I woke up this morning to find that I only had one earring.
I was devastated.
These earrings were a birthday gift from my mom many, many years ago.
I never change them.
My ears are allergic to most earrings.
But these ones are gold, and they have been perfect for years.
And now one of them is missing.
I shook out my pajamas and my bedding.
Yesterday I cleaned the house.
I dusted and mopped.
I did laundry and changed sheets and vacuumed.
The earring could be anywhere.
If I bought myself a new pair of earrings, it wouldn’t be the same.
Because these were a gift from my mom.
I searched the house hopelessly.
I checked the washer and the dryer.
I checked the clean laundry.
I checked the vacuum canister.
In the end, when I had given up all hope, I found it!
It was on the rug under my desk.
It must have fallen off after I had vacuumed.
Yay – I can continue to wear my mom’s birthday gift!
On this day, February 4, I became a mama.
My baby boy is now a grown man.
He inspires me every day with his determination.
And his work ethic.
And his quirky, subversive sense of humor.
I was a little worried on the day he was born.
I don’t know anything about sports. Or cars.
How am I going to raise a boy?
All these years later, I still don’t know anything about cars.
But this boy has turned me into a Super Fan.
Happy birthday, Kiddo.
I’m proud to be your mama.
I love my Grown Sons.
I love them more than life itself.
They are my pride and joy.
My reason for living.
But every now and then…
Every now and then I’d like to punch them in the throat.
Happy 115th birthday, Dr. Seuss!
Back in the day, before he made it big, Dr. Seuss worked in the newspaper business.
My grandfather also worked in the newspaper business.
When my grandparents would have Ted over for dinner, he would always bring a book for my mom.
I love this edition of Horton Hatches the Egg.
Dr. Seuss inscribed it, and he drew my mom’s picture with Horton.
This inscription is not particularly valuable.
But I am a nerdy book lover.
It’s one of my prized possessions.
When someone who knows nothing about diabetes
starts talking to me about diabetes…
I used to get mad.
I used to argue.
I used to try to explain the difference between Type 1 and Type 2.
But I have learned that it’s pointless.
It’s like trying to discuss childrearing issues
with someone who doesn’t have kids.
I thought I knew everything about being a parent.
But when the kids were born, I realized I didn’t have a clue.
I thought I was pretty well informed about diabetes, too.
But when we were diagnosed, I realized how much I had to learn.
Nowadays, when a non-diabetic tries to tell me what’s what,
I just ask a question about insulin ratios or long-term A1c levels.
I might even talk about changing the lancet.
With a straight face.
Just to see their reaction.
They never have any idea what I’m talking about.
Then I go home and tell the boys about the conversation.
We laugh and laugh and laugh.
I’m collecting stories.
One day, they’ll make a great comedy sketch.
Facebook is easy.
We’re already friends.
I don’t have to explain myself.
I write my goofy stories.
And everyone knows what I’m talking about.
I don’t have to explain a thing.
Blogging is different.
People don’t know me.
I have to explain.
But explaining ruins the rhythm of the story.
It’s kind of like explaining a joke.
If you have to explain it, it’s not funny.
So I will write this first post to introduce myself.
After that, I’ll just write.
I am a mom,
and an empty nester.
I have two grown sons.
Both of my children are diabetic.
Diabetes is a nightmare.
But it is also our completely new-normal status.
I have a wonderful husband.
Who fixes things around the house and generally makes himself useful.
And is occasionally the subject of some hilarious stories.
I have a dog.
She is lazy but very cute and cuddly.
The family is often reminded that the dog is my favorite child.
I teach English as a Second Language
to adults, on line, around the world.
I am a Toastmaster.
A Distinguished Toastmaster.
Being a Toastmaster has definitely made me a better English teacher.
I love to write.
I’ve been reading and writing as long as I can remember.
My favorite toys, when I was a kid, were my books, a spiral notebook and a pencil.
A pencil, not a pen.
I’ve always preferred a pencil.
I was born and raised in Southern California.
We recently moved halfway across the country to Texas.
This move was not nearly as traumatic as I anticipated.
I have made lots of new friends in Texas.
I am keeping touch with my old friends through social media.
I plan on making lots of new friends through blogging.
Why am I starting this blog?
Because I’m tired of Facebook.
I’m tired of all of the ads.
I’m tired of all of the political wrangling.
I’m tired of the algorhythms that may or may not be connecting me with the people I want to be connected with.
I want to control my own platform.
I want to control my own intellectual property.
Although I use the term “intellectual” loosely.
Why do I write?
Because, to quote someone whose name I can’t recall, but I don’t want to be accused of plagiarism,
“I write because I can’t not write.”