Sacrifices for S'mores

I LOVE Summer.

I love that it doesn't get dark until 9:00pm.

I love that I don't have to pack a school lunch.

I love not having to rush the kids off to school in the morning.

I love wearing tank tops.

I love spending long, lazy days lounging in the pool.

I love spending nights around the fire pit in the backyard with my family.

And I love making the perfect S'more.

After Ella was diagnosed, I went a little...crazy. Mental, looney-tunes, cuckoo, bonkers...yup, they all fit. And rightfully so, I say. In a grief-stricken rage, I went through my house and rid the place of anything and everything that was packaged, made with white flour or contained sugar.

Mother Hubbard, the Cupboards were bare.

As I started coming out of my diagnosis delirium, I slowly started allowing these previously forbidden items back into the house...but we had yet to invite back marshmallows until one beautiful summer night last week when Ella asked:

Mom: Can we make S'mores?

And I thought, "Why the heck not?" I was feeling daring. Like...yeah...I got this...

Domestic Divo hit the store and came home with fresh graham crackers, Hershey's chocolate and big, fat, soft, fresh marshmallows - Jet-Puffed..America's Favorite. We figured out the carbs for each S'more ingredient and let Ella have at it. Usually I'm a real stickler when it comes to stuff like this, but like I said, I was feeling adventurous.

Admission: I am a S'mores snob.

I like my marshmallows to be lightly brown on all sides - if it catches fire or gets any hint of dark brown, I toss it and start over.

I also like my chocolate to be slightly melted so while I am diligently turning and toasting my marshmallow over the flames, I rest my chocolate on the graham cracker near the fire in order to get it nice and warm and melty.

So there I was - feeling on top of the world. My kid had been dosed up for 48 carbs of fast-acting sugary goodness, my marshmallow was browned to perfection and my chocolate was at the perfect stage of meltiness.

As I bent down to pull my cracker/chocolate from the fire, the wind shifted and the flames literally shot up in my face.

WOAH - You OK?

asked Domestic Divo
(henceforth referred to as DDVO)

I immediately smelled burnt hair.

But I could still see, so I took that as a good sign.

Me: I think I burnt my eyelashes off!

DDVO: Lemme see...uhhh,yeah...and some of your eyebrows, too

Me: Crap - are they gonna grow back?

DDVO: Oh, sure....yeah....sure....uh-huh.

Feeling satisfied that my ridiculously short eyelashes and half-burnt eyebrows were a temporary nuisance
(I did not take DDVO's word for it - googled it),
I resumed my S'more activities and I think the results were well worth a few lost lashes.

And 2 hours post massive marshmallow & S'more consumption, Ella's BG was 94.

BOOYAH!

Where you at, Diabetes?
Yeah, Take THAT.

I mean, really, who needs eyelashes anyhow?

Diabetes has requested a re-match this upcoming Saturday at a birthday party where it will hit me with ice cream sundaes, candy necklaces and cotton candy...

all of which I have not yet conquered post diagnosis.

I look forward to the challenge.