Monday, August 18, 2014


That thud you heard over the weekend was me falling off the self-discipline wagon.

Trey had to be in New Orleans Thursday & Friday for work-ish matters, & so it was decided that Reagan & I would accompany him to eat & shop in excess.

A summation of the trip:

I almost titled this post Bloat.
My mom showed up early Thursday morning for the Henry-handoff, & Reagan's first trip to the Big Easy was underway.

Annnd the leg came down, the eyes closed:

We stayed at the Roosevelt, which, if you didn't know, is a Waldorf Astoria hotel.  Waldorf Astoria is French for the room has no coffee maker.

We arrived with just enough time to drop our bags in the room & wave goodbye to Trey as he headed to some sort of gathering of lawyers.  Reagan & I ate a late lunch at Domenica, an Italian restaurant.

Now is as good a time as any to tell you that where Reagan was concerned, the food situation was a tad tricky during our stay in New Orleans, putting me a tad on edge.  Few of the restaurants in which we dined have kids' menus.  Once I found something I thought she might eat, I couldn't give her any insulin for it prior to eating, which is the ideal time to deliver insulin, because I had no idea how much of it she would eat.  Also contributing to the blood sugar mayhem were my (typically accurate) carb-guessing skills, which were seriously handicapped by the unfamiliar dishes. 

Domenica's has what I thought was great pizza, but Reagan didn't like it.  It was covered in quality cheeses & real basil, so naturally, she didn't like it.  Her lunch consisted of large hunks of the pizza crust I tore off for her.  I knew she needed insulin for the bread, but hadn't a clue how much bread (in carbs) she'd actually eaten.

She thoroughly enjoyed sipping her water, & then her fancy Diet Coke, from big girl glasses (no lids & straws at Domenica's!).  

I paid the bill, & then finally allowed Reagan to browse the hotel gift shop she'd been eying the whole time she was stuffing her face with pizza crust.  The ladies working the register thought she was cute & didn't seem to mind that she touched everything.

While the pizza crust was busily spiking her blood sugar to the heavenly realms, this happened:

Knowing we'd be returning to a room sans a coffee maker, I told her I wanted to get a cup of coffee somewhere before we went upstairs to the room.  When I inquired about where a coffee drinker might find relief, I was pointed to Teddy's, a nice coffee shop in the hotel with a display case whose carb count I cannot even fathom.  

I let Reagan get one of Teddy's enormous cookies because she's a child, & we're having a carefree weekend out of town.  I repeated that last part in my head over & over.  I am usually pretty good at eyeing a cookie & guessing the carb count.  I guestimated the one she selected to be about fifty carbs.  A chocolate chip cookie at Chick-fil-A is forty-five carbs.  That's one cookie = forty-five carbs (three Oreos = twenty-five carbs, for comparison).  You understand now why I've been able to drop fifteen pounds this summer; when you see the world through carb-counting glasses, it is easier to say, "No, no I will not order myself 45 carbs a cookie along with the kids' meals, but thank you so much kind Chick-fil-A employee."

We made it back to the room & sprawled out on the bed with our treats.  I wanted to enjoy my coffee with the familiar hum of FoxNews in the background, but a strange thing happened.  Nobody tell Trey, but after a few months of living without it, I found FoxNews to be bothersome.  Yes, it could be due in part to last week being the most horribly depressing week in news I can recall, but I quickly shut off the TV, sipped my coffee in the quiet room, & watched Reagan inhale her giant cookie.

Once Trey's lawyerly duties were over for the day, we went to the Riverwalk before eating dinner.  Trey & Reagan had fun with the Frozen cutouts while I racked up at the Carter's outlet.

We ate dinner at Luke's Thursday night (it's a restaurant, not the home of a friend named Luke).  I ate shrimp & grits, & it was fantastic (as was the portion of Trey's bread pudding I ate), but I didn't take any pictures because I was fretting a bit; when I checked Reagan's number before we ate, it was just over 400.  I rarely see a number that begins with a four (or even a three); where blood sugar is concerned, no number that begins with a four is good, whether two or three digit.  I knew I'd underestimated how much insulin she needed to cover the carb-fest of pizza crust & cookie she'd had that afternoon, & I now believe the cookie was likely at least a sixty carb cookie.  I got out my trusty remote & gave her a corrective dose to cover the carb sins of the afternoon, & we enjoyed a nice dinner.  She fell nicely, if you're curious, & no additional insulin was required.    

When we got back to the room Thursday night, I realized I hadn't packed Reagan's toothbrush.  Had we needed to check her urine for ketones, I was prepared.  Had we needed to change out the infusion set on her pump, I was prepared.  Had we needed to use a back-up meter to check her blood sugar, I was prepared.  We didn't need to do any of those things on our short trip, but Reagan did need to brush her teeth, & so Trey went to the Walgreens next door & Reagan came home with two brand new Dora toothbrushes.

Friday morning, just as Trey was leaving to do something lawyer-ish, the breakfast I'd ordered Reagan & me arrived.

That shiny silver carafe is the Roosevelt's answer to rooms without coffee makers.  It cost $9, but it was worth every cent.  The coffee was wonderful, & the carafe kept it hot, enabling me to enjoy hot coffee as I ate my omelet, & enjoy more hot coffee an hour later as I relaxed before my shower.

Reagan was thrilled that someone brought her a heaping bowl of berries she could eat while still in her pajamas.  I'm not sure why this was such a novel concept for her, as this is basically how things work at home, except that I am the deliverer of berries.

Fancy milk-drinking:

The tiniest, cutest bottle of tabasco sauce I've ever seen.  If you're wondering if I dropped it in my purse & brought it home with me, the answer is, of course I did.

Friday lunch fun before exiting New Orleans: 

Our path homeward was not a direct one.  We took a detour to Gonzales, home of a large Cabela's.  Sigh.   

While it is a big place, there is nothing in Cabela's that interests me, as evidenced by the fact that I took the time to take this picture of the camo hand dryer in the ladies' room:

And a picture of these awful, pink, gun-for-a-handle coffee mugs:

Ah, signs of home.

Thursday night at the Riverwalk, Reagan scored herself a balloon that was part of the decor in one of the stores we visited.  Friday morning while playing roughly with the balloon, Reagan deflated it.  This is why, on a hot August Friday night, Trey & Reagan & I found ourselves in the Vidalia Wal-Mart searching for a balloon.  After spending time in both New Orleans & Baton Rouge, we found Reagan's greatest treasure from her short trip, a Frozen balloon, at the Vidalia Wal-Mart.  

Due to the absence of Henry & the roughly ten hours I was a passenger in the car Thursday & Friday, I had some time to do things I usually don't have a chance to do during the daytime, things like read, think, & sit.  I read The Giver for much of the drive down.  It's the book club selection for this month, & we're all meeting Tuesday to go see the movie.  Actually, we're meeting early for coffee, & then going to see the movie, which is verbatim a description of "a perfect evening" for me.  If you see Trey today or tomorrow, remind him he needs to be home & perky & ready to care for our children by 6:15 tomorrow night.  Anyway, when I wasn't reading, I was watching the world fall apart via the web browser on my phone, courtesy of the Drudge Report & my Facebook & Twitter feeds.  I wanted to stop reading the news, but I could not.  Apparently it's easier for me to quit carbs than to curb my insatiable appetite for news.  At least over-consumption of news won't end up on my thighs.    

I mentioned that I've developed a little bit of a Twitter habit lately (I am @ajzeigler if you'd like to join an elite group of five who follow me).  I opened a Twitter account years ago, but then abandoned it until about a month ago.  There is a legitimate reason I've recently become an active member of the tweeting community, & I'll explain that later.  Like life, Twitter is exactly what you make it.  You follow whomever you want, be they your personal friends, institutions, or celebrities, & their thoughts/rants/news interests populate your feed.  It is unlike Facebook in that Facebook is, at least for me, highly personal.  Facebook allows for privacy settings & friendships are mutual, unlike the stalkerish "Follow" set-up of Twitter.  Generally my Facebook feed is populated by posts from people I know - - pictures of their kids, a picture of what they ate for dinner, a rant about the guy who cut them off in traffic, etc.  Twitter, at least my Twitter feed, is a strange mix of the personal, the political, & the celebrity.  Scrolling my Twitter feed Friday, I was inundated with terrible news, along with celebrities' thoughts about the terrible news, with a few frivolous tidbits thrown in for good measure.  In five seconds, I learned that Rick Perry had been indicted, the situation in Ferguson, MO continued to deteriorate, & apparently, Jennifer Lawrence is rumored to be dating Coldplay's frontman Chris Martin, whom you might know better as the former Mrs. Gwyneth Paltrow (you don't want to know which of those three is most upsetting to me). 

I may've picked a terrible time to further indulge my news junkie tendencies.  Last week's news cycle began with the death of Robin Williams, which jumpstarted a national dialogue about depression & suicide.  No one seemed to notice that Lauren Bacall died Tuesday because everyone was too busy talking about Tony Stewart, & Ferguson, MO (where I am convinced the water has been spiked), & ISIS, & Russian aggression, & Ebola, & the vindictive Travis County prosecutor's office.

It's too much.  My mind & my heart were so heavy sitting in the passenger seat of my Highlander as Trey drove toward home Friday afternoon (& this was despite the stop we made at the Mall of Louisiana in Baton Rouge, where I conducted some field research for my quest to find the perfect new fall handbag).  The only substantive comment I have re:anything on the above list is that I think Rick Perry is handsome, perhaps even more so in the new glasses he's been sporting lately, & while I hate that he's been indicted, I very much look forward to his fight to clear his name.  Also, I think his fight to clear his name would be greatly aided by the occasional addition of a cowboy hat to his wardrobe, admittedly because in some strange way, this all reminds me of an episode of Dallas.  

I need more frivolity in my Twitter feed, if anyone has any suggestions.  I've been debating it, but I think I am going to take the plunge & follow John Stamos & several others Twitter keeps suggesting to me.  How do you know, Twitter?  How do you know that a dose of Uncle Jesse is just what I need right now?  

Whatever happened to predictability?  The milkman, the paperboy, & evening TV?  

I need a light, happy heart, for tomorrow, prior to my meeting of the minds with the book club, I return to the classroom.  I will face students who are unaware of the existence of ISIS, or Rick Perry, & likely would not be able to identify Russia on a map if their next breath depended on it.  I may, however, pick their brains for suggestions to add frivolity to my Twitter feed, for if there is one thing I've learned my students have mastered, it is the art of frivolous pursuits.    


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