Guest Post - 5 Things I wish people knew about Diabetes

You may remember that just a couple of weeks ago I posted about the warning signs of Type 1 Diabetes. It's National Diabetes Awareness Month (Actually, internationally, not just in Australia). I spoke earlier this month with a wonderful Mother who's daughter was diagnosed earlier this year with Type 1 Diabetes. I asked, and she generously consented to do a guest post about Type 1. 

Her name is Kim, and someone needs to make her a button with this photo on it. :-)

source

To find her blog, head over to Falling Face First. Read this post. And this one. She's here on Facebook, and here on Twitter. 

This is Kim:

Five things I wish people knew about Type 1 Diabetes

Type 1 Diabetics ALWAYS need insulin – 24 hrs a day.

After mentioning my 5-year old daughter is diabetic, the next question I'm usually asked, even by medical people such as dentists, is 'does she take insulin'? People sometimes also think that she only needs to take it once a day, like a pill, or for a certain period of time until her disease becomes stable. Type 1 diabetes is a chronic auto-immune illness where the body has effectively attacked and killed the pancreas, stopping it from producing any insulin of its own. Little L and other Type 1s will need artificial insulin either in the form of multiple needles or continuous pump infusion 24 hours a day, every day of their lives, in order to stay alive.

It may look pretty easy, but it's not. 

There's a reason it may look easy. If it's a child, we as parents want the multiple daily fingerpricks and entering of carbohydrate intake into the pump at each meal to be as quick and hassle-free as possible. That way little L can have a chance at quickly getting back into doing normal kid things, and not be delayed too long by the medical rigmarole that goes into every mealtime. Prick the finger, check the blood glucose number, enter it into the pump, enter the carb component of her meal, and enter. NOW she can eat. And repeat. Three times daily, plus snacks. Boring for me, and particularly boring for a child. I've had people who've spent a few hours with me surprised to find me doing another fingerprick at lunchtime, after doing one at morning tea. Over a short period of time it looks ok. Over time though, it's relentless. There are no taking breaks or skipping a dose. If it's a teenager or an adult, they're likely to be even more discreet and make it look even easier, because there is baggage attached to having diabetes. It's a label – and nobody wants to go on a date and end up being called 'the diabetic girl', or go to work and be seen as less physically capable than others because of their condition. People want to be known for themselves first and foremost, and not be defined by the monkey that's on their back. Everyone is different, and people will let you know how open they feel about their diabetes.

You don't have to 'look' a certain way to have diabetes. 

If I see one more media story on television about generic 'diabetes' showing fat people walking around shopping malls eating hamburgers, I may stab the TV. People with diabetes don't have a 'look', and there is not one diabetes. Yes, Type 2 diabetes is far more likely to occur from unhealthy lifestyle factors like being overweight and having high cholesterol, but equally there are very fit people with Type 2 who won an unlucky genetic lottery. Type 1 diabetes, previously named 'juvenile' diabetes, occurs not only in children but can strike well into adulthood and is an autoimmune disease, entirely unrelated to lifestyle or food. In fact, when developing Type 1 diabetes, people are likely to become very thin or drop weight very rapidly as a symptom, as the body burns through fat reserves for fuel.

Just because you wear a pump or inject insulin, doesn't mean it's all fixed. 

Living with Type 1 diabetes is a daily rollercoaster, no matter how closely or carefully it's managed. People assume that once you've got your insulin going in, it's a fixed dose like a pill, and you're on your way. In fact, it's a careful dance of fiddling doses to match food, exercise, hormones, and many other unpredictable factors that alter blood glucose levels (BGL or blood sugar levels). Even with an insulin pump, on a pretty bad (but by no means unusual) day little L can go from having a hypo of 1.3 mmol at preschool to a high of 22.4 mmol in the afternoon. The range for the non-diabetic adult should be within 4–6 mmol. Both of these extremes make her feel like crap. Just because she has the insulin now doesn't mean we can magically keep her within 4–6. It is the hardest battle for anybody living with diabetes, to keep their BGL levels under control, and to avoid the terrible complications that can develop over time.

We put on a brave face, but we get sad. 

Yes, it could be worse. Yes, she's a little trouper. Yes, she's very brave and she's coping very well. When things happen, you just get on with them. It's an emotional illness as well as a physical one, however, and she does get angry and frustrated sometimes. I also get jaded – and really feel like there are days when I can't do another fingerprick. Some days when she's at preschool I've gone to enter the carbs for the meal I'm about to eat into an insulin pump that doesn't exist… so closely are we tied in many ways. Food is just not simple anymore, and a lot of the joy that is there in that freedom is lost. Every lunchbox is added up, and every plate of food at a party calculated. I'm sad that I have to protect her so much, and I'm sad I can't just wave her goodbye at the school gate next year and let her be on her way. I'm sad that she's never really safe, even sitting on the couch when I'm in another room, unless I know what her BGL is. I find that the key for me is to just not reflect too much, and get on with it.

I’m hoping to educate as many people as I can, to make little L’s life and the life of other Type 1s just a little bit less frustrating. Please help me spread the word.

Me again

If you have any questions about Diabetes, please ask. Go to your GP and ask for a simple finger prick test. It takes but seconds and can give your doctor an indication as to whether you need to get blood drawn for a more conclusive test.  

Remember the signs. Don't dismiss them. Don't assume it happens to other people. 

It is estimated that Diabetes kills one person every 8 -  10 seconds. In Australia, well over 1 million people have diabetes. 3 out of 5 of them also have cardio-vascular disease. People with diabetes (Type 2) are 3 times more likely to have cardio vascular disease than those without. It (and health issues related to diabetes) is the 6th leading cause of death in this country. Between 65% - 80% of us will die from coronary heart disease. 

Tomorrow, more about my diagnosis. Head on over to Kim's blog and say hi.

Wordless Wednesday - Spring is almost over

There are just a couple of days left of Spring, friends. The Jacarandas have almost stopped blooming for another year.

It's been a busy one for us this year.  We've gone on an amazing, peaceful beach holiday..

We've moved house.....

We've gotten a diagnosis for Samuel, and enrolled him to start Prep next year....

Joel and I celebrated our 15th year of marriage and our darling Sammy turned 5..

I turned 37 and we welcomed a sweet, new, furry member of our family, the boys' first ever pet...

We welcomed a brand new niece into our family, Stella Mae..

There are literally just a couple of days left, but I feel like this Summer is going to be one of the best we've ever had. Filled with family and fun, beach and sunshine....

The Power of Words..

Sad news here in Australia, and perhaps all through the literary world today. Bryce Courtney, one of Australia's most prolific and successful authors has died from cancer, only months after announcing to the world that his illness was terminal.

He released this video only a fortnight or so ago, a final goodbye. I'll admit to a little bit of a tear at the end.

I have to say, I've been a little ambivalent about some of his later books. Until recently, I had never been a fan of Historical Fiction, particularly Australian (with only a couple of beloved, wonderful exceptions; okay, so that's more than a couple, and there have been a few since).

Rather a lot of Bryce Courtney's novels are Australian historical fiction, so I have to confess I'd given them a fairly wide berth. But (isn't there always a 'but'?).  The first BC novel I ever picked up had an enormous impact on me, and on the reader I am. I first read The Power of One after not-so-patiently waiting for my parents to finish it.  I'd heard them tantalising each other with talk of it as each of them took their turn and was so desperate to read it after them, such was their praise. I was 14 or 15 and I had started to fall in love with epic tales and was voraciously searching for new authors (I think at the time I was loving  Jeffrey Archer and Leon Uris), and more adult books (no, not that kind of adult).

The epic tale of Peekay the white South African boy who loved his black nanny and is sent away to a boarding school when he is just 5. The horrors he discovered in this new life, his confusion at the disgusting Apartheid and the people he meets along the way resonated strongly with me. While in a lot of reviews I have read, this is referred to as a 'book about boxing', I have to say, it's not at all the way I remember it. Yes, boxing is integral to Peekay's life and it is used heavily in it's narrative. But this book was about so much more.  Reading it through the eyes of the 15-year-old me, I obviously romanticised the story more than I ought, and loved Peekay. My later readings left me a little disenchanted by the ending, but my overriding memory is still a positive one.

I learned today that this book was in fact the only of Bryce Courtenay's books to be published outside of Australia.  I do think it is by far his best work of fiction (well, that's not fair. He has many that I have never read, so it's the best of his that I read), if you can possibly get your hands on a copy of his non-fiction, emotionally harrowing April Fools Day, you really ought to read it. 

RIP Mr Courtenay. Your loss will be felt in the Australian literary world for years to come.

Notes

Why is it that after almost 10 years, just the first notes of one of your favourite songs can do this to me? Just the first words and I had goosebumps. 

I was reading something else. I wasn't thinking about you, not at all. I didn't know the song was going to come on. It was an autoplay after another song I'd looked up. I don't even like this song. 

I knew that I hadn't been able to listen to her voice since you died. Hell, since you got sick. The air gets too thick, seems to woosh through me. It's hard to breathe, and impossible to see through the tears .

But Dammit Mum. This wasn't even her. She wasn't even singing. This is some stupid kid whose name I don't even know singing one of your songs. And it did not matter a bit that I was happily reading something else. It didn't matter that I wasn't thinking about you. 

The goosebumps, they came anyway. Instantly. I felt colder, the way I always do. Am I remembering being in the car with you with this album always playing? Am I remembering the week you died?

I wasn't thinking about you. 

Why can't I think of anything else now?

And the walls came tumbling down.

I feel like I'm drowning at the moment.  There is so much going on in my life and in my head - so many balls up in the air that I feel as though I have dropped them all. 

There's no one thing right now that is doing this. It seems to be one hundred tiny little things, swirling around like so much white noise somehow drowning out the rest. Drowning out my focus and my clarity. Getting a choke hold on any semblance of calm or control that I might foolishly have imagined I possessed. 

I missed another appointment for Sam. Speech and Occupational Therapy, so two appointments actually. I asked Joel if we had an appointment on Saturday, if he'd made one the previous fortnight. No, he says. Nothing was mentioned. 

Odd, I think, something pressing on the periphery of my mind. What have I forgotten?  The phone rings and it is the receptionist at my Doctor's clinic. Confirming my appointment with my psychologist. For that morning. "Yes, I stumble, of course I've remembered". Obviously this is what I have forgotten, though for some reason my mind is not eased any.  They are confirming, I tell myself because I keep calling to ask when my appointments are. Because no matter how many times I write them down, I still can't keep track of them.  I imagine them all talking about me, rolled eyes and frustrated sighs. The reality is I've been there many, may times and I hear them confirm these allied health appointments all of the time. It's not me, my paranoia is raging again, won't be silenced. 

I get to my appointment for 8am. I check in with the receptionist worth her weight in gold. She knows every patient. She knows everyone's husband and child's name. She knows which of my boys needs warming up before he'll chat back, but she knows to make a big fuss of him if he does, so he knows what a good job he's done, so he knows that she knows how hard that was for him.  We bring her coffee and she hugs me. my heart aches for a minute. I'd forgotten how good it felt to hug a woman, a girlfriend. We're not, of course. Not really friends, she is this lovely to all of her customers. I don't know if they know how amazing she is. 

She tells me she's shuffled my other two appointments around. My blank stare gives me away and she knows it's happened again. She is patient, sympathetic even. She knows I see my Doctor a LOT. She knows something's up. She probably doesn't know that I've yet to mention the memory issues to him. My psych wants me to do it, and quickly but it makes me feel ditsy, a hypochondriac even.

I have to do it soon. It's becoming a major problem. Those balls in the air - I'm dropping every one of them. School appointments, letters to mail, forms to fill out and send in. WE could have saved over $1500 by now if I'd just remember to send in the Autism Queensland forms for the FASCIA funding for Sam. It took me 3 months, but it is finally done. 

I know that the Autism Advisory person called me on Friday afternoon. Or was it Monday? Which is only yesterday. Did I dream it? I can't find it written down anywhere, though surely I would have written it down. Why can't I keep track of these things? I'm always certain I've written it down. I have a "Post-It" gadget on my iGoogle page and I write things down on that. But it's not there. I have her name, and her position. I have her phone number. But no time. I know we were going to have a phone conference. 


No word back from AQ yet. Our provider says we just need to call them and get Sam's CRN and funding can start on his next session. I should be doing that. But here I am, my eyes closed and free writing whatever is in my head right now. Will it help? 

This morning trying to get the boys ready was a nightmare. Of my own making, as it is I that was most un-organised. When I'm not organised with uniforms and clothes and shoes and lunches, the morning falls apart. I should be doing it all the night before. I didn't and I should because I know that right now, mornings are a bad time. My pain levels aren't nearly under control anymore. My GP wants to re-run my inflammatory levels, see what's happening now that I've been off the Pred for a year. He predicts they'll be incredibly high. He can see some of the inflammation himself. I sigh and nod my head, but we've been down this road before. The rheumatologist said that there wasn't enough inflammation to be indicative of anything other than Fibro and me being obese (despite the fact I'd been on Pred for 8 months at that point).  We'll see.  I'm going to try to do them this afternoon.  If I remember. 


This wasn't supposed to be what the post was about. This post was supposed to be about Joel. 

Joel. The proverbial rescue line. I've been on the verge of tears all morning. Sad, weepy, sure. But angry too. I dont' know who at, at everyone. At me, certainly. But the rest of the world too. I gave him a quick phone call to ask hm something and found myself unloading. I know he was busy. I should have just let it go but I'm barely hanging on. I cried this morning at daycare. I never do that but I was so angry and frustrated and scared and sad that it all came out. I handed them Sam, kissed him goodbye and said I had to go. I needed them to tkae him today and I needed to escape. 

Joel says he'll be home in half an hour. It's like a life line. I'm drowning out at sea and he's just tossed me a line. It's not just the promise of his presence, although don't underestimate that. It's his voice. Th sound of it is like a shot of valium. His words weave their way through my veins and they settle in my brain and I feel a warmth, a sense of well being. The white noise isn't silenced. No, it's there but it's quieter. It's something to clutch onto, a fixed point to focus on as i start to get my head above the water. 

He's home. I can her the garage door. I might not drown after all.

Edit: I wrote this on Tuesday afternoon. I literally closed my eyes and typed until it was out. I haven't done any "freewriting for a long time". Apologies if there are errors or typos. I've not edited other than to add the pics and this note.  

Also. When Joel got home I dragged him into our bedroom. (Wow, that sounds far more exciting than it was....). I told him not to speak. I said I wouldn't speak. I just needed to lay with him for 20 silent minutes. I needed to close my eyes some more and breathe in time with him. I needed to smell him, breathe in the scent of him, aftershave and soap and man. Needed to feel the soft hairs on his leg tickle against my smoother ones. Feel his thumb work it's way softly against my knuckles, the way they have been for 16 years now. 

Not 2 minutes later there was a banging on the door and Dad and Koko were back for the week. Sigh. Those 2 minutes were blissful though....

Tork's Dad blog: The Very Best Dad Jokes eBook

Head on over to Tork's blog to see the e-book he's written. It's pages of lame but somehow still funny "Dad jokes". You know the ones.  Groan but kick yourself because you're laughing anyway. Mine's going to Alexander. He's a joke teller. Of sorts. The thing about having a mild-ish Aspie? He knows that people like jokes. He just doesn't really get what makes them funny. So he makes them up. Every.Single.Day. And they make NO sense at all. My poor little man so badly wants to be funny.

So. Some new material for him. It's the perfect gift for a 9 (I'm gripping that "9" so hard for the next 3 months..) year old.

Tork's Dad blog: The Very Best Dad Jokes eBook: Dad jokes are the lamest but favourite jokes that dad's love to tell. They make you groan and walk away in shame that you chuckled at th...

The book is $5.00, and $1 of that goes to Little Heroes, an organisation that supports families of very sick little children.  It's something Tork knows a lot about as his little poppet was really unwell for his first year or so.

So. Off you go. Buy it. Fun jokes, a charity donation - a Christmas Present for a son or a nephew?

If this isn't progress, I don't know what is.

Sometimes it's really good to stop a moment, look back and see how far you've come. I did this quite by accident last night but it's been amazing to me to do so.

Source: google.com.au via Melissa on Pinterest

I just found an old food/BGL diary. Checking my Blood glucose levels has long been my biggest downfall. I didn't mind taking insulin, or oral medication. I didn't mind getting blood tests done to check my 3 month levels. But the 3-4 times daily checking and recording the BGLs?  No. I hated it and for most of the past 10 years, have avoided it like the plague. 

In fact, when depression or anxiety strikes, it is always possible to see when the first symptom kicks in. It is when I start avoiding. Avoiding mail. Avoiding people, phone calls, public places. I avoid everything I can. And I especially avoid checking my blood sugar levels. They cause me stress, even when they're optimal. It's something always there in the back of my mind and I tend to do everything I can not to think about it. 

Source: google.com.au via Melissa on Pinterest

Of course, checking BGLs is one of the most important things in diabetes management. Obviously in Type 1 Diabetes, there is no way on earth to get around the many-times-a-day testing. It's literallt a matter of life or death. But I always felt that with Type 2, I had some leeway. It wasn't 'real diabetes', wasn't as dangerous as Type 1, so what was the big deal? 

Even as I repeat this to myself, my gut (and the part of my brain which actually holds a smart woman) whispers that I'm an idiot. Of course it matters. Diabetes is killing people every hour of every day. And not just people with Type 1. This is a plague on our society and the best way to control it is to be aware of it. 

Anyway, I'm doing better now (though in all honesty there is room for improvement. But I do keep tabs now). Not just in my readings, but in testing. But it's easy to forget how far I've come. I'm so used to seeing good numbers that I'd forgotten just how sick I was. 

Finding my old diary is a wake up call. Joel and I went through it together last night and we were just speechless over the numbers. 


This time last year I was taking two types of insulin. I was on 80units a day (at bedtime) of a very slow release insulin. Then 3 times a day I was on 60units of a very fast acting insulin. I was also taking (had just started to re-take) an oral medication as well (most people have heard of Metformin, but I was on something different which didn't seem to be helping at all). 

This week last year my fasting Blood glucose levels sat between 24.6 and 30.4!  Unbelievable. Optimal is a reading of between 3 and 5. That was while on massive doses of insulin. And my post-breakfast readings (2 hours after eating) were as often as not simply HI readings, meaning they were not really measurable by my meter. 

Day	Fasting BGL	Post-Breakfast BGL
Monday 11th November	24.1	28.9
Tuesday 12th November	20.6	HI
Wednesday 13th Novmeber	30.4	29.2
Thursday 14th November	19.1	23.5
Friday 15th November	29.4	HI
Saturday 16th November	23.6	23.7
Sunday 17th November	27.7	29.9

 I literally feel panicky as I look at these numbers....

Now, with nothing but re-adding one tablet (going back onto Metformin and off the other) and a complete food overhaul - my fasting levels are consistently around 4-5.  I know it's not perfect. Sometimes it is less than that, and sometimes if I'm sick etc I get a 7.  (Disclaimer: recently after a very, very bad day and an hour and a half after some sushi I got a reading of 12 and burst into tears).

This is such a healthier place to be. I look back at those numbers and I'm kind of shellshocked. Immediately aware that I'm so lucky that I am relatively 'ok' after sustaining levels like that for what was quite probably at least 4-5 years. 

And other than the metformin, I can still honestly tell you that this was simply a change in diet. Changing the way that I approach food has quite literally changed my life - for the better. 

Source: helpwithweightloss.org via Connie on Pinterest

A new Link Up

A couple of hours ago I was blog hopping (as you do) and came across something rather similar to my old Muse Wars. The trick with this one, however is the limit of 100 words. I'm thinking impossible. Certainly my first attempt hasn't come in at 100 (122). But I'll keep trying. 

The prompt? The pain was excruciating.

He stared at nothing, his body still. He'd been rubbing her neck when he froze, his eyes glazing over. She turned lazily, wondering what had stopped him. The look on his face chilled her to her very core. Fear. Confusion. A barely-there tremor in his hand.

He tried to speak, nothing came. She asked him again, louder. "What's wrong? Is it happening again?" Nothing. Was it happening again, only worse? Oh God, don't let it be worse.

Tell me the first doctor was wrong. It wasn't a brain bleed. Tell me his beautiful brain is safe. There are still no words though. Please don't let him die. Waiting for him to answer me, waiting on those MRI results, the pain was excruciating.

Slow Down

Dear Mum,

It’s just after 9 and the boys are finally settled at school and Kindy. I can’t believe that Samuel ‘graduates’ preschool in just 4 short weeks. That Alexander will finish grade 4 the same day.

I want to cry. It’s going to fast. I don’t know how to describe it so you’ll understand how scared I am. Maybe you'd laugh, tease me that you 'told me so'. I didn’t understand until Alexander started school.  I didn't understand just how hard this will be, just how big the fissure in my heart would grow.

We hand them over and allow their lives to slowly start to move away from ours. Not away so much as beyond. We’re not their whole world any more. There are hours upon hours of their lives we’re no longer privy to. Hours upon hours where strangers will influence their minds, their attitudes and hearts. From personal experience I know that it is an influence that can last the rest of their lives.

It doesn’t seem to matter how long I’ve been doing this now – or perhaps it just makes it worse. But I feel this sense of urgency all of the time now, like time is against me. It’s silly, we’ve not even hit double figures, though we're only 2 and a half months away from that milestone too. 9 was hard. That 9th birthday shook us both. Not because of 9 itself, of course. But because it was the last one before 10. Before he was more a tween than a little boy. 

I know, this happens to everyone. And most probably cope better than I. Heaven knows change is not something I do well. Letting go of my children, even a bit at a time is the worst kind of change to me. But it seems just so impossible to me to think that my little Alexander starts high school in just 2 years. In 2 years I will have to let him go to a place that I just know is going to rock him, challenge him and probably break him at least a little.

 High school is brutal. It's brutal if you're just the littlest bit different. In hindsight I think it is brutal for almost everyone (oh to be one of those who made it through unscathed, un-scarred...). But for a boy like Alexander? So young; so earnest and still innocent for his age. 

What will he do? Will he know how cruel they're being? He has 'friends' at school. A couple. But even from a distance I can see that they're not really friends. They're acquaintances. Just as likely to turn on him, mock him as they are to defend. Far more likely, in fact. 

He has it in his head that High School is going to be like his beloved Diary of a Wimpy Kid. He thinks that he is Greg and that in high school he's finally going to find his Rowley. He's not. It's been 5 years of schooling already, and 2-3 of daycare. He doesn't have a Rowley. He never has.

Sometimes I think about their autism (well, I'm always thinking of it) and I realise I'm so lucky. They're mild/moderate. They communicate. They are affectionate. They have no intellectual impairment. But Mum, some things are all the more difficult because of that.  They are impaired just enough. Just enough for teachers to forget they're there. Just enough for children to tease, but not enough to not notice the teasing anymore. Mild enough to know they can't take their frustration out on other children, but not mild enough that other children don't notice they're different and bully them because of it. Sometimes I wonder if that in between place can be the loneliest of all. 

 How did you do this? Did you even know that there might have been something going on with me? In hindsight it's clear to us, and to my doctors that I was an Aspie. I'm almost certain Daniel was too. He was a classic male Aspie, I a classic female. I didn't know until a couple of years ago how different the two were.  I know that you knew Daniel had something going on. I know you tried to get him help. But me? Did you know how I struggled? If you were still here, would you know how much I still do? 

How did you do this 4 times? I know you parented so differently to us, but still, you must have felt this? The years whooshing by like so much sand, just escaping your fingers no matter how tight you might have wanted to hold it in. How did it not break you? 

There are just 2-3 months until my little Sam starts school. He doesn't want to go. In fact, has no intention at all of going. I've tried to explain that this really isn't optional. He begs to differ. "I don't want to be a big boy". "I don't want to be a schoolie". "I don't want to be 5. I don't like 5. I want to go back to 4". 

Me too, baby boy. I want you to go back to 4 too. And if your big brother could rewind 5 or 6 years, I'd love it if he could go back to 4 too. 4 was safe. Insular, but only in the best way. 

I'm not ready. I'm not nearly ready. And instead of enjoying our last weeks with Sam as a preschooler I lay awake at night panicking. Panicking about all of the minutiae - uniform orders, book lists, school bags, lunch boxes, labels. All to avoid the heart-racing reality that they all mean something. Mean something permanent. Once we're there, there's no going back. 

This isn't about wanting another baby, or even wanting to keep my boys as my babies. It's real fear. A real fear that this will be so much harder for them. I worry about a boy that will be in Sam's year. Possibly Sam's class. He goes to kindy with him now and he's a horrible, horrible boy. These sound like such strong words for a 5 year old boy but Oh, the hell he rains down on the children at daycare. The look in his eye as he hones in on Samuel - a child he knows won't defy him. Because on so many occasions he has physically made Samuel pay for it if he tried. 

I'm terrified that he will either bully Samuel and make his life hell next year. Or worse. He will do what he's doing now. Befriend him and make him his b!tch. Lead him astray. My children are followers. So desperate for friends. Alexander will follow right up until a rule is in danger of breaking - at which point his 'rules' overrule his desire to be liked. Sam has no such radar yet. He is impulsive and afraid of this boy. He knows, even at the tender age of 5 that it is safer to be his friend than his foe. Will he turn my child into a thug, like him? Will he lead Sam astray and ruin his school experience? Am I allowed to call the school and say Over my dead body do they end up in the same class? Probably. I'm 99% sure I will say it anyway. 

Can I just bury my head in the sand a little longer and pretend none of this is happening?  Why can't you be here? Why can't you come here and manage me and tell me to stop being so silly? Tell me how to get through this, to get them through this. Tell me at least that I'm doing it right so far. I need to hear it, from you. I need to hear your voice again. You have 13 grandchildren, Mum. They need you. We miss you so much. I miss you so much. When does it get to stop hurting?

2013 - The Year I'll be Organised

*Edit. Because I'm an idiot and wrote 2014 instead of 2013. SEE. This is why I need planners. 

Because we were in the process of moving house, I didn't get to participate in the "20 Days to Organise and Clean Your Home" challenge over at The Organised Housewife with a bazillion other people. (Also, because I simply can't keep up with that- physically. Not even half of those jobs, and I'd be laid up for a week, unfortunately).  I loved the idea of it though and as we made the move into this house, I implemented the principles into our home.

My kitchen is about as organised as one can get. Our garage is too, thanks to some new shelving and containers. It's never looked better! I keep going in just to look at it. 

One of the areas I struggle to be organised however, is my blog.  I have so many ideas for things that I want to write about. Things I want to talk about. Often I'll start the post and then get sidetracked by Facebook or my books. Inevitably, I forget all about it and the posts never happen.

So many of my friends are organised enough that they have posts scheduled. In advance! I've managed that a couple of times in the last 4 years, but not often.  I'd like to approach it that way next year. 

I don't necessarily want to have set topics each day. It works for a lot of blogs, but I don't think it really works for me. But a little order would.

And in comes my friend Kat from The Organised Housewife. Problem solved.  She has a Blog Planner. I had a look at it at the beginning of this year, but at that point I'd resolved to be all intense and personal and unplanned. I thought that if I took away all monetising and memes, I would feel more creative and free to write properly.

Not so much.  I ended up taking a several-month break from the blog. It was good for me, and I've a renewed desire to be on here. But I do think I'd like to be more organised. So I decided to take Kat up on her offer to try her updated Blog Planner.

 I'm a little in love. It's a digital printable - you can print out as many or as few of the pages as you want to. Obviously for different blogs, you're going to want a different amount. Some of the pages don't really apply for me, a lot of them do. So I'm printing out the ones I want and this afternoon I'm going to buy a pretty binder to put them in.

I look forward to getting more organised next year. Not just my blog. The rest of my home. I'm looking at taking back the budget next year (I used to be in charge of paying the bills. Until I went and had a leeeetle bit of a breakdown and developed the worst type of avoidance. Using the phone or opening mail gave me constant anxiety attacks. So mail got stuck in drawers where it languished until we were getting harrassing (not their fault, mine entirely) phone calls. Which I couldn't answer.  When Joel found out I asked him to take over the bills for a while. The poor guy has been doing it for nearly 3 years now.

I'm ready to step back up and take over that for him. He has enough work and paperwork to do without having to handle our finances alone. So I've gotten folders and in-trays and pretty stationary so that as soon as the new year starts, I'm ready to go.  I do love me a great excuse to buy stationary.

Back to the Blog Planner though. This has everything you could possibly need. From a smallish blog like mine, up to one of the 'super' blogs. There are pages on Media Pitches, Statistics, Goals, Calendars, Blog Links that you like to join. I don't need the Media Pages or the Statistics, because I'm still trying not to think about them. But there are plenty of other things that I do want.

I've registered The Things I'd Tell You as a business, with an ABN number. So I plan to keep my copywriting 

There are pretty cover and spine pictures. I won't lie. The yellow helped. Lists for plug ins, maintenance, Sponsor Information, Blog Post Ideas, Giveaway details, Finances, even an address section for other blogs that you love to visit, or Contact Numbers for advertising etc. Keeping everything together (and not written on a digital 'post it' note on iGoogle, which is being phased out next year) just makes sense.

The pages are A4, the file is in PDF and you'll need Adobe Reader to open it. In fact, The Organised Housewife has an entire shop of Printables on her blog. From Christmas Planners, Small Business Organisers, Reward Charts, Subway Art, Routine Charts and Chore charts, Learning Charts and a cute Kids Money Saving Pack that I'm thinking of getting for the boys.


It's just one more area of life that I would like to be more organised. I think that the more order we have in this home (in all areas), the happier we all tend to be. The boys need order - they are comfortable with knowing what is coming, what to expect. I'm much more settled when things are organised. And Joel's in heaven. :)

So. If you're a blogger, do yourself a favour and head on over to The Organised Housewife. 

(Disclaimer.  Kat is my friend. As such, she gifted me an advance copy of the Blog Planner. She didn't ask me to review it, or plug her site. I wanted to do it. I'm honestly happy with it, and wanted to share. I was honest - I won't use all of the pages that are in the planner. But there are plenty that I will.

 But I felt like I should disclose that I didn't actually pay for the product. I have paid for others though).

He doesn't look a day over 170.

Portrait of a Young Artist

A quick visit to google shows that Auguste Rodin was born 172 years ago today, in 1840.  Embarrassingly enough, I had thought him far older than that - I thought he was born up to   100 years earlier. I had thought him more a contemporary of Canova (who it turns out died nearly 20 years before Rodin was even born). So there you go - I'm sticking to my rule of learning something every day.

Of course, to most of us outside the visual art world, Rodin is known for his most famous work - The Thinker. 

Source: google.com via Carlos on Pinterest

In my reading, I learned some things about the man behind some of my favourite works of art ever (Link to those soon).  He was born to working class parents in Paris.  He was extremely shy and apprently showed little interest in anything but drawing. He was mostly self taught and began to create art (first with drawing - a lessor known aspect of his creativity, which is on display at Musee Rodin, and then later of course, with his sculptures).  

He schooled between the ages of 14 and 17 at Petite École, a school that specialised in mathematics and art. But despite his amazing work, which we all now recognise and appreciate- he was three times rejected as a candidate for Ecole des Beaux Arts (the School of Fine Art), the most respected and influential art school in France. 

His work was not well received in the art world, due to his straying from the Neoclassical works that were respected at the time. He was known for his realism and a more modern take, whereas the School of Fine Art was focused on protecting the classical styles. 

There were a number of years where he worked as a crafstman (almost 2 decades) and ornamentor, working as assistant to Albert-Ernest Carrier-Belleuse designing embellisments to roofs, doorways and staircases.  At the age of 35, much of his work remained unseen as he had not enough money to have castings made. He travelled throughout Europe and an 1875 visis to Rome to see the works of Donatello and Michelangelo inspired him to stick to the style of sculpture he loved to create.

When he returned to Paris he produced what he later named "Age of Bronze", a sculptor that was incredibly controversial, as he was accused of having cast it from a living person. It also made it popular to the masses, who wished to see this sculpture apparently too 'life like' to not have been a cheat. He vigorously defended the charges, demanding a hearing where he was exonerated.

Rodin was forced to defend this piece as being created
 from a study in profiles, not a live cast.

He is the creator of 3 of my favourite works of art - in my opinion 3 of the most romantic sculptures ever created.


The Eternal Idol - (1890 - 1893) This was actually a part of his La Porte de L'Enfer(Gates of Hell), a commission he received after Age of Bronze. The Gates of Hell was a collection of more than 200 figures and groups, and Eternal Idol was one such piece.  In fact, many of his most famous works came originally from Gates of Hell.

I find it such a beautiful piece. It is said to be inspired by Camille Claudel, his relationship with the tortured young artist, his student,model, muse and lover - 24 years his junior.

The Eternal Idol

Source: bc.edu via Danielle on Pinterest

Le Baiser (The Kiss)
(circa 1882) 

Source: c300221.r21.cf1.rackcdn.com via Barbara on Pinterest

Sigh. Isn't it so incredibly beautiful? This is one of the reasons I want to travel to Paris. I want to see this up close, from every angle. I'd love to touch it's marble (I know, I know. Not allowed), see if it's anything like I imagine.

Originally a part of the Gates of Hell series, and called Francesca da Rimini, it depicts an Italian noblewoman who fell in love with her husband's younger brother (Francesca da Rimini and Paolo Malatesta - in Dante's Inferno). In his hand (on the right, you may just see it) is a book - it is said to be the story of Guinevere and Lancelot. 

As in Eternal Idol - I feel like Rodin is celebrating not just the female form, but the power (for want of a better word) a woman can hold, her role as a real partner rather than just a submissive in the relationship with a man. The details of this sculpture take my breath away. I adore his hand on her hip, and the way Joel's hand rests just there when his kisses turn more passionate; I love her arm around his neck, pulling him closer, eyes closed,he tells the story with so many parts of the body - greater than the whole.

I want to tell you that their story has a happy ending, but alas it doesn't. Just as in this scultpture, the lovers' lips never actually touch - in the story they too were left unrequited - found by Paulo's brother and killed. Still, the emotion and passion in this work must be a thing to behold up close; it is still so achingly romantic to me. 

(Side note: This sculpture was sent to the Chicago World Fair in 1893. It was considered to erotic and kept behind a veil, with only special permission being given to some to see it).

And possibly my favourite?  I had read that in the Musee Rodin there is a room with his studies in hands. I want so badly to see it, but particularly this one.

The Cathedral (Clasping Hands)
It may only be two hands but in these alone one can imagine intimacy and passion, a pure worship of each other. I'm in awe of how he could take everything else away, and to me, still tell the story, evoke emotion.

Source: google.es via Carla on Pinterest

Source: airfirewaterearth.blogspot.com via Michelle on Pinterest

Isn't this amazing? Universal.  Who of us has not clasped the hand of our beloved, gently caressing, exploring the contours like this?

So. Tell me.  Are you a Rodin fan? Do you have a favourite of his works? Have you ever seen one up close (I'll be so insanely jealous if you have).