"How are you?" The Mr. wanted to know as I climbed to the top of a step ladder in our kitchen last night.

"I'm good, sweetie. Just trying to fend off a potential low," I said.

"Oh?" he questioned.

"It's hard work getting all this wallpaper off," I said, scraping off pink, flowery wallpaper. (Good riddance, finally!) There were several moments when I was actually slightly out of breath and felt my heart racing a bit.

I had tried a new recipe last night: mini pizzas made on English muffins-definitely not a diabetic-friendly meal, but I'm cutting costs and this was yummy and cheap. I snacked a little before dinner and thought I had bolused appropriately for the pizza. But without checking my numbers before getting to work on the kitchen, I don't really know where I was before my "workout." (READ MORE)

One week into my revised blood glucose monitoring plan and the results are scary. Actually, "atrocious" is the word I used when e-mailing my doctor begging for help. The numbers are so bad that I found myself hiding my logs from my mom when she came over last week. It's that bad.

Prior to having a baby, I was very much in control of my diabetes. I have been a more than compliant patient from diagnosis through the birth of my son. So when my doctor suggested I need to take it easy and lay off the obsessive testing for a while, I took his advice.

Of course, I tend to do things in extremes. "Take it easy" turned into "don't test at all, unless you're feeling low." Now I can see how easy it is to ignore a disease that has virtually no symptoms. (READ MORE)

At 3:30 I ran out the door with my Medtronic box in tow, on my way to meet my trainer for the CGM system I have been fighting for since November.

Needless to say I was both excited and a little nervous. The main concern I had was how painful or uncomfortable it was going to be. Sure I have had diabetes for 18 years which means thousands of finger pricks and needles but still, I am not a fan of pain.

I was happy to find out that I was going to be meeting with the person who trained me on my pump years ago at her parents place of business. When I got there we went into the conference room and unpacked all the stuff I was sent. She assured me that there was no one around so we would not be interrupted. (READ MORE)

I have a trusty little pocked-sized notebook I carry around with me where ever I go. I wish I could say it's because I'm a writer or, better yet, a poet or songstress, and must commit the words to paper as soon as inspiration strikes lest they be lost forever. But no, those days are long gone. My pocket notebook serves a much more practical purpose these days. It's my food and exercise journal-slash-blood glucose and insulin log.

I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I'm not one of those technologically savvy girls who uploads her meter and spit out reports. Nope, call me old fashioned, but I keep all the information in my handy little pocket notebook. At least I'm not using quill and ink to write on a parchment scroll. (READ MORE)

When testing Charlie’s blood sugar in public, there was a time when I would crouch down in a semi-secluded corner of the store and prick his finger to avoid full-on display of bloodshed. Not so much anymore. While using some gift cards at Best Buy the other day, Charlie said he felt low. The diabetes bag folds open quite nicely on the DVD shelving while curious shoppers look on. I had it wedged between Night at the Museum and Star Trek, I believe.

Maybe I should collaborate on the Zagat guide to the top public places to test your child’s blood sugar in.

  (READ MORE)

After a conversation with Olivia about checking, how it's important, how I can't make changes to her insulin regimen without knowing her numbers, she's still not checking. Worse, I think she's starting to just put numbers in her pump without having checked first.

I log her numbers a few times a week. Tonight when I did it, I noticed there were a couple of reading in her pump that weren't on her meter. I asked her about it and she denied it, so I let it go, but I'm starting to worry. I really need to figure out why she's doing this, have a long talk with her about it.

Is this a common thing for teenagers to do? Those of you that grew up with type 1, did you do this? How did your parents handle it? Because it's really pissing me off. I yelled at Olivia about it tonight but once I calm down, I plan on talking to her about it, see if she has a reason or if she's just legitimately forgetting. She is a forgetful kid. (READ MORE)