Loving You

Sometimes it's hard to believe that people can love as deeply as we do. We take our hearts and hold them out to another person, trusting that they're not going to throw it away or drop it, and that takes a lot of faith. However, women and men love differently. As a woman, I'm going to shed some light on our perspective of love*.

When we fall in love, it is literally falling. Often we can't catch ourselves, and we end up deeper in love than we thought we would be. In falling so far, we invest our whole selves, sometimes our whole souls. We become "gluttons for punishment," as the saying from Charley goes. And we really do. We'll do practically anything for the man we love, and all we can do is hope that they respond in full. Oftentimes, however, they don't. From my experience, men tend to be more practical; not always, but oftentimes they will put off the girl for something else that needs to be done. Usually it's a good reason, but when she is willing to give up anything for you, it can hurt. Sometimes she'll be angry with you, but usually she is just sad until she can see you again.

When we are in love, we are in love. As in, that's all we think about. And talk about. And often dream about. Every little thing their man does is dissected and inspected and analyzed (especially if she's not sure the feelings are mutual). Then she tells her friends about it to see what they think. She wants to know if what he does means anything. From what most men have told me, it doesn't mean something nearly as often as she thinks it does. But then she agonizes over everything: Should I say this? Should I text him? Am I being too forward? Am I being too shy? The questions never end, and so she never really stops thinking about them. Everything around us reminds us of our love. A song, a place, a word; they all remind us why we love them, and bring our butterflies back to our stomachs again.

Women cry about men more than men might think. Something simple as a forgotten date or an interrupted conversation can cause tears if she's deep enough in love (or hormonal, but that's another story). Most of the time when she cries about a man, she isn't angry with him, but loves him so much that she can't hold back the tears when she feels like her love isn't reciprocated in full. She'll cry when she feels like she's working harder than him, when she feels like she's failed him, when she worries he doesn't love her. Women cry: It's a fact, and loving a man can bring about the tears more often.

Men, be sensitive to the way women love. We love deeply, and so want to be loved deeply back. Culture has taught us that men are supposed to make the first move, but you move too slow. Usually by the time the move is made we've been hoping for it for weeks. We want little surprises to show that you remember us. It can be something as simple as a text that asks how a certain event went or a surprise visit just to say hello, or it can be something as big as taking her on a drive and kissing her in a romantic spot. Honestly, we just want you to think about us as much as we think about you, and little personalized surprises show that you do. Also, show her and tell her you love her. And don't wait. If you are 85% sure she loves you and you love her too, then tell her. 98% of the time you are 100% right. Don't make her a glutton for punishment. Make her smile as she sleeps instead of cry. Make it your goal to never make her cry. Odds are you won't succeed, but try. She'll notice and appreciate it. 

Everyone loves differently. Women know that men love in their own way, and we will try to learn their ways, but sometimes it's nice to be loved how you know how to love, because then you know it's love.

* This is from a limited perspective. Not all women will agree with this, but it's still a good insight.

Not-So-Friendly Encounters

It's an awful moment when you find this behind your shampoo in your shower. First, because you have to keep yourself from screaming. Second, because you have to kill the thing. Third, because you have to dispose of the corpse.

Screaming while you're alone locked in the bathroom automatically means one of three things: There's a fire, there's a spider, or you just saw your new hair job in the mirror. People usually tend to guess the first one, as it is the worst-case scenario. It would go something like this: After seeing the spider and screaming, your panic is interrupted by your dad pounding on the door, yelling: "What is it? Where's the fire?" And then you have to yell back over the running water that nothing's wrong and please don't break down the door... Not a pretty picture. So the first reason this scenario is terrible is because you have to face it alone.

My mother always told me that you're not allowed to kill spiders when they're outside in the garden. I believe this rule is specific on purpose so as to allow us to kill the things when they are in our regime. And the shower definitely falls under that definition. It can't be allowed to live. But that creates a problem: There is no shoe in the shower to kill it with. There's always the shampoo bottle it was hiding behind, but that's bulky and may chase it away (toward my feet!) if I miss. So, I grab a smaller soap bottle and whack it. It dies on impact. But, of course, I have to hit it at least seven more times, just to make sure. Killing the thing is such a frightening prospect, but since it needs to be done it has to be done right.

Disposing of the body is difficult when your resources are limited, but you can't just leave the dead crumpled devil laying there. Besides, that's where the soap goes. So, I used what I had: Water. I cupped my hands and started throwing handfuls on it to wash it off the edge of the tub. It made it half-way down the side and stuck. Now it was squished, mangled and soggy. This thing had to go. I took hold of the shower head and directed it's jet to above the corpse, and pulled down. The force of the water moved it a few more inches, then stopped again. I repeated the process until it began sliding continuously down the side... Toward my feet! Luckily the tub was big enough for me to maneuver around it and it made it down the drain, which is the only place for a spider's burial. I guess it's only right to say a few words... RIP, I'm glad you're dead and stuff...

Not only did this episode ruin the beginning of my shower, but it sped it up to less than half the time I was planning on. And I kept my eyes open for most of it, not enjoying the hot water but watching for more of the brutes. And then afterward I put my clothes on so fast that things went on twisted and backwards, but I was out of that bathroom like a shot. Stupid spider, ruining my shower. But I guess, technically, I got even.

Pretty Bad Days

It's normal to have bad days.

There are the bad days that happen when you do something stupid, and so you feel sick about it the entire day and it just wrecks everything. 

There are the days when other people do things to you that keep pulling you and your mood down lower and lower.

Then there are the worst kind of days when things you have no control over ruin your day. 

While we should be able to control our blood sugar levels, weight, and other things associated with diabetes, sometimes it's just hard. You're playing outside and you go low, but you don't want to test or eat. You snack while hanging out with friends and neglect your shot because you just want to enjoy the time. You don't feel pretty when standing next to your skinny friend who eats twice as much as you. All things that you should be able to control, but oftentimes you can't. And those things are often the things that ruin your day. 

It's been a long time since I've heard someone genuinely call me beautiful. My "attractiveness hasn't diminished," or "of course I'm pretty," but it's all in jest, or out of duty. There are days I spend so much time getting ready and I feel pretty, but then no one notices. And why? My body fights itself; insulin puts on weight, going low makes me eat extra, my body stores fat because of the diabetes. And that makes me ugly. Somehow people can't see through the diabetes to me. 

To all you girls with diabetes: You are beautiful no matter what your size. I know you hear that from tons of people, but take it from me: It's most important what's inside you, and as long as you're happy with that, you can be happy with anything.

To all you boys who know girls with diabetes: Don't go compliment her because you feel guilty now. Be honest, be truthful, and realize that her body makes it so she can't fit the world's idea of a "perfect woman." She's trying her best, giving her all, and all she wants is someone to honestly see her as beautiful, and to tell her so.

This Means War!

You wash your hands. You reach for the kitchen towel. That is, until your younger brother walks in the room. Then you get different ideas. You sneak on tiptoe across the kitchen, cradling your dripping fingers in your wet palms. Just a few more steps... just a few more...

There! You've done it! You leave the excess water dripping from your brother's face as you make a hasty retreat back to the kitchen sink to reload. But he's closer to the bathroom than you are to the sink. He gets you back as you're turning on the water. Unfortunately for him, you have a stream of cold water right in front of you; bad timing on his part. You fill your cupped hands to the brim with water and send it sailing directly onto the front of his shirt. Then you run, even though that means he's got the sink at his disposal. Maybe if you run fast enough you'll make it to the bathroom in time--

No such luck. This water bomb (in the form of a sopping kitchen towel) hits your rear end. Not cool. You turn to retaliate with dry hands, even though you're not sure what you're going to do. Whoops. He gets you in the face with a shower from his fingers. You pick up the wet towel and follow his retreating back onto the back porch. He's already flown down the stairs onto the lawn, but you've been on a softball team. You take careful aim and hit him in the back of the head. He turns around, fire in his eyes. You turn and run, locking the door behind you, but not before you hear his shout: "This means war!"

You can't let him have the last word. You lock the front door also on your way to lock the downstairs door. He's stuck outside. You get a bucket, fill it with icy water and take it out on the back porch. He's still below you, banging on the downstairs door and not looking at you. So, you upturn the bucket on his head. He wipes dripping hair from his eyes and looks up at you. "War? Bring it on!" you shout before going inside and locking again.

Down Days

Diabetes consists of three major stages: High, Normal, and Low. When a diabetic is "high" that means their blood sugar level is higher than normal. Symptoms of that include frequent urination, thirst, agitation, and nausea. "Normal" means their blood sugar level is just where it needs to be and they feel wonderful. A "low" blood sugar is just that: A blood sugar level lower than usual. Those symptoms include nausea, shaking, sweating, hunger, and confusion.

I would like to focus this post on the term "Low" and what it really means for a diabetic. When someone is low, the solution is to get sugar into the blood stream. The easiest way to do that is to eat. Sounds nice, doesn't it? "I don't feel good; that gives me an excuse to eat sugary foods. Yay!" ...Not so much. While sugary foods like soda, candy, and syrup sound like the best solution, they're not. Those sugars make blood sugar levels skyrocket, then drop them like a rock. The diabetic will go high, and then end up low again. Complex carbohydrates or carbs with protein work the best, such as bread or milk. Also, glucose tablets made especially for low blood sugars work well (although, often the flavors are disgusting). If you're required to eat, who wants to eat those types of foods? But, you have to.

Also, what about the diabetics who are dieting? Imagine that thought process: "Oh great, I'm low. That means I have to eat, which means I have to use some of my calorie budget for dinner or risk going over." What if you're dieting with a friend? "Dude, why are you eating? Are you going low on purpose so you can eat?" What an awful accusation! I know what a great comeback would be: "Yes, I'm making myself feel shaky and sick on purpose so I can eat more food than I'm supposed to." No!

Going low isn't fun. Most of the time it just interrupts what the person's doing (Murphy's law says that a diabetic will go low at the most inconvenient times) and makes them eat when they don't want to. Often it happens in the middle of the night, so they are required to have a 2 am snack, then stay up for 15 minutes to make sure it works. Sometimes it takes two or three snacks to get their blood sugar level rising. By that time it's nearly 3 am, and they've lost an hour of sleep.

Be patient with your diabetic friends and family. If they go low, encourage them not to put off fixing it (because sometimes they will; they won't want to stop what they're doing to take care of themselves). Offer them food if they have none, and don't get frustrated if they don't have anything on them. No one plans on going low. Don't hesitate to eat with them; make it fun for them, instead of a chore that has to happen before you can have fun again. Don't make them feel guilty for going low; it's not their fault. Sometimes overdoses on insulin or unexpected exercise happens; while those are mistakes they made, going low is punishment enough. They don't need someone else riding them on having to eat.

For the diabetics reading: Here are a list of some foods that are more enjoyable to eat when you're low, because they have the complex carbs or proteins with a yummy food. (Most of these you just have a small serving, because it's more than the usual 15 carbs.)

Chocolate Milk
Bread with Jam, Honey, or Peanut Butter
Tortilla Chips and Salsa
Yogurt
Granola Bars
Fruit
Smoothie (Add veggies for extra nutrition)

The Lemonade Stand

The vision: A huge, neon sign in front of a beautifully decorated booth. A padded chair to sit in while serving hundreds of customers your ice-cold, fresh-squeezed lemonade that you store by the gallon in a refrigerator behind you. At least a hundred dollars in profit, and that's after splitting it with your co-workers.

The reality: A cardboard sign held by your three-year-old brother in front of your parents old foldable card-table. A camp chair to sit in as you wait for someone to come and buy a glass of lukewarm Crystal Light out of the single pitcher Mom loaned you. A grand total of $12.50 that you then have to split six ways.

It's a summer tradition: A lemonade stand. All the parents know it's doomed for failure, but you have to try it anyway, because the kids in the movies all make bank... Right? But, of course, never believe what you see in the movies.

Still, it's a fun way to spend a summer afternoon, especially if you get enterprising friends as business partners. The other day there was a whole gaggle of kids around a lemonade stand on a street corner in our neighborhood. I was in my car, and some children I knew flagged me down. "Koolaide for 25 cents!" I couldn't just leave them hanging, so I fished out a quarter and took the Koolaide. It was red, lukewarm, and had floating things in it. Their "stand" was a dirty old wheelbarrow that I couldn't see the inside of from my car, so I was afraid of what was in there. I kept it in my car's cupholder as I drove to the bank and home, then dumped it in the garden as I walked inside. I'd done my duty to the poor kids without endangering my personal health.

The Bedroom

My brother today decided to move into the spare bedroom. Lucas came into the living room and kept us informed on everything he decided, and then came the biggest announcement of all: "No girls allowed in my room, just cool people."

A few minutes later, he came in with Amendment #1: "No girls allowed, just boys and parents. Mom can come in, because she's a parent." When Samantha complained, he came up to her and patted her shoulder, saying, "Don't worry; I'll come out of my room a lot."

It wasn't more than ten minutes before Amendment #2 was added: "No girls allowed, just boys, parents, and Samantha."

Dad must have stepped in with an idea at this point, because soon Amendment #3 was added: "Girls can come in my room only if they bring me food."

At this point the amendments stopped, but now it became a battle between all the sisters (except Samantha) and Lucas to see who would end up going in his room. I tried first, and he said I could go in if I didn't steal his stuff. I didn't; I stole him instead, throwing him laughing over my shoulder. As I carried him out, Penny ran into his room, taunting him as she went. He immediately started squirming, so I put him down and he ran after her, yelling, "No! No, you can't go in!" Penny gave up after that, but Anna didn't. Cries of "Get out!" and "No girls allowed!" are still periodically ringing throughout the house.

Good thing he really isn't scheduled to move in for a few more weeks.