I remember my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Britton.  She was a heavy set woman who wore thick lensed eye glasses.  Her glasses seemed dwarfed by her face.  I adored her.  It was easy to see that I loved going to kindergarten everyday.  I couldn’t stop skipping.  I was in the big-kids school.  Our classroom had a playhouse.  We sat 4 to a table on tiny chairs at a round table.

I learned how to write my name in cursive while in kindergarten.  I watched my Mom and then emulated her handwriting.  I asked her to write my name in cursive.  She showed me.  Oh, all those swirling letters. A-L-E-C-I-A looked so fancy.  Grown-ups wrote in this code.  I would write like this!  I practiced and practiced.

One day in school, when it was time to write our names on the back of our art projects, I proudly wrote my name in cursive.  Mrs. Britton hung our art in the hallway.  She pulled me aside.  She flipped over my art.  She pointed to my name.  She asked why I wrote my name like that.  I proudly told her and my classmates that I had learned cursive.  She told me not to do it again.  She firmly said I would learn cursive in an older grade and that I needed to stay with my class learning to print.  She looked disappointed.  I didn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Britton.  I was mortified.  Quivering-lip, fighting-back-tears mortified.  I had done something wrong and everyone heard her say it.  When I got home, I cried.

Every week, two kindergarteners were assigned the job of “turning-in” the milk money.  Mrs. Britton collected the money from us, placed our money and parent form in an envelop and then trusted us to walk all the way down the hall to the office.  It was a huge responsibility.

When it was my week to “turn-in” the money, I was elated.  My buddy and I headed to the office.  We walked carefully.  This was an important job.  Actually this was the most important job in kindergarten.  Once we had given the envelop to the office, we began the walk back to our classroom.  We were alone, 2 triumphant kindergardeners, passing the 2nd grade classrooms.  We walked with pride.  As we approached the 1st grade classroom, a boy stepped into the hallway.  I knew him.  His name was Curtis and he had been in the same nursery school with me.  He was a year older.  In nursery school he had a girlfriend.  For the nursery school Halloween party, he was dressed as a groom and his girlfriend was dressed as a bride.  I was in awe of Curtis.  Now he was a first grader.  I smiled at him.  He sneered back.  As we walked past him, he began to speak.  I looked at him and he slowly whispered, “Kindergarten Babies”.  I was floored!  Curtis called me a baby.  I was not a baby.  We continued our walk back to our classroom. it was like the wind was knocked out of me.  Kindergarten Babies?  Kindergarten Babies!  Why would he say that?  We had just been in charge of the milk money.  I was devastated.  According to my parents,  I couldn’t even tell them the story when I came home.  I was crying that hard.  I quivering-lip-sobbed, “He….*sob*, he… *sob*, he called me…*sob*, he said we….*sob*, were Kindergarten… *sob, sob, sob*, KINDERGARTEN BABIES!”

Every teacher after Mrs. Britton dealt with more than just me, they dealt with me and diabetes.  As I listened to the breaking news today, I was dumbfounded by the horrific tragedy which occurred in Newtown, Connecticut.  I listened at my desk while this senseless story developed.  I walked home from work with a heavy heart.   I arrived home, shut the door, sat down, hugged my dog and cried.

Those kids were indeed Kindergarten Babies.  My heart aches for them and their families.  I cry for those children who witnessed this travesty and I hope somehow, some way they remain just that, babies.


My Love Affair

I’m having a love affair. I can’t deny it, it’s true. It started in November. I’d seen him before. I did what we all do, I Googled him but quickly decided he wasn’t my type. I’m a rather independent woman. From what I learned, he wanted someone who was a bit needy. He seemed like a bit of a know-it-all too. I had enough going on in my life but I kept looking at him. I asked around. Others knew him but there were mixed feelings. Some people thought he was absolutely wonderful, they praised him but still others said he was unreliable, inconsistent, not worth the effort and that I should just get a dog.

I’d briefly gotten attached to his “type” a few years ago. That one scared me a bit, but we were inseparable for 3 days. Something was missing and I knew it. I never truly felt comfortable. Perhaps we just didn’t click and in the end I was disappointed and frankly, I felt let-down. I guess I was a bit oversold.

Years had gone by and I tried to keep an open-mind, I kept looking at him online. Oh let’s face it, I stared at him online. I just needed to be brave (or so I kept telling myself). Put myself out there. It started with an email. I was testing the waters. It led to more emails. I kept Googling and staring. A date was set, right before Christmas. I was nervous, but excited. He arrived at my home. It was awkward at best. I’m fairly certain he found me cold and perhaps distracted. Our get together ended rather abruptly. I was too nervous and uncomfortable. Later I checked him out online again. I downloaded an app on my phone so I could check him out from there too. I wasn’t giving up hope but it was easier to drag my feet since the holidays were right around the corner. It was a good excuse. I decided I’d try to hook-up with him after the New Year.

After New Year’s, I decided my initial discomfort was with the one-on-one aspect of our initial meeting. I made a decision, made a couple calls, and within 24 hours, we had plans for a group lunch date. I was nervous but we were surrounded by other group dates and suddenly this seemed doable.

Now, over 9 months later, if we go on a date, he never pays. He can be downright irritating, almost preachy, if I’ve under-bolused or have indulged a bit too much. Once, I took Sudafed when I wasn’t feeling well and he went absolutely nuts. We don’t fight often, maybe, but when we do, we’ve learned to start over. A fresh start seems to be best for both of us.

Now I see there were plenty of times I didn’t feel safe on my own. That’s all changed since he came into my life. I’ll admit it, it may not be perfect but we sleep together every night. He wakes me up more than I’d like but I’m glad he’s there.

Thanks for keeping me safe Dex.


Bus riding with B

Memorial Day Weekend and I did what most New Yorkers do (Ok that’s not true.  I did NOT go to the Hamptons).  I did however enjoy time with friends who happen to have outdoor space (yep, a rooftop get together).  Gorgeous right?

I wore a strapless sundress and just inserted my first (drum roll please) unassisted (more drum rolling) Dexcom site in my arm earlier in the morning (woo hoo *Victory Dance*).

Friends arrived at the rooftop festivities with their 2 1/2 year old, Lady B.  I joke that Lady B is smarter than I am.  The joke is that I’m not joking.  This kid quite possibly (possibly = definitely) has a better vocabulary than I do and is so bright that I am considering hiring her to work in my office and run my finances.  Anyway, when it became too dark to sit on the roof, we went to my friend’s apartment where Lady B and I sat next to each other on the sofa.  We started playing what I would like to call, “Riding A NYC Bus” (lots of colliding into each other).  Quickly it was determined that said friend’s loft steps were the “bus stop” and the sofa was the bus.  When we sat on the steps we were squished (the steps are narrow, or I have a big butt, or something like that, shhh no judgements), and my Dexcom sensor was right in Lady B’s face every time she spoke to me.  I kept her jabbering, not sure how to explain my arm if she asked (I have limited knowledge on 2 year olds. That is also true for 1 and 3 years olds).  Lady B and I ran around the coffee table and back to the bus stop.  I felt a tiny little hand cup right over the Dex sensor and Lady B leaned up and asked what was on my arm.  I stammered and started to explain that my body doesn’t always work correctly and this helps me know how to make it better.  She kept patting the sensor, with the gentlest touch, so cautious.  Her Dad started explaining it is medicine.  She kept smiling, staring at the Dexcom sensor, so I told her it helps me stay healthy and strong so I can play with her.  Apparently that was all she needed to know because she pulled her hand away and told me it was time to get on the bus.

The bus game continued (its Manhattan on a holiday weekend, lots of transfers) and my Dexcom sensor became the hot topic (what else are you going to talk about while waiting for the bus right?).  When Lady B realized a sticker held the Dexcom on my arm her eyes were as wide as saucers and her whole face lit up.  She kept patting my arm and telling me how much she likes “this” (The Dexcom).  I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.  I’ve had my fair share of frowning looks and stares from strangers in the last few weeks.  The weather is warm and I own far more sleeveless items of clothing than I ever realized.  When asked, I explain to strangers that I’m diabetic and and quickly explain “it” tracks my blood sugar levels.  Depending on the person’s reaction I might say something like I’m under house arrest OR I’m in the Witness Relocation Program and add a giggle, but there I was, playing crazy bus ride, with a little girl who wanted to talk stickers and for some reason, kept nodding her head and saying, “I like this”.