61 –> 72 was not what I’d hoped for.

Another box of juice, another 15 minutes of waiting while the moon slips away. 

The news is hard to read lately. Not that it’s ever easy to digest the horrors of what we do to each other, but reports have hit closer to home lately, reminded that sometimes worst fears do come true. For all the frustration and worry involved with Nick’s blood sugar, at least he is upstairs, safe in bed. The fire glows warm against the cold. We’re suddenly nearly out of a dozen vital household items: glucose tablets, Starbursts, bread, dog food, flour, baking powder and, the most immediately pressing concern after the Starbursts, toilet paper. The car has almost less gas than the bank account has dollars. But the children remain safe and warm, with tomorrows still waiting. 

Time to check again. He’s low from basketball tryouts earlier, I’m sure – the intense exercise always does this. I thought we’d covered the carbs, but, simultaneously concerned about the recent highs (again), we erred on the side of caution. On the wrong side of caution, apparently, but that’s why I’m awake, fixing what I can.

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