The Wrath of Mom

I am a very patient, even-tempered individual. I rarely get angry and yell. One of the things I tell Daughter repeatedly is that I don't yell at her, and I expect her to show me the same respect.

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A couple of weeks ago I found a coupon for reduced sugar cake mix and frosting. Since Daughter and I are both diabetics, I clipped it to save for an appropriate occasion. Tomorrow we're having a reception after church in celebration of Pentecost, new members, and graduates. I volunteered to make cupcakes, so when we went to the grocery store last Sunday, I purchased reduced sugar cake mix and frosting. I put them in the pantry and didn't think any more about it.

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Last night Daughter's blood sugar was very high before bed.

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"Is there anything you want to tell me?"

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"I wasn't into anything!"

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"I wonder why your blood sugar is so high...."

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"I don't know, but I wasn't into anything!"

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I began speculating on whether I had miscalculated the carbs in supper. I considered the possibility that her insulin pen had gotten too close to the computer and the heat had fried it. I made a mental note not to make nachos again, because even though I had weighed and measured, it was obviously bad for her blood sugars. This morning her blood sugar was still high. I asked her what she'd been into. She insisted she hadn't been into anything.

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We had to get up and moving early this morning so she could get her blood draw. I worried at breakfast about whether her insulin would cover the pancakes she was having. I knew the carbs on her breakfast, but if the insulin had gotten hot and gone bad, she was going to go very high. I was kicking myself for not getting out a new insulin pen before we left. By the time we went to the lab and IHOP, I'd lost most of the morning.

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We got home and I was sitting in the recliner working on my sermon when I checked my watch. We have a graduation open house this evening, so I was watching the time. "I need to go get those cupcakes in the oven for tomorrow."

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Daughter came in and sat down across from me. "There's something I need to tell you."

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I hate it when she says that. It's never good news.

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"I was into the frosting."

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Into it? She ate the entire can! That was why her blood sugar was so high last night and this morning. It's bad enough that she was into the frosting, but if she had told me the truth, I could have stopped at the store to get some more while we were in town.

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I was no longer a patient and even-tempered individual. I was furious. I yelled at her. I told her that if she had told me the truth last night or this morning, I wouldn't be taking 45 minutes out of my Saturday to run to town for another can of frosting (there are times when I hate living this far from civilization). I told her that if she'd been honest with me, I wouldn't have been questioning myself about carb calculations and insulin. I told her I couldn't believe I was so dumb I actually believed she was telling me the truth.

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We are back from town. I discovered I was short on cupcake liners, so I had to grease 4 of the cups. I took the top off some of them when I hit them on the rack above them when I took them out of the oven. Daughter wisely retreated to her room when we got home. I'm sure she's gone back to sleep. I'm trying to decide whether I'll be able to salvage enough of these cupcakes for the reception, or if I'm going to have to make another trip to town.

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Whatever my decision, Daughter would be very smart to stay as far away from me as she can for a while. We were just beginning to recover from last weekend, and now we're back to square one. Daughter has now heard my wrath. It doesn't happen very often, so it had a powerful impact on her. I wish I thought it would result in her getting her act together, but I'm not optimistic.