I was talking recently with a friend of ours whose twelve year old daughter was just diagnosed with type 1. As much as I love my friend, her attitude toward her daughter and her daughter's diabetes scared me a little. She uses the phrase "It's that simple," quite a bit. For example, she recently informed me that she told her daughter 'Sit your butt in the chair and test your bloodsugar. You have to do it - it's that simple.' She continued by telling me that crying about diabetes is not tolerated in her house. (READ MORE)

This time of year always reminds me of the many gifts life has brought me.

Sure, things are difficult at times.  But we simply can't let those difficult times be our focus.  This realization is a gift from my mother. 

At the time of my diagnosis, and in the many years since, she has again and again (sometimes with just a knowing glance or a soft smile), let me know that I can do the difficult things.  She has told me, with confidence, that I am strong, smart, capable.  And she has reminded me that the thing that says the most about a person is how they behave or react when things are challenging.

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I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't resist testing the baby's blood sugar. Here's my excuse: her diaper was leaking, leaking, LEAKING! only several hours after a diaper change. So I freaked.

I've tested my other kids at random times for random reasons, or just because I wanted to. So I thought it would be OK. I know that kids can run higher than adults, but I had to know if the super leaky diaper meant more than she just had too much to drink.

Oh my God, I thought when I saw 135. I stopped thinking clearly. More accurately, I stopped thinking. (READ MORE)

It used to be that "back to school shopping" meant two or three new outfits, new shoes and sneakers, and a short handful of "school supplies" -- one or two notebooks, paper and dividers, writing implements, a pencil case, and maybe a ruler.

For good or ill, those days are long gone.

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There's an old adage that says success is "one part inspiration, nine parts perspiration". We tend to see only the first part -- the results, the glitzy façade. Except at the finish line of a race -- whether that be marathon, triathlon, bicycle race, or horse race -- all hints of the perspiration (or let's face it, sweat) are carefully hidden.

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Sad to say, I've not had the bicycle out since Sunday morning. A combination of parental schedules, the Tour de France, rush hour traffic, and a heat wave have conspired to keep me indoors for most of this week. Now, this year's Tour de France has been about as predictable as an adolescent Type 1 girl's blood glucose levels are around menarche -- many favorites crashed out early; the second and third race leaders hung onto their leads far longer (and through more difficult terrain) than expected; expected attacks were never launched (while others were launched at unexpected times), and the French press has been having a field day (or ten) with the first potential French winner in more years than they'd care to count.

So much for "why watch, when I could be doing?".

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