I bought some special snacks for in the motel this weekend. I went into the kitchen, and the box was missing. Gone was the calm, cool, collected mom who never yells. I stormed upstairs and demanded the box back. I asked how many packages she'd eaten. She didn't know. I demanded the wrappers. 4 were hidden under her pillow. 80 grams of carb. More than she should have in a meal, let alone a bedtime snack she's not covering with insulin. I dragged her downstairs and gave her some insulin. I yelled about the thanks I get for buying her a treat. I told her to make her bed properly (she's back to wetting the bed every night). Her response wasn't very polite.
I came into the study, still fuming, and packed 3 boxes. Two boxes of books, and one big box of art and trinkets that required bubble wrapping each item. I think I used up the adrenalin. It's time to go to bed. I've been sleeping with the windows open the last few nights, but when we came home this evening the air was thick with the fresh country scent of manure freshly spread on some farmer's field, so I may have to stick with the AC tonight.