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I want a pig, a cute, cuddly pink pig, always have, but was never granted that wish no matter how many times I wished upon a star, or wished upon a fallen eyelash, or the better half of the turkey wishbone. And no matter how many times I read Charlotte’s Web or how many times I left the baby Miss Piggy McDonald’s kids pack toy on my mom’s pillow, I never got me my little piggy. But more on that later… Photo by Pascal Debrunner on Unsplash Fellow blogger Canadian D-gal recently honoured me with the versatile blogger award, an award that comes with stipulations. With this award, I’m supposed to:   Thank the person who gave the award. Share seven things about myself. Pass the award on to 12 bloggers who I think are fantastic. So here goes, seven things you didn’t know: 1. Ever since I was seven […]

Bad news. I was supposed to start down that untrodden road of building up my core strength tonight with my first pilates session but because I currently have a  stupid infectious cold kicking my butt right now I had to cancel my appointment – which took like two weeks to make. Them girls are busy girls apparently. But here’s the thing, I was holding out for as long as I could, as I really wanted to start the pilates, but when I woke up this morning feeling 500 times worst than yesterday (I blame last night’s late-night meeting) and even worse than Monday, with my head so stuffed I was struggling to breathe and with my lungs, nose and eyes all shooting out green grodies, I knew it was not meant to be. So I called the studio first thing and got the voicemail: You have reached Pilates for Everybody. We

Dear Blood Sugars, This letter has been a long time coming. I thought you would change, I had hoped you would change, but no, you just kept throwing your nastiness my way, and I can’t take it anymore. You are the worst kind of friend possible, not even a friend really, more like a frenemy. One minute you’re putting on a face acting like we’re the best of pals, laughing with me and working with me to score readings of 5.0, 5.5, 6.0, but then in a matter of a heartbeat you turn your back on me, don’t even offer up an explanation, you just leave me to suffer with the failure of 14.0. Well Blood Sugars, let me tell you, I’ve had frenemies like you before, and just so you know I got sick of them – fast. So dear Blood Sugars, if you want to continue to be in

It was a weekend filled with hula hooping, creepy moose, diabetes fundraisers, Christmas spirit and good friends … oh wait, that was just Sunday! Good golly. Coming off my evening of decadent culinary eats, I figured I should get some exercise to work off the rich food, but it was cold out, like -4 degrees cold. And I know, I know, that’s nothing compared to other places that are like -27 degrees cold, but what can I say, I’m a west coast girl – my body is not used to the frigidity. Lucky for me though, yesterday just so happened to be my annual hula hoop-a-thon, also known as my four-year-old nephew’s birthday party. For the past three years my brother and sister in law have held my nephew’s birthday party at the rec centre, which is great for both the kids and adults. For one hour, you’ve got free reign

For people with diabetes, going out for dinner can often be a challenge. While “normal” people can order whatever the heck they like without a second thought, us ***diabetics*** we have to go into the outing with a lot more research and preparation under our belts. We have to know what kinds of foods are on the menu, what the serving sizes are, and how many carbs per serving it equals out to in order to figure out how much insulin we should take for the meal. Now, I got to be honest here, while I’m all for diabetes perfection, when it comes to meeting friends for dinner, I am far more detailed in getting myself all dolled up than I am in taking the time to figure out the necessary food measurements and calculations and such. So, that being said, when I go out for dinner, ninety per cent