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I'm really trying to stay on top of my exercise routine and I'm proud of myself so far. I'm walking for at least 30 minutes at least three times each week as well as working with handweights for at least 15 minutes at least three to four times each week. I'm pushing myself each time I put on my tennis shoes. I'm not losing weight yet though. And my blood sugars are back up in the 200 range despite an initial round of lows.

I know it's just a deadly combination at the moment leading to the higher blood sugars. It's hotter here, which means my insulin needs are up already. I'm struggling with my weight which can mean just five pounds adds more need for insulin. Plus my stress levels are through the roof.

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I am all for national security. I travel at least twice a year by plane. And I like to know that terrorists, hijackers, and others aren't sitting next to me on that plane considering when to take it down. I like to know that the guy next to me doesn't have a bomb in his shoe...or his underwear.

But I'm also conservative when it comes to my rights and privacy being stripped from me. Call me crazy, call me Texan, but I'm all for concealed carry or even open carry in specific circumstances. On Facebook, I'm a fan of the "Concealed Carry on Campus" group. Too many school shootings could be prevented by licensed, regulated gun owners. The bad guys will always get the guns anyway, so if I know the good guy also has a gun...well I like the odds a whole lot better.

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Getting your kid pumped up about a pump is an odd thing. I mean, it is still a medical device after all - and a rather crude one at that. It’s not a box of Star Wars Legos. That’s for sure.

And the way Charlie runs away from the thing on site change day, you’d think I’m asking him to choose which bully he’d like to strap on 24/7.

Still, I do it anyway, thankful that he thinks getting a new pump is cool. The alternative would suck. I call Charlie over to look at the new pump he’ll be getting on the computer screen.

"Charlie! Wanna see your new pump??? Ooh! These are cool. I like the color "smoke." What do you think?"

My enthusiasm is possibly too over the top.

He chooses "smoke" and walks away, not nearly as into it as I thought he’d be.

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For morning basal testing, our procedure is this: Wake up. Check blood sugar. If blood sugar is decent, get him the hell out of the house as fast as possible. Sweeten the deal by taking him somewhere fun. Somewhere where hours will pass without him thinking about how hungry he might be.  

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I went to the movies with a girl friend last night. We've only met one other time and I didn't feel that instant "best friend" vibe but Marvin was busy and I was dressed cute. So I decided to venture outside my shy self. We ended up seeing Next Three Days at Studio Movie Grill. Dinner and a movie all in one. Expensive, but good.

Next Three Days hasn't really been advertised here but the few times I'd seen it come up I thought it looked good. It seemed like my type of movie. I had no idea if it'd be hers, but her pick was sold out. We ordered dinner. I had a glass of wine. The movie started.

**Notice: some spoilers here...a big part of the movie will be given away if you continue to read. Just for those of you planning to see it (which I do recommend!)!**

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I typically don't answer my phone when caller ID says "Blocked." The only time I do is when I know I'm getting a call from my pyschiatrist's office. It makes sense that their number -- except for the main number -- is blocked. They don't want all the crazies calling anything but the main line.

Anyway, so as I was leaving Blockbuster last night I got a "Blocked" call. Not sure what compelled me to answer, but I did.

It was from a man who said his 13-year-old daughter wanted to updated her modeling web site with some fresh photos. He told me his first name and that he got my name from my Craigslist ad. We chatted a bit about what type of photos he wanted, if he wanted more than one location, etc. Since I was sitting in the parking lot, I asked him to email me his phone number so we could chat later and hammer out more details.

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In the waiting room, a boy Charlie's age walked over and sat next him, peeking over his shoulder to see what game Charlie was playing on his Touch.

He spotted Charlie's pump.

"Hey! You're a diabetic? So am I!"

It was sort of sweet, but I hated the way it sounded. Diabetic. I would have much preferred that the boy notice Charlie's shirt and say, "Hey! You're a hockey player?" Diabetic sounds too much like an inferior species. Lumped in there somewhere between fungi and arachnids.

Charlie didn't really react to the question. Maybe just a slight shy nod of the head. He's never in his life referred to himself as diabetic.

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I am awake, but not really.  There is a gray fog wrapped about my head, twirling in my eyes.  And my eyes are itching, watering a little.  My tongue and my teeth are absent, though I have a vague idea they're still there in my mouth.  Missing in action too, my ability to vocalize appropriately.  I test my speech and manage a breath and then "gug gug."  

I see the ceiling above my head, white with the one little crack, or is it a crack?  Crack?  Where did that word come from?  The ceiling sure looks bright.  I like bright.  Bride?  In white.  Like the ceiling.  Where am I?

"Home."  I think, and I might slur it aloud.   "Machine."  

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I can’t remember exactly the last time The Mr. and I went on a bona-fide date, but I know it was late last year some time. It was impromptu, we already had a sitter for something else and realized WE HAVE A SITTER! so we took advantage of it by going out to a nice dinner just so we could be alone.
 

Since our anniversary (12th!) fell on a Sunday this year, we got ourselves a sitter for a couple hours so we could go see a movie yesterday. As we were walking toward the theater, I stopped and looked at The Mr. “Do you realize we’re out of the house, together, with no children?” I said. “I know. It’s really cool, huh?” The Mr. said. So what if it was 1 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon; it was still a date.
 

As we sat down to watch Iron Man 2, I said: “Man it feels good to not have to shush little ones every 30 seconds.” We held hands. It was nice. *swoon*
 

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