Education

Chocolate.

A big ole chocolate cake with a frosting to cake ratio of about 1:1.  

Milk.  A tall glass of cold milk.  Refillable.

A thick slice of homemade bread.  With butter.  And maybe peanut butter and honey. 

I have lots of cravings these days, but the cravings have nothing to do with being pregnant.  I'm a gestational diabetic (again) and I've been instructed to test my blood sugar 4 times a day and to change my diet to a highly restricted, low-calorie, low-carb nightmare.
Since this is not my first time at the barbecue, I will admit that I have not been as strict with the dietary regimen.  I know when I can splurge a little and avoid having any negative test results, and I am willing to engage in such rebellions.  The last time I was a gestational diabetic I was scared and obedient, probably to an extreme.  This time I know there's no extra gold stars for strictness.
The boys have been "helping" me test my blood; they are very interested.  I've never used the lancet on them, but they think it's great fun to push the button and stick mama with a needle.  Then they think it's terrific to see the blood bubble up and scoop it onto the test strip.  Tonight I had such eager helpers I had to test five times to get a legitimate result.  The boys were very happy.

Mom waddles into the boys' room, as fast as she can.
Ben is wailing; face down on Zeke's bed, face in his hands.
Zeke is hiding on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Mom:  Ben, Ben.  You are so sad.  So sad.  I'm sorry you are hurt.  I'm sorry.
(She picks up Ben and hugs him, trying to soothe.)
Ben:  (wails unintelligibly)
Mom:  Ben is sad.  Ben is so sad.  Ben got hurt.  I'm sorry.
(Ben slowly calms down and begins to whine.)
Mom:  Ben got hurt.  Did you hurt your hand, Ben?
Ben:  No.
Mom:  Did you hurt your arm?
Ben:  No.
Mom:  Did you hurt your leg?
Ben:  No.
Mom:  Did you bonk your head?
Ben:  No.
Mom:  Did you hurt your foot?
Ben:  No.
Mom:  Your toes?
Ben:  (laughing)  No.
Mom:  Your fingers?
Ben:  No.
(Ben hops down and begins to play with some toys.
Zeke pops up from the floor.)
Zeke:  You should ask him if he hurt his face.
Mom:  Why should I ask him that?
Zeke:  Because I hit him like this.  (Zeke makes a fist and hits his own nose.)