The night before Sam’s first day back at school, I picked out a smart outfit for him, hung his dinosaur backpack by the door, and attempted to get him in bed at a reasonable time. At 8:15 Sam began negotiations: “I need a glass of water,” “can I have a story,” and the perennial favorite (because he knows it won't be denied) “I think I am low, please test me.” Eventually, in the post arbitration silence, I packed all the diabetes supplies for the nurse to keep on hand for another year of school. I put the box by the door and sat down with a glass of wine and the book that I’ve been reading two paragraphs at a time for three months. As soon as I cracked open my book I heard an urgent sounding, "MOM! ...MOM! I need to learn how to read before school starts.” Seriously? It was now 9 PM and I was unsure if I could teach him to read within the next 12 hours. Sam disagreed and offered a moderate protest, but I decided that I was NOT getting up again and either was he. I read two paragraphs of my book before I heard a chair being dragged across the floor.
Sam was standing on a chair reaching for a box of "learn to read" books. I was about to get angry at him, but it suddenly struck me as funny so I agreed to teach him to read. We opened book one of the 16 book series. Mat sat. Mat sat on a cat. Sam sat. Sam sat on Mat. And on it went. He was able to read many of the words and after six books I was able to convince him that he knows how to read well enough to go to preschool in the morning.
As soon as Sam was asleep, the pre-arranged conspiracy that he and Talia have went into effect and Talia woke up with 103.5 degree fever. I called the doctor and we agreed to take her in right after we droped Sam off at school.
The next morning, Jon obliged Sam’s request for banana chocolate chip pancakes (at a whopping 18 carbs each) and he was thrilled. I discouraged him (Sam, not Jon) from wearing his knight costume to school and got him to think he had a hand in picking the outfit that I had laid out. After getting dressed, Sam went into the bathroom and came out with a sopping wet head. He informed us that he wanted to look nice for school. The hair was matted to his forehead and he looked like George Clooney circa 1995. “I like it this way” he said and wouldn’t let us brush it. I had to save him from himself on the costume, but I could accept the hair.
Jon and I walked Sam (one block) to school each holding one of his hands and swinging him into the air periodically. He was wearing pants that had to be cuffed twice the last time he wore them in the spring and now barely touched the top of his shoes. He said hello politely to the headmaster at the door and was shy at first with his friends. We said hello to the parents of his friends and took a few pictures. Within minutes, he was off chasing his friends and trying (unsuccessfully) to swing across the monkey bars. It was a beautiful parenting moment filled with pride and sweetness.
We headed down to the nurse’s office to drop off the supplies (juice boxes, snacks, glucagon). She informed us that she couldn’t take care of Sam because due to a problem with the Health Department's fax machine she didn't have signed forms and the moment turned to anger and frustration. The suggestion that taking care of Sam was somehow dangerous infuriated me. I had to take the entire morning off and stick around to do Sam's glucose test and any other emergency treatment that might be necessary. Jon had to take the morning off to take Talia to the doctor. Sam was happy that the symbol on his coat hook and work drawer was an orangutan. Grateful for his ignorance about the forms, I wondered how long I could protect him from having to handle the added layer of stress and maintenance that diabetes brings to even simple things.
