While driving to a funeral in the Catskill Mountains yesterday, I called home and Susanne said "don't ask."

Charlie has been terribly high lately. I stared ahead at the cars on Route 17 and a valley of farmlands in the distance and responded sarcastically after getting the wretched numbers out of her.

"Fantastic."

The highs at school have been affecting Charlie emotionally in the last few days. With a blood sugar of 370, he had to skip the munchkins from the first of two in-class birthday parties. He had sugar-free Jell-O instead and was on the edge of losing it.

The kids were being rowdy and loud after the teacher had asked for quiet time.

"The ones who are still talking should stand up and go get a slip," Mrs. R said firmly.

Only one kid stood up.

Charlie, fighting back tears, told his teacher that he was talking to Sophie; explaining to her that he couldn't have her birthday munchkins because his blood sugar was so high.

Mrs. R and the aide were both close to tears, we were told later.

Mrs. R asked Charlie if he needed a hug and he gladly accepted.

When I got home I found a Ziploc bag containing three munchkins – one glazed, one chocolate glazed and one powdered. The chocolate one looked like it had been sat on by a walrus. Written in black marker on the bag was "Charlie Potash" and under his name, the words "for me." This was, he said, so that dad wouldn't eat it. Good call. I am known to do that.

So to sum it up, diabetes can kiss my ass.

On a lighter note, I've been talking in my sleep apparently. Here's a transcript from the wee hours of two consecutive nights.

Night 1

Susanne: Carey, did you test him? What's his blood sugar?

Susanne: Carey!!!

Carey: No.

Susanne: Why?

Carey: There's just no way of knowing.

Night 2

Susanne: Carey, did you check Charlie?

Carey: No. Can't.

Susanne: What???

Carey: Because of the weather.