B's second birthday is coming up and I felt the need to practise before inflicting bakery disasters on unwitting, but hopefully polite family members.  And so I decided to experiment on those most benign of critics; my colleagues,  The feedback has been generally favourable, but I haven't  taken in any of my Splenda / Stevia creations yet.

The problem with Splenda / Stevia is that although they taste sweet, sweetness is not the only reason that sugar is added to a cake mixture.  Without sugar, I just can't seem to get cakes to rise properly.  There is only so much air you can beat into a batter before the structure cannot support itself any more and collapses back before the heat has set it.  The same goes for baking powder and sodium bicarbonate; too much has the opposite effect.  Sweeteners are lighter than sugar, so although they add volume, they don't add mass; I wonder whether that is part of the problem? I will investigate.

Investigation has been going on left, right and centre recently.  B has got a Balance Bike coming for his birthday; it is a bike with no pedals, brakes, or chain, and it is supposed to allow a toddler to learn how to control the bike's stability without having to learn how to pedal at the same time.  It is red, and I am sure that he will love it!  He will be made to wear a helmet though.  No helmet, no bike. Until he's at least forty.

Whilst T has been working in the evenings, the genealogy bug has bitten me once more.  A colleague and I may share common ancestry, so I have been looking into that for few days, but am getting nowhere quickly.

In short; life is pretty much carrying on.  It is easy (for me) to forget about the diabetes, and there is definitely a danger in becoming complacent about it.  Ultimately, it is T who has to make sure that he does the right things as far as his body is concerned, but forgetting to be supportive if he is more lax than usual is very, very easy.