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We found 10 result(s) that match your search "sweets":

For years I was a smoker. I smoked a pack a day at the very least for 15 years. Addiction is powerful.

 

I finally kicked that habit but realized that nicotine is not the only drug I am addicted to. The other is much easier to get and I am not sure I want to quit it yet.

 

Caffeine.

 

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Being a dad with diabetes can be tricky. I watch everything my kids do hoping I do not spot a symptom of this stupid disease in their lives. When they want a lot to drink I worry. If I hear them get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom I worry. If they are tired for no reason I worry.

Besides keeping a watchful eye on my kids I am also always careful about what I fill our cupboards with. We don’t my sugary cereals Hostess is not one of our major food groups, and regular soda is almost never in our home.

The bad side about this is feeling like the enemy of fun. I know I am making good choices for them but at the same time I feel kind like a jerk who doesn’t want them to enjoy kid stuff.

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I think God has a sick sense of humor. You see, I have this terrible love of sweets. My favorite things are cheesecake, biscuits, cookies, cakes, muffins, and all things carb-filled.

 

When I was diagnosed with diabetes at age 4, they told me and my family that I couldn't eat any sugar. So my life turned into a sugar-free terror. The cookies and candies were always different than what my brothers ate. I was told when and what to eat in every excruciating detail.

 

Then we started counting carbs when I was about 11. No more nasty sugar-free foods. I could drink real soda for once. I could eat my own birthday cake. I could eat anything!

 

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"Are you going to eat what your wife made?"

 

It was loud. It was purposely loud to get everybody's attention. It was coming from an unexpected source. I was ready.

 

"If you mean the cake then, heck yes I am having some. Why?"

 

"Hello, you are diabetic!"

 

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Someone asked me a few weeks ago how my type 2 diagnosis affected my family. Honestly, I said, not very much. And I'm not sure if that's good or bad or a mix of both.
For one thing, I've always been the meal planner, grocery shopper, chef and chief bottle washer in our family. Furthermore, I always cooked fairly healthy for my family, tried to get a good mix of meats, veggies, starches and fruits. So adjusting our meal plan really didn't take much effort. (I know, you're wondering how I got to be so overweight if I cooked so healthy. Sweets have always been a big part of my life. The weight comes from not sharing, essentially. And I like to eat. A lot. And all the time.) (READ MORE)

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"I love trains," Charlie said after boarding the 4:26 pm express from Trenton to Newark Penn Station on our way to see the New Jersey Devils play the Washington Capitals. 

 

I like trains too. I like that you can voyeuristically watch snippets of life taking place as towns and cities zip by quickly like a slideshow.

 

Outside a car repair shop, a man closes an office door and is greeted by a little boy who runs into his arms and is elevated up to the sky.

 

Click.

 

A teen with ear buds sprouting from his head and droopy jeans skateboards along a desolate ghost town street decorated with graffiti-colored buildings.

 

Click.

 

A man fishes his arm through a garbage can and gazes up as the train rumbles by.

 

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When Oliver fell down the school stairwell, I’ll admit I was skeptical. It was the same footage from the original Hannah Montana episode, and I don’t think I liked it the first time either. I didn’t like that the first depiction of diabetes was that of a kid falling down the stairs.

 

But Susanne, being the voice of reason, was quick to mention that it could happen; if he was very low.

 

Charlie had another take on it.

 

"He’s high," I think, Charlie said.

 

"I’m silly when I’m low, but if I’m really high, my eyes feel funny and I get a little dizzy."

 

Hats off to Disney.

 

Sugar Boy? Gone.

 

Oliver’s zombie-like lust for sweets that he couldn’t touch? Completely rewritten.

 

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"The 'Diabetes Police' are everywhere, telling us what we may or may not eat or do, on pain of losing a leg, going blind, or -- G-d forbid -- dying like their father's great-aunt by marriage did thirty years ago."

 

• --"They" tell us we may not eat breads and cakes
• --"They" tell us we may not eat fruits or sweets
• --"They" tell us we may not eat that nice, juicy bacon cheeseburger -- especially if it's accompanied by a plate of crispy French fries and a frosty tankard of microbrew ale
• --"They" tell us we may not drink anything other than tap water, or black coffee sweetened with Splenda
• --"They" tell us we must eat tons of cinnamon, bitter melon extract, and a myriad of other "cures du jour" that cure diabetes only in Halle Berry's pipe dreams

 

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OK so it's not such a popular, appetizing topic, but as people with diabetes we need to be on top of our foot care.

 

I'm a picker: literal and figurative, but the figurative is not the focus of this post. Pimples, scabs, dry skin, dead skin, toe nails (though not my finger nails, interestingly), hang nails... you get the picture. Pretty much nothing is safe.

 

I'm actually pretty good about taking care of my feet. I do like to walk around without shoes on and I like to wear sandals and flip flops, so I have a fair amount of dry, dead skin and calouses. But I lotion those puppies up every night and once or twice a week I'll use the foot scrubber to get all the dead skin off or smooth out any big calouses.

 

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My recent bout of stomach troubles brought on a strange appetite. For several days, I didn't really want to eat at all. Foods made me cringe at the thought. TV commercials featuring meats and sweets and cheeses sent my stomach into turmoil. But when I started to recover from the worst part of it, my appetite didn't return the way that it usually does.

 

I typically have an iron stomach. I don't get tummy troubles. Nausea on occasion but only relating to hormones or stress. But never an inability to eat. Or to eat my favorite foods.

 

But Monday through Wednesday, I was experiencing just that. I munched on Ritz crackers, Coke, and applesauce. I tried a basic meal at Chick-fil-a and tomato soup and a grilled cheese for dinner one night. Yet my stomach was still tossing and turning.

 

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