Joyweed
Heather sat at the kitchen table mindlessly tracing the blue feather pattern printed on the table cloth. Next to her sat a blood sugar testing kit, a box of lancets, and a tube of test strips. A pile of bloody strips lay next to the machine as it blinked 243. Too high, the doctor had said. She’d better get it under control or there’d be insulin injections in her future, he said. No more daily trips to the coffee shop, not unless she switched to sugar free syrup. And no pastries. At all. Was the coffee shop close? Perhaps she could walk, that would make up some for the carbs. Exercise was critical to healthy blood sugar levels, she absolutely must get some.
What a jerk.
Yes. The coffee shop was close enough to walk to. But, walk? Heather groaned and let her head drop to the table. Type two diabetes? How did she deserve this? She was a busy mom of three. She did PTA, soccer, ballet, karate, all of it. True, she thought with a twitch of guilt, now that Andrew was driving himself to ballet she had some free time. But that was her free time. She finally had time to watch some of the shows other moms talked about. How was this possible? She wasn’t even old. She was a little fat, though. But all of the moms in her circle of friends were a little fat. They had started calling it Big Boss Bod when the whole dad bod craze had happened. They all felt big was beautiful. Heather was happy with herself, something not many women could say. And now she had to loose ten percent of her weight, ten percent of her self the doctor had said. But when was there enough time for working out? There was cleaning and cooking and kids. Maybe she did snack too much, eat too much fast food, but type two diabetes? The robot vacuum beeped and she jumped, cursing at it as it bustled off on its pre-programmed route.
What was she supposed to do? Vacuum herself, with the upright, for exercise? Real funny. Her phone chimed 3 o’clock. Time to pick up the twins from school. Maybe she’d just leave them. Or walk. Ha. She snatched her keys from the hall table and paused with her hand on the door knob. It was farmer’s market day at the school. She never bought anything, she’d thought it was a terrible idea when the PTA proposed it. Who cared about farm fresh? What was wrong with Walmart? The principal had cared, apparently, and the Big Boss Bod crew had been outvoted. The district was promoting healthy eating and fitness, something about a type two diabetes epidemic. Heather sighed and went to get cash from her stash in the kitchen.
The pop-up tent rippled in the slight breeze. Heather had to admit, the scent coming from the fresh oranges was making her stomach growl.
“Mom? You’re buying vegetables?”
Heather looked at Madison, her youngest by seven seconds, standing with her hand on her hip and eyebrows furrowed.
“Yep!” Heather tried to sound enthusiastic, “We are all eating healthier, starting tonight.”
“Broccoli tastes like butt.” Matthew shouldered his backpack and stood next to his sister. They had been color coordinating their outfits since they were old enough to dress themselves. Today they were both wearing lime green and lavender. Matthew in plaid and Madison in stripes. Matthew had never had issues with wearing ‘girl colors,’ a fact that irked his dad to no end. Between Andrew’s ballet and Matthew wearing pink, her husband had plenty of ‘concerns’ about the boys. Such an idiot.
“We’ll put a lot of cheese on it. Or Ranch or something, I don’t know. Try and be open minded, ok?”
The twins looked at each other. They were both very intuitive and private, they wouldn’t ask the question she knew was burning inside them until they were in the minivan. But they would ask, Heather had no doubt. She moved down the table of veggies and came to something she’d never seen before. Stems of deep red leaves that looked a little velvety.
“What is this?” She asked the young, tanned woman behind the table.
“Joyweed,” she said, “It’s a real superfood. Lots of antioxidants, antibiotics, vitamins, you can even use it help wounds heal. And it tastes amazing, too. It’s kind of new on the market.”
“Huh, ok, I’ll give it a whirl. Why not?” The woman bagged some of the joyweed and rang up Heather’s fruits and veggies.
The minivan’s door slid closed with a thunk.
“Ok, Mom, spill it,” Madison said with that bulldog look she could get.
“Yeah, Mom, what’s up?” Matthew crossed his arms over his chest.
“I was waiting to tell everyone together tonight, but I doubt you’ll leave me alone for that long, so I may as well tell you now. I have type two diabetes. That’s why I’ve been feeling so crumby lately.”
“We knew it.”
“Yeah we had an assembly about diabetes a couple weeks ago.”
Heather looked at her kids in the rear-view mirror. Even now, in middle school, they still held hands when they were worried about something.
“It’s not so bad. No insulin, just pills and eating right. Gonna have to start exercising, too. I’ll be fine.”
“You can start Karate with me,” Madison said, “We have lots of adults in our class.”
“They have grownup soccer leagues, too. And we can practice together.”
“Well I appreciate the invites, but I think I’ll just start some aerobics or something.”
“Sounds dull.”
“So boring.”
“You won’t stick to something that’s boring.”
“Yeah, you need a team to keep you motivated.”
“I had no idea I was chauffeur to two fitness experts,” Heather said dryly. She didn’t disagree, but it was so embarrassing. A middle-aged woman starting Karate with her child because she was so fat and lazy she’d gotten her self sick. Heather stopped at a red light and chided herself on her negative thinking. She wasn’t lazy, she was just busy bringing up three kids, maintaining a household, and being married. She gave everything to her family, there wasn’t much left for taking care of herself. But that was going to have to change. And the lot of them eating healthier wasn’t exactly a bad thing anyway. Maybe she could get Dave to start walking with her after dinner. He’d been complaining about his pants getting tight lately. She could finally green light the dog the kids kept begging for, then she’d have to walk it. That news might lighten the mood as well. It was a thought.
A thought Heather almost voiced after she’d shared her diagnosis with the family. They had somberly nodded at her and promised their support. All looking worried. Heather felt a twitch of multilayered guilt she’d started to assume was a normal mom thing. At least the addition of salad with a so-called super food helped spur some interesting conversation. And the family genuinely seemed to like it.
“Of course I’ll walk with you after dinners, Hon. You have all my support in this, don’t even stress.” Dave squeezed her hand across the table. He was a little old fashioned in his ideas, but he was learning, and he was really sweet most of the time.
“Dad, don’t you think Mom should do Karate with me?”
“I would love to see your mom do Karate,” Dave smirked at Heather.
“See, Mom, Dad thinks you should, too.”
“Absolutely not.”
“This joyweed is really good, Mom, I wish it was the whole salad,” Andrew already took healthy eating to the extreme. He was a dedicated dancer and already had universities looking at him, even though he was only a sophomore.
“It is good,” Heather agreed, “I’m going to go to that health food store tomorrow and see if they have more there. I don’t wan’t to wait until next week to have it again.”
“Cool.” Talented dancer or not, he was still a teenager.
“Cool.” Heather smiled at him.
Talk died down as everyone dug in. Heather had been warned that getting used to the diabetes medication would leave her feeling nauseous and tired, but so far she felt ok. Good enough for a walk after dinner and clandestine discussion about a puppy with Dave. They were definitely getting a puppy.
The health food store’s subdued green sign, arched roof, and plentiful, overflowing flower planters reminded Heather of a church. The Church of Higher Eating, she laughed to herself. She hadn’t ever been to the health food store before, there had never been a reason to wade in among the skinny, jewel and earth-tone moms. The moms that voted ‘yes’ to having a farmer’s market at school. She had found herself in front of her mirror for longer than usual that morning, trying to decide what to wear. What would make her look less hotdog with chili and more mushroom and feta burger? Now she was perusing a produce section with exotic vegetables she couldn’t pronounce and clutching her handbag at fruit that cost ten dollars a pound. But she didn’t see joyweed among the other lettuces.
“Excuse me,” she asked a man watering down four different radish varieties. “Do you have joyweed?”
He nodded with a slight eye roll, “Yeah, we’ve been getting that in with our greens delivery on Tuesday mornings, and it’s gone by Tuesday night. We’ve tried ordering more, but unfortunately demand is exceeding supply at this point.”