The Chef is in

I'm not much of a cook. I know it, I own it, I shrug it off.

That fact never bothered me in my carefree pre-kid days, when sometimes dinner consisted of a tuna sandwich or even the occasional Pop-Tart (I love Pop-Tarts). But when I became a mother, I felt like I had to step up the meal preparations in order to raise a healthy child who appreciated healthy food (but he likes Pop-Tarts, too). My friend Jill, and the fact my son has diabetes, really drove home the importance of good, well-balanced meals (which apparently do NOT contain Pop-Tarts).

And so now I cook. Kinda. Well, quasi-cook. I can deliver a mean bowl of pasta (with red sauce--counts as a veggie, no?). I also sneak a couple handfuls of veggies in there to ratchet up the healthiness. I can barbecue pretty well, and again, a couple handfuls of frozen veggies or an ear of summer corn go a long way as side dishes to my sometimes-charred proteins.

But all in all, I thought I was doing an okay job of serving up some good, healthy family dinners. And even if the food wasn't always five-star, I reasoned that equally important was the opportunity to share a meal and share our days together as a family, sitting together at a table, and not in front of the T.V.

Until...

Until my mom started coming up to watch my son. It started a couple summers ago. She came to watch him during the gaps between summer camp ending and school starting. And she put my whole notion of cooking to shame, as she served up some amazing meals. She swore most of the ingredients came from my pantry, fridge, and freezer, but since she never once served us Pop-Tarts, I had my doubts.

It was during this time that Mark learned meals do not consist solely of one entree--they may also include other food on the plate (I explained these were called side dishes, and they complimented the entree). My mom actually served an entree with two, sometimes three side dishes (she explained to Mark that no, it doesn't matter what I say, bread is not a side dish). For a while, I felt a little guilty that the only home-cooked meals my son would ever remember would be my mom's.

But now my mom's returned. She's been coming up to watch my nephew, and her fan base has grown. She used to cook for Mark and I, but now my brother and nephew have joined in. And my cousin Kathleen, who regrets her own childhood meal memories, has become my mom's biggest fan. She and her boyfriend also make regular appearances whenever my mom comes up.

It's kinda sad how much we all appreciate my mom's good cooking. Just the mention that she's coming up to my house gets all of us drooling. My cousin's even started putting in requests, which my mom happily fulfills.

All of which makes me feel a little less pathetic. Because at the end of it all, I may be washing more dishes than I serve, but who cares? Turns out, I'm not the only fan of mom's cooking--I've got a lot of company. Just peer inside the window any time my mom is there, and you'll see I'm not alone. :-)

A+ for effort

One nice thing about my mom watching Mark is that she's become quite the diabetes expert. She's an awesome carb counter, can recognize and treat lows, and is even a little competitive when it comes to his blood sugar numbers vs. hers. Other than changing his infusion sets, there aren't a whole lot of situations she can't handle.

But yesterday she took on the trickiest situation of all -- a trip to the beach. It's tricky for a number of reasons: Mark disconnects his pump because all the swimming sends him low; sand and sea pose a HUGE threat to the pump (damage or loss); the sun ruins the insulin if the pump's not properly stored; Mark tends to lose his site at the beach, which means he can't re-connect the pump. Basically, the number of things that could go wrong triples at the beach.

But that didn't stop my mom and brother Smed. They piled everyone into the car and headed off to the beach. I gave my mom a detailed list of procedures on when to bolus and when to disconnect/reconnect the pump. I warned her to put the little cap in the infusion site when she removed the pump, as it's just big enough for a few grains of sand. We both felt pretty confident.

Right up until lunch...when Mom and Smed couldn't remove the cap from his site. They'd done everything right, but some sand was trapped in the site, and prevented them from removing the cap to plug in the pump.

I told them to pour a little water into the site, and keep jiggling the cap (yes, diabetes has a lot of high-tech solutions). They did, and worked on it for about 40 minutes, with no luck. I could tell they were becoming worried and frustrated, and I kicked myself for sending them on the toughest field trip possible. (This is why I stress when Mark goes to the beach with his camp!)

I also kicked myself because no one else knows how to change Mark's set. I hate to burden anyone else with these tasks (it's easy to do, but has a lot of steps), so I just do it myself. But I've realized that's actually shortchanging my mom, who's always nervous about sites falling off, and not being able to replace them. It's also shortchanging Mark, who's dependent on me being around to change it.

So I went home at lunch to change the set. I walked my mom through the process, and she followed along really well. She's still nervous, but a little less so. I told her if his site falls off, to just replace that part, which is pretty easy -- not to worry about changing the insulin cartridge or messing with the pump. She breathed a lot easier hearing that.

She is definitely not one to shy away from a challenge. In fact, she's already planning their next beach outing -- tomorrow!

I'm so proud of her, and of my brother. Most people would just say, "Well, I'm not going to the beach again!" But instead of freaking out, they simply changed the game plan -- tomorrow, they'll take extra sets, needles, and a bottle of insulin, so that if they can't get the pump re-connected, they can still give Mark insulin. They will not let diabetes ruin their good time at the beach.

So when I say I have the best family ever...this is why! :-)

Where I learned my mothering skills...

My parents are in town to babysit the 4 school-age grandkids, who have Veteran's Day off. When I thanked my mom for this, she said, "Don't worry, I'm writing it in the big book."

Meaning, she keeps track of all the things she does for us (which is a LOT, trust me!).

"I know you are," I told her. "Don't worry, I'll put you in a nice home when the time comes -- or at least, get you the good drugs so you think it's a nice home."

This is a long-running joke between us. (She also teases me about my "real" mother--a gypsy who left me on the doorstep.) I've promised my dad he's going to an old folk's home I saw in Virginia--it has a real caboose out front. He's very happy about that.

Then, as we were laughing, the Today show reported that a 56-year-old woman gave birth to her own granddaughters. She carried the babies (triplets!) for her daughter, who couldn't have a baby.

"Now that's a good grandma," I said.

"What!" my mom exclaimed. She looked at me and said, "Sorry, you're on your own." She doesn't mind babysitting, but she draws the line at baby growing.

"Come on, mom," I teased her. "What if I want a baby?"

"I'll buy you one!" she said. "I'll give you a check."

We started cracking up, and I told her it better be a big check--big enough for three babies. Mark, who's never quite sure about our humor, turned and gave us a long look. The he shook his head and turned back to the T.V.

The check was a nice offer, Mom, but I bet my real mother (the gypsy) would have carried the triplets. ;-)