Saturday, August 25, 2007

Fright Night

Chapter 1 - A Horrid Black Smudge

I've learned to take Susanne seriously when she wakes up in a panic in the middle of the night.

"Neh, come back to bed" was not the best response when she said her water broke when pregnant with Charlie. I may have even said "are you sure? Shake it off," before rolling back to sleep.

So, when she nudged me last night at 1:30 am to tell me there was something in the bedroom flying around, my eyes popped open immediately like a horror film killer that you thought was dead . I mean, you shot him 17 times! He's got to be dead! Right?

There it was, a small black smudge in the darkness flying erratically from wall to wall – making a V shape back and forth. It was horrid.

We thrust the comforter over our heads.

"What is it?" Susanne asked. "A bird?"

I pulled the comforter down just slightly – to the bridge of my nose. And then back under the covers, fear-stricken.

"It's a bleeping bat! It's a bleeping bat!" Only I didn't say bleeping.

"Bleep!" I said.

"Bleep!" I said again.

"Bleep! Bleep! Bleep!"

"What are we going to do?" Susanne asked.

It was getting steamy and warm under the heavy comforter.

Once I was done bleeping, I thought of our options. I tried to picture myself battling the bat with a broom or a tennis racket. Neither of which was handy. I was not faring well in the vision in my head. There was nothing around that I could use anyway. A clock radio? A brown sock?

"We have to get out of here," I said.

"OK," she said in a determined whisper, but what do we do about him?"

We looked down at Ben, our 2 year old, wedged tightly between us with big, curious eyes staring up at us, sucking away on his binky, not making a peep.

Chaper 2 - It's a Bat Alright

"Ooh, the under the covers game. I love that," Ben probably thought. "It's a bit late though, no? Ah, what the hell, I'm in. Dad, hit me with a little peek-a-boo action. Mom, how about a little 'Where's Ben?'"

We put our plan into action. We melted low to the floor and slowly scooted along the carpet like a three-headed ghost with the comforter still over our heads.

We traveled as blind as the bat that circled our heads, navigating our way around laundry baskets and plastic toy vegetables. The comforter lifted just slightly and I squealed.

"My back is exposed!"

"Keep moving!" Susanne barked.

Susanne tore down the baby gate at the top of the attic stairs like it was made of tissue paper and we slid down the stairs to safety, slamming the door behind us.


A quick visit to Charlie's room for some blood. 85. We give him a few squirts of apple juice to hold him over.

I searched the Yellow Pages for emergency pest control and found one that could come, but not until 3 am. So we waited. And waited. At 3:45 am I had the frazzled bat man on the phone.

"Dude, I'm soooooo lost. I've been driving in circles for the past 40 minutes. If I ever get there, I am so gonna take out my frustration on that bat."

I was exhausted and pissed that he was so late, but his bat trash talk won me over.

He finally arrived at 4 am, dust pan in hand, and I took him up to the door that leads up to the attic.

He opened the door very slowly and took one step in.

"I sure hope he's not hard to fin…" I said as the black smudge flapped its horrible wings and darted from one room in the attic to the other.

The bat man jumped back and slammed the door, clearly nervous.

"OK, I'm going in," he said, clenching his dust pan. "You coming up?"

"Neh, I'm cool here, thanks."

He went into the room the bat had flown into and closed the door behind him. "Oh yeah, it's a bat alright," he yelled down. "Fully grown."

I listened at the foot of the stairs as he sprayed spurts of poison from an aerosol can. He kept spraying and spraying. Meanwhile the doorknob kept twisting as he held on, I suppose, for a quick getaway. I kept staring at the closed door that kept jerking, the knob that kept twisting, more spraying. Was he OK?

He opened the door and closed it behind him, coughing hard. His eyes were terribly bloodshot. He walked down the stairs toward me, not saying a word. His red eyes met mine as he leaned close to me and sunk his sharp teeth into my neck.

Sorry. Poetic license. Actually, he did lunge at me, but it was to give me a bill for $265. Just as painful.

He left at 5 am. Just about time for me to get ready for work. Up all night and we can't blame diabetes this time.

Since our little incident, I've been doing a little bat research on the Internet. I learned that we could have all been bitten by this potentially rabid bat while we slept. Furthermore, it's possible that it could have done this without us even knowing.

How adorable is that?

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Spare a Buck?

Hi. Our team, Charlie's Angels, is gearing up for our fourth JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes. In three walks, we've done very well, raising more than $50,000. Please see our letter over at

I must say, though, asking people to donate money is not much fun. It tends to get very awkward at times despite the fact that it's for such a good cause. It's difficult to seek money from friends who contribute so generously year after year.

It forces us to try new things. Get a little creative. I wanted to do a baby olympics fundraiser, but a doping scandal put an end to that. Lawn dart tournament (with syringes) flopped miserably and not one person signed up for the "Fix my Gutters and Paint my House for Diabetes." People accused me of having ulterior motives.

So, in trying to avoid the awkwardness, I'm attempting a little experiment. How about a buck? One dollar? One franc? One krone? Strength in numbers, right? If you do choose to donate, it must be one dollar, not a penny more. I'm serious. Must be one dollar. If you attempt to give more than one dollar, your diabetes license will be revoked and you will be removed from my tudiabetes "my friend" list for at least thirteen business days. No, that wouldn't be a good thing!

Thank you so much.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Not Dancing in the Aisles

like Kevin Bacon in Footloose, BUT Charlie's A1c came back at 8.2.

An 8.2 is the best we've ever had since being in the diabetes business and it comes after a 9.6 three months ago. Like I said, I'm not loose, footloose and I haven't kicked off my Sunday shoes, but it finally feels like we're heading in the right direction.

Going to see Neil and the boys tonight (Crowded House). My favorite. Can't wait! A rare night out with the Mrs. - seeing a band we mutually love so much.

Have a great weekend.

Monday, August 06, 2007

Mr. Sad Hand

Earlier in the day we bantered back and forth with faces we drew on our hands in black marker. The baby gets an enormous kick out of this.

Later that night when we tested Charlie as he slept and had to give him some juice, I was greeted by an unusual and sympathetic stare from Mr. Sad Hand. I just had to take a picture. It was very strange.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Unplugged Beach Fun

Great day yesterday in Point Pleasant. Charlie was 115 when we detached him. 8 carbs without insulin and 2 hours of pumpless, rollicking beach fun, and Charlie coasted into dinner at 99.

99 never looked lovelier. And the smiling faces will stay imprinted in my head for many days.