At this rate, I’ll be at my goal weight by the time my first grandchild is born!

Exercise is NOT an option for me anymore. That’s my new reality. When you have thyroid disease, it’s just NOT an option. And that sucks because there are days where I am so tired that it actually hurts, but I have to force myself to get up and move. And even though I’ve not seen any movement on the scale in recent months, I keep working out. Because I HAVE HAVE HAVE TO.
These past couple of weeks, I’ve kicked it up a notch in the gym. Even on the days where I’ve LITERALLY CRIED while on the way to the gym because OH MY GOD, AM SO FATIGUED.
Last week, I worked out every single day. 30 minutes on the elliptical. 30-45 of weight training, alternating legs one day, arms the next. 15 minutes on the stationery bike. 15 minutes of ab work.
And then? When I’m done at the gym? I go to the park to Walk it Out.
Every single day.
And because experience has taught me that all of that work probably wouldn’t be enough (flips my thyroid THE FINGAH) I made some pretty drastic changes in my diet based on research I did on “What foods people with hypothyroidism should avoid.”
On Monday, I stepped on the scale like I do every morning. I expected to be disappointed yet again, prepared to give myself the “but you’re making your heart SO STRONG! That’s all that matters! Fuck the pounds!”
But that didn’t happen.
I was 6 pounds light.
Six.
S-I-X.
225 pounds, down from 231.
I needed to see that loss on the scale. Months of working out with zero results can take a toll on ones mental health, you know?
It was just the inspiration I needed to take it up a few more notches at the gym.
I’ve increased my elliptical time to 40 minutes, added 3 pounds to my hand weights, 5 pounds to leg weights. And I’ve began to mix a little bit of running with my walking.
Oh yes, I ran yesterday. All 225 pounds of me MOTHER FUCKING RAN.
IN YOUR FACE, Hashimotos.
In YOUR face.

Here she comes, Kindergarten. I hope you’re ready for her.

In just a couple of hours, my daughter will be graduation from preschool. I am looking forward to it– she’ll be performing a song and dance, how could I not be? And she’s very excited about it, mostly because she’ll get to wear her cap and gown.
All of that said, I’m feeling a bit annoyed at what a Huge Production they’re making out of this graduation.
For starters, it will be at a STADIUM. Not a school, or an auditorium, or a park. A stadium, people.
And there is assigned parking! And wristbands for checkout! And seating charts so I can maybe find my daughter among the hundreds of other kids AT THE STADIUM.
I love my children and am always thrilled to celebrate milestones, both big AND small. However, the ordeal they’re making out of it seems just a liiiiiiiiittle over the top. I’ll happily go and I’ll even happily buy her BALLOONS AND FLOWERS that will be for sale (kind of like I happily bought her the cap and gown because OH!MY!GOD!SO!CUUUUUTE!) But at the same time, seriously? Cap and gowns? A stadium? Parking passes? wrist bands? For preschool “graduation”?
I remember when the boys graduated from preschool, it was sweet and simple. A little ceremony at the park. We brought out chairs and a cooler with snacks and drinks. When they called their name, I ran up as close as I could to the little stage and snapped some photos. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to SEE my daughter tonight, because, you know. STADIUM.
I just wish things were a bit more simple, because, you know, their 4 year olds. That said, I know we’ll have a great time and it will be a night I’ll never forget. Mostly because my daughter will be wearing this, you guys.
scan0002
Updated, with photos.
Preschool Graduation "
You should know that I did not condone or put on the lipstick. She put it on in the car on the way to The Stadium. I didn’t have a single tissue or paper towel to wipe it off, so, it stayed. Ah, My Girl.
Preschool Graduation "
Preschool Graduation "
089
.Me and The Little Graduate.

My Blog May Suck , But My Life Sure as Hell Doesn’t.

I apologize in advance for posting another video. It’s so very Mommy Blogger of me, I know. But, you guys– my boys. MY BOYS! They played their first “gig” this weekend at a Relay for Life event.
It was one of the proudest moments I’ve had as their mother.
Especially for my sweet E. He had a little “Moment of Glory” during the song (Drum Solo at 2:05!) Yes, I cried and YES, I said “that’s my boy!” I was so glad to see him get some much deserved attention.

I Dare You to Create a Site That Will Motivate Marketers to Do a Better Job Knowing The Blogger They are Marketing to. ZING!

These days the majority of the that emails I get are from dudes named jurrapus telling me how I can “power up my manlyness” or from chicks named Stephanii asking if “she laughs at my tiny size.” and do I want to “grow my dick biggest?” Oh, and also some really, awful, horrible pitches from marketers.
I usually ignore bad pitches and send them to the spam folder. Occasionally, I’ll respond to really bad marketing emails, but usually only if a) they are harassing me b) they call me Jack because they need to know my name is NOT Jack and also they need to know not to ever email me again. However, I’m having a hard time ignoring the one I received today from a woman named Stephanie.

I was checking out ­­Joy Unexpected and I really love the site! As a mom, you know how hard it is to get your body ready for swim suit season and a little boost of motivation can go a long way!
If you haven’t already heard of xxxxxx read on…If you’re already in the know, you’ll want check out our exciting new features for the tool that has helped over 200,000 users lose over 1 million virtual pounds collectively so far!
xxxxx is a FREE digital weight loss tool that allows users to see what they would look like at their target weight. It’s SO simple… you upload a photo of yourself, specify how much weight you’d like to lose, and xxxxx sends you back an image of yourself at your target weight (see example below). Dieters can see themselves thinner, which can provide the motivation needed to sustain a weight-loss goal… oh the things we do for motivation! Users are printing out the images and hanging them on their refrigerators, downloading as screensavers, etc.
Additionally, there is a Facebook community and our Facebook application:
The Facebook application allows users to:
· Track their progress with daily entries of your weight loss journey
· Connect with and share your photo with buddies for motivational support
· Discuss key weight loss issues with experts and other xxxxxx users
· Accrue points to be redeemed for additional motivational items from xxxxx for FREE such as prints, mugs, and t-shirts featuring the users “After” photo.
Should you be interested in trying out xxxxx or sharing it with your readers, please let me know if you need any additional information.

Oh my God.
The fact that a site exists where women can upload their pictures and in return receive a photo of what they’ll look like at their goal weight in the name of “motivation” is annoying in itself to me. I suppose I can understand how a site like that could be helpful to some people. Someone like myself, for instance, who has a great deal of weight to lose and is looking for any kind of light at the end of this Weight Loss Hell Tunnel. But, then again, not really because I just see it as another place in the world that makes women feel bad about the way their body looks.
Personally, I think it’s an asshole move to send emails to women that says “look at this site we’ve created for you to motivate you to lose weight!”? (And yes, it’s geared specifically towards women because the subject line of the email is: Helping Moms gear up for swim suit season!) I mean, if people want to go there voluntarily, because they are LOOKING for motivation to lose weight, AWESOME! But to just randomly send someone an email saying “I’ve got your motivation to lose weight right here!” NOT so awesome.
Which brings me to another point– Obviously, Stephanie has never read my blog. Because if she had, she would have seen this post and maybe, just maybe she would have thought twice about sending me the link to a site where I can VISUALIZE MYSELF AT MY GOAL WEIGHT! FOR MOTIVATION! BECAUSE NOT WANTING TO DIE OF HEART DISEASE OR GET DIABETES ISN’T MOTIVATION ENOUGH! YOU MUST SEE YOURSELF THINNER! AND POST THOSE PHOTOS ON YOUR FRIDGE! FOR MOTIVATION!
I really want to give her the big old giant finger because if you’ve read this site at all you would know that I’ve been “motivated” for many, many months and my body isn’t cooperating because I have this auto-immune disease that is fucking with my body in non pleasurable ways and guess what? Even posting articles on my fridge about how “obesity can kill” me isn’t motivating my metabolism enough to DROP THIS FUCKING WEIGHT ALREADY.
Also? I really don’t need your stupid website to help me envision what I will look like at my goal weight because I have a lifetime worth of old photos of myself at a normal (for me) weight. I see them daily, hanging on walls, in photo albums and I wish that I could look like that again some day. Every day I walk past photos of me and my children pre-thyroid disease and I wish I had that body back. And not just because I was thin, but because I was healthy. Because my hair was thick and shiny, not dull and falling out by the handfuls. Because I didn’t have puffy face or droopy eye. Because I had a healthy sex drive and never would have cried at the thought of having sex with the man I love. Because I had energy and was happy, not in a state of constant fatigue, brain fog and depression.
So, excuse me if I don’t want to join upload pictures to your site so you can show me how great I’ll look 75 pounds lighter! (FOR MOTIVATION!) (p.s. Like THIS.) But if you ever invent a site that will let you upload your Currently Not Being Treated Properly Auto Immune Disease so you can see what you’ll look like after you get Properly Medicated By A Doctor Who Gives A Shit, don’t hesitate to let me know about that! I’ll ever link to it from Twitter!

Because I want you to be traumatized for life with me.

Yesterday I called PigHunter while he was on his way home from work to ask him if he’d pick up G from Grandma’s house.
“Babe, I can’t pick her up in my car. I think something died in here.”
“Why do you think something died in your car?”
“Because, oh my GOD, it smells so bad in here. It smells like death! Something died in my car!”
(Back story: His car had been parked at the equipment yard for about 2 weeks. He picked it up on Friday but it’s been sitting in the driveway until he left for work yesterday morning.)
I waited outside for him to get home. When he pulled up, he was all “oh my God, it’s disgusting, I have to find whatever it is.”
I watched from a distance as he opened the truck. I was totally and completely freaked out at the idea of something having died and rotting in his car so I kept my distance and pestered him from a far.
“Do you see anything? Is there anything there? What is in there? Anything dead in there?”
“Not yet, but I KNOW there’s something in here.”
The longer he searched without finding anything, the less freaked out I felt about it and the more I began to think PigHunter may be a liiiiiiiittle crazy. I finally got the nerve to walk up to the car to see what this awful smell was that my husband was talking about. All of the windows and doors were open, so I got as close as my fear of dead things would allow me and took a little sniff.
“It doesn’t smell bad.” I said.
“Oh yes it does, get closer. Sit down in the back and sniff.”
“Oh hell no. I will not do that. But I’m telling you, I don’t smell anything from where I’m at.”
Two minutes later he’s all “DEAD BABY MOUSE ON THE FLOOR!” and I was all “YOU’RE LYING!” and he was all “I swear, come look!” and I was all “You’re LYING YOU LIAR!”
But he wasn’t lying. Laying on the floor in the back of his car was a dead baby mouse. I may have ran away screaming because DEAD BABY MOUSE IN HUSBAND’S CAR.
He searched for more, but that was all he could find. But I warned him that there were more. There had to be more. Because what the chances that a single, teeny, tiny probably just born baby mouse had happened to find it’s way into his car and die?
So, he tore his poor, old, little car apart.
007
And underneath the carpet, he found 6 more of these:

Continue reading →

Esus-jay Oesn’t-day Ove-lay Ore-(w)h-ays!

When I in elementary school, there were two neighbors I would play with every day. They were both older than me, but they were the best friends that I had in the neighborhood.
Jimm-ay and RhymesWithFonda. We would play everything from hide and seek to secret sex games that I did not KNOW were sex games because I had parents who didn’t tell me what sex was because did you know you can get pregnant just by “standing to close to a boy?” SWEAR TO NOT GOD BECAUSE SWEARING TO GOD IS A SIN! One thing we loved to do was skate in RhymesWithFonda’s driveway. She had The Perfect Driveway for skating. No gravel, or cracks. Just a smooth cement with awesome downward slant.
The fact that Jimm-ay and RhymesWithFonda were older than me created some problems. There was talk of sex that made me uncomfortable and sometimes made me cry because “I DON’T KNOW WHAT HUMPING IS BUT MY MOM AND DAD TOTALLY DON’T DO IT! LIARS!” Which of course led to “inside jokes” that made me feel bad about myself because they’d walk around telling their inside jokes and I’d laugh along and then RhymesWithFonda would be all “You don’t even know what it means so why are you laughing?” And I’d be all “Well, at least I’m going to heaven!” Because that was pretty much my comeback for everything when I was 8.
There was one summer in particular where I pretty much spent every day in RhymesWithFonda’s driveway. I remember one of those days as if it happened yesterday. Jimmy and RhymesWithFonda were outside skating and laughing louder than usual. I, of course, felt jealous and sad that they hadn’t come over and asked me to play. I laced up my skates and raced outside to join them. As I skated up the driveway, I said “Hi, guys! Can I play?”
“We don’t care.” RhymesWithFonda snapped back.
And then, then, it started.
All of this strange jibber jabber which I did not understand. Jimm-ay would say something and RhymesWithFonda would laugh and laugh. Then she’d say something back to him and he’d laugh and laugh.
“What are you guys saying?” I asked, feeling a little bit panicked inside.
“None of your business” they shot back.
And it went on and on.
They’d say these crazy, weird words and laugh. Sometimes they’d laugh while looking and pointing at me, other times while their backs were turned to me.
I begged them to stop.
“If you don’t like it, you can leave!” Jimm-ay shouted.
So, I left.
And went straight to Jimm-ays house to tattle.
I’ll never forget what his mom did for me. She didn’t turn me away. She didn’t tell me to quit being a crybaby. No. Instead, she invited me into her house, sat me on the sofa and listened to what I had to say.
“Oh, I see.” she said. “They’re speaking Pig Latin so that you can’t understand what they’re saying. That’s not very nice of them.”
But her kindness didn’t end there. Oh no it didn’t. She went and got one of those little personal chalkboards, a box of chalk and said “I’m going to teach you Pig Latin so they can’t talk about you anymore. Don’t tell them I taught you, we’ll surprise them.”
We sat there on her sofa for what seemed like hours while she drew on that little chalkboard and explained Pig Latin to me. Once she felt like I understood, she told me to go back out there and play with them again. “And if they say anything, just repeat what they said in English! They’ll never do it again!”
I couldn’t get to RhymesWithFonda’s house fast enough. As soon as I rolled up on them, they started with the Pig Latin.
I listened for a bit as they talked about me. Oh, how they laughed! And oh, how I laughed right along with them.
“You don’t even know what’s funny!” RhymesWithRhonda said.
“Yes I do! I know everything you just said!”
“DO NOT!”
“I-ay o-day oo-tay!”
Oh Snap.
Victory was mine! For that day, at least. Of course, they figured out other ways to leave me out. And I learned very quickly that Jimm-ays Mom couldn’t solve my problems for me every time. I learned that not everyone was going to like me all of the time and that the trick was to not let them know you cared and save your tears for your pillow. And for Jesus.
There was a point to this story. Something about how sometimes I feel left out of the Inside Joke of Life (or, you know, BLOGGING.), but honestly, I don’t care much to go into all of that because it’s Very Emotional for me and Wah! I didn’t graduate from college because my parents taught me it was God’s Will to get married at 19 and who needs college when you have Jesus and a Uterus?!
Or SOMETHING? BECAUSE OH MY GOD I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I WAS GOING WITH THIS BUT NOW YOU KNOW THE STORY OF HOW I LEARNED PIG LATIN. UCKY-LAY OU-YAY!

broken record.

I stepped on the scale this morning and discovered that I’ve gained five pounds.
I took a 3 hour nap this afternoon. Woke up feeling just as tired as I did when I first laid down.
I tried composing a response to my doctor today, but I literally couldn’t think clear enough to form a comprehensive email.
My hair is all over the floor throughout my house.
But my numbers are in the “normal range.” So, whatever.
I was emailing back and forth with a woman who also has Hashimoto’s. There was something she said that made me nod my head furiously in agreement.
“I agree this is awful, I feel like..not me. I guess that’s the best way to describe it.”
That’s exactly the way to describe it. I feel like NOT ME. I don’t look the same, I don’t think the same, I don’t react to things the same. This has changed everything about who I am. Sometimes, I think I’ve come to terms with it, but then, I’ll see an old picture of myself and think “Wow, I used to have such thick, shiny hair.” Or I’ll read an old blog post that was funny and feel frustrated that I can’t write that way anymore. And suddenly I realize I’ve not yet come to terms with this disease and the havoc it has wreaked on my body and my mind.
The rational part of my brain understands that this is NOT THE WORST THING THAT I COULD HAVE. It’s not cancer. It’s not a brain tumor. It’s not MS. But on days like today, days where I have a hard time functioning, days where I have trouble thinking straight from the fatigue, days where I cry at the THOUGHT of having to put shoes on and exercise, it FEELS like the worst.