Special little hike w. everyone: it Bigfoot Spouse’s choice. 236 at trail head.
Hike around, climb up big rock, play on mountain bike obstacle course wooden structure like giant see-saw, herky-jerky balance beam, observe big ant drag small spider (ALIVE) away from spider’s desired location, huge ferns, and x-rated pinecone (?) firmly planted in ground w. multiple waxy protuberance.
2nd half of hike Bubs so tired. Drag feet like in Summer 2011. Ask do you think you might be low? But think it’s another one of those tenacious high clingers. Bubs say No, I’m not low. I’m just normal tired, like my feet are tired. Bigfoot try sniff Bubs’s face without Bubs notice. Smell like nail polish remover? Smell like fruit? No. Pretend just kissing head. Bigfoot not hypoglycemia awareness dog. Probably high.
Keep going. Offer piggyback. Can see Bubs wants ride but thinks boy age 9 lose debonair points for accept. Eventually starts stand still, frown at ground. Agrees let Bigfoot carry, but like Pietà, refuse piggyback. Have to put down, too slippery. Too heavy. Not helping hang on at all. Seems like forgot important life skill How to be Carried.
Jack run ahead to dad + dog I think Bubs is low! Come back with the kit! This infuriate Bubs. Open mouth to speak, but too flabbergasted form words. Face turn red. Then Why is he saying that? He just makes up lies about me, and then runs ahead, and then tells Dad, so Dad will think I’m a jerk? He’s always saying bad things about me! Start to cry with snuffle noise + tears. Bigfoot respond, I know, right? He thinks he knows everything! But you know how you feel, and you’re just normal tired.
Eventually agree test blood sugar, but insist need seat for test. Bigfoot sure not low, just pro forma check. After some time, find log seat. Log not quite right. Bubs want better seat. This log? No. Not a log. Finally Bubs agree on big-enough, smooth-enough rock. But not sit. Refuse test until sit. Bigfoot sit on rock, demonstrate comfort. Ooh! It’s so nice to sit down. Bubs sit on Bigfoot. Turn out Bubs think rock too dirty. Now can test.
Nope! Need hand wipe. Brilliant Bigfoot have hand wipe! Tear open packet. Kind of dried out. Disappointing. Bubs unimpressed. It’s dried out. I need another one. That all Bigfoot have, except for used one from after move dog turd away from path with conveniently littered Dunkin Donuts cup and get small bit dog poo smear on ring finger knuckle. I don’t have another one. That dried out one was okay. Refuse test until wetter wet wipe appear. Oh! Here’s one! Pass no-visible-feces portion of used wet wipe over Bubs’s fingertips and cast spell: I am not wiping dog feces on the skin you are about to puncture.
48. Of course low. Sweetarts. Giant Sweetarts. “Like glucose tabs, but less disgusting.” Also less carby–2.5g per horsechoker. After three, feel better. Start chatting. Eat two more. Walk rest of way.
That not true. Feel better, but not chatting. Not even walk. That only in Bigfoot blurry memories. In pictures: No walk. Ride on dad shoulders. Look terrible. Gray no pink. Arrive back in car: 128. Eat emergency peanut butter sandwich–even crust. Then feel better.
Not Medical Advice to Take Away this Post:
1. Hand wipes dry out, even individually sealed variety
2. Don’t validate child’s mastery of hypoglycemia symptoms to point of total fuckwit
3. Better just tackle person + test than rub with possible dog feces
4. Always bring restorative peanut butter sandwich