Rushed (and also: Jers-ay!!)

I’m insanely busy because I’ll be leaving tomorrow at 4 in the morning (!!) and I have packing to do and meals to plan and meatballs to make and lists to type and laundry to do and WHY DO I WAIT TIL THE LAST MINUTE TO DO EVERYTHING?
My kids are going to stay the night with my mom tonight and I keep cry every time that I think about not being able to kiss them goodbye when I leave for the airport. I’m such a wimp when it comes to leaving my family. I’m sure I’ll cry on a few shoulders while I’m away, lucky every single person who talks to me while I’m gone!!
I was pretty stressed about my weight and seeing people that I’ve not seen in a long time (or in EVER) but then a friend sent me an email that helped me snap out of it.

And you being big bothers you more than it bothers everyone else, you know, which is understandable…, but its also not like every time you write to me I’m thinking “oh it’s Yvonne in her mrs&plus size shirt”. Dude, like it’s Yvonne . Yah, so what, she wears mrs&plus size.

I really need to get over myself, yes?
I hate being fat, I do, but I love my friends and for maybe the first time in my life I’m choosing to love my friends MORE than I hate being fat.
Now, if only I could learn to love to fly because, MY GOD, I hate flying and have been known to scream things like “help me Jesus” during turbulence. I’m not proud of that, but I also am not ashamed to ask Jesus to save me from death by plane crash.
I should go pack, but before I go, I have to ask you, do you read The Blogess? If not, you really should, especially this post. It doesn’t get much funnier than that, folks.
(Except, on her blog, it totally does.)

Extreme Generic Shopping.

I had to drive out to my sister’s house today. While I was there, she offered to take me to a little store around the corner from her house that she described as having “cute clothes for big girls.”
My very first thought was to say something like “Um, maybe another day!” because, well, shopping for clothes when you’re as big as I am is a leeeeeeeeeeettle embarrassing. But, here’s the thing. My sister has a great sense of style and I would have been stupid to turn down an offer to have a personal shopper. So, once again, I stepped W-A-Y outside of my comfort zone and went with her to do a little shopping.
I won’t bore you with the details of the trip (which basically consists of me saying “but this is way too tight!!” and my sister saying “YOU HAVE TO STOP WEARING THINGS THAT ARE TOO BAGGY AND ONLY MAKE YOU LOOK BIGGER!!”) But, I will tell you that I now have actual, real clothes that are not track suits and that they are kind of cute, even if I’m not 100% comfortable wearing a shirt that shows all of The Rolls..
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If I told you that I got all of them there clothes for under $100 would you believe me? No? Ok, but what if I told you that that I bought them at a place called… ARE YOU READY FOR THIS?? Mrs & Plus Size. You’d probably believe me then, right? NO!?
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Duuuuuuuuudes.
Translation: Old and Fat Wimmins! WE’VE GET YER JEANS RIGHT HERE! I mean, what else could that possibly mean? Why must it be so hard to shop for plus size clothes? AND WHY ARE THEY MOCKING ME WITH THEIR BIG YELLOW LETTERS?
But… $6.99 t-shirts that fit. I forgive them

Juicy “Fruit”.

I recently made the decision to start working out again. There really are no words to express how happy I am to be “back in the gym” so why don’t I just go ahead and show you a picture I took last night as I was getting ready to leave to go torture myself on the elliptical machine.
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(No, you’re not imagining it. I really am that beautiful. )
I hate going because I am a total trainwreck at the gym these days. (Thank you, Hashimotos.) My legs have actually given out on me while on the elliptical, I start wheezing after 10 minutes, I have to continually check my heart rate (because I’m not supposed to let it get over 150). It’s embarrassing, man. And yet, I soldier on because I know that it’s crucial for both my physical and mental health.
I don’t have high expectations of losing 70 pounds like I did before. My motivation is purely to improve my health so that sometime in the near future I’ll stop feeling like I’m half dead and maybe have the energy to give my husband an unexpected blow job again! And if I’m lucky? I’ll drop a pound or two.
In other news…
Next Wednesday I will be boarding a plane at 7 in the morning and making my way to New Jersey and then, New York City. My mouth literally waters when I think of all of the fun that I am going to have seeing old friends again, (and possibly, hopefully, meeting new ones) I could come up with a list as long as my tittays hang of reasons NOT to go (OMG! I need FIVE DIFFERENT OUTFITS!?!) but the benefit of being surrounded by friends in a city that I love outweighs every single one of the excuses I can come up with to not go.
(Did that make any sense? The Hash is RAGING today and I am having trouble thinking straight. Or maybe it’s not The Hash at all, but the effing smoothie I have been trying to drink since breakfast messing with my brain because who knew a pound of fruit could taste like something that comes out of ones ass?)
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A pound of fruit? MORE LIKE A POUND OF JUICY FART, MAN. No, seriously, it actually tastes like a fart and I’m kind of pissed off that I spent $10 on 4 bottles of that crap.

I Wanna Soak Up the Sun.

Yesterday, a a friend asked me how I was doing.
My response?
I’m doing good today. I’ve just been keeping myself busy, going outside to enjoy the sunshine and soaking up the love of my family.
It’s amazing to me how dramatically my spirits lift when I step outside and feel the warmth of the sunshine on my skin.

For too long, I’ve been dwelling on the fact that my body is at war with itself. I’ve been dwelling on the fact that I no longer recognize my body in the mirror. I’ve been dwelling on the fact that I’m going to have to take medication for the rest of my life. I’ve been dwelling on the fact that I wasn’t taken seriously the first time that I knew something was wrong.
Oh! Poor, poor puffy me.
I have made a decision to stop dwelling on the negative, as real as it is, and to start focusing on that which is good and that which is wonderful. I am blessed to have health insurance that allows me to seek treatment for that which is wrong with me. I am blessed to have an imperfect, but wonderful family who continue to love me and support me even though I’ve not been the most pleasant of people to be around.
I am choosing to seek out that which is beautiful in the world around me. I pay close attention to the little things. The pretty flowers that are blooming around me. The sound of my boys jamming to “Under the Bridge” in the garage. The soft touch of my daughter’s hand on my arm as I read her a bedtime story. The unexpected hug from my husband as we pass each other in the hallway.
It is these ordinary, every day moments of my life that give me the strength that I need to keep me from crawling back into bed and dwelling. I grab onto each little moment with both hands and hold it close to my heart.
While this shift in thinking hasn’t magically turned my life into one big Chocolate Covered Strawberry, it most definitely has helped me pick myself up off of the tear soaked floor and try to enjoy life again. And for that, I’m grateful because, ALL things considered, I have a pretty sweet life.
In closing, I would like to leave you with some pictures of the absolute funniest thing in my life at the moment.
My daughter attempting to “cross her eyes” and yes, I ask her to do it at least 10 times a day.
I realize you won’t find it as funny as I do, but even still.. enjoy.
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Another Episode of “As The Thyroid Burns.”

About three weeks ago, I sent a message to my doctors office asking for a referral to see an endocrinologist. I didn’t hear anything back from him and I was frustrated beyond belief. I was feeling depressed about the entire situation. I’m just tired of being blown off by people.(Not to mention tired of BEING TIRED.) Just minutes after hitting publish on that post on Friday, my son brought the mail in and lo! There was a letter from my doctor. I dried my tears and was filled with hope– Surely it was the referral I had been patiently waiting for!

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Today, I Choose Cheese.

Dance like no one is watching.

The past few days I’ve made a conscience effort to tune out the negative thoughts and feelings that I’ve been dealing with and tune into my children. I wanted to see life through their eyes. I’ve really focused on them and the way that they live their lives.

I genuinely enjoy my children. They’re fabulous people, each in their own unique ways. Their love for life is inspiring.

They each have things in their life that they are passionate about.
Music.

Basketball.

Lipstick.

I can’t tell you the last time that I’ve felt passionate about something in life.

I listen to my oldest son play his guitar, a song that he taught himself simply by listening. It amazes me that he can learn a song by ear and master it in a matter of hours.

I watch my second born son shoot the basketball for hours, without tiring, trying to better himself, even though he is consistently the best player on his team. Yet, every day, he strives to be better.

I watch my daughter sit on her bed, reading story after story– taking a break to re-apply her lipstick while singing songs about how pretty her lipstick looks and how much she loves her mommy.

They’re happy. They’re content. They enjoy their simple little life here with me and their Dad.

Watching life through the eyes of my children has taught me something– I’ve been simply trying to get through each day, but not allowing myself to experience the beauty that each day holds. I want to experience the beauty and joy of life again.

And I think that I will end this post RIGHT HERE before I say something REALLY cheesy like “TODAY, I CHOOSE LIFE.”

Would You Please?

I recently learned that Beth (from I Should Be Folding Laundry) lost both of her twin baby boys, James and Jake. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain and heartache that she is dealing with every minute of every day. And yet, she has decided to honor her babies by participating in the March of Dimes, March for Babies.
Because my heart breaks for her and because I think what she’s doing is amazing, I wanted to direct you to her donation page.
She did not ask me to do this, I just really want to see her reach her goal.
Thank you.
xoxo

Comments Closed Because I Don’t Want You To Feel Obligated to Say Nice Things to Me.

It’s a beautiful day today.
The sun is shining brightly. It’s warm with just a hint of cool air.
I decided to take Gabby out for a little trip to Target since the puking has seemed to stop. I put on my gray track suit, in spite of the warm weather, because again, that’s the only thing that fits me.
As I pulled my hair back, I could see patches of my scalp due to the thinning hair.
As I put my makeup on, I could see the acne that has invaded my jawline and chin. I could see the one damn droopy eye. The dry, flaky skin. The puffy, dark circles under my eyes.
In all honesty, I don’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore. This “condition” has wreaked havoc on my body.
In the past week, I’ve had more than one person not recognize my voice when I’ve answered the phone. Because it’s not enough that I’m fat, puffy, dry, bald, zitfaced and DROOPY EYED, I have to have Man Voice. (due to the “enlarged thyroid.)
I HAVE MAN VOICE, PEOPLE.
As I walked through Target, I noticed how great all of the other moms looked. A saw one group of moms in particular who had stopped to chit chat. Each one of them were dressed extremely well, with cute hair cuts and pretty fingernails. They were all smiling and laughing and talking about “That one time they were at so and so’s house and ha ha! Isn’t she hilarious after having a glass of wine?”
As I watched them laugh and connect with each other, I felt overwhelmed with a sense of sadness.
I used to be like those women. I used to wear cute little outfits. I used to have friends that I would go out and do things with. I used to love being out in the world interacting with people.
These days, I feel like an outsider, watching everyone else live their lives. I’ve made the CHOICE to be an outsider. Because I have nothing to offer right now– I’m emotionally, physically and spiritually bankrupt.
I feel so alone. I feel so sad. So Ugly. So Tired.
So puffy. My GOD, I am puffy.
As I was making breakfast the other morning, I turned to my husband and said (in my Man Voice) “You know, this thyroid thing has changed me. I don’t feel like the same person. I don’t look like the same person. And I hate it.”
I’m having a really hard time coming to terms with the new state of my health. I know it’s not the end of the world (At least you don’t have cancer, bitch!) I know there are worse things, I do. But– I don’t know how to except that THIS IS MY LIFE now.
I know it will get better, but will I ever be the same? Will I ever want to stop hiding from the world and make friends again. Will I ever stopped being ashamed of myself? Will I ever feel inspired again? Will I ever have the energy to go to Aerobic Dance Class again? Will I ever stop waking up in the middle of the night thinking that “OMG! I’M DYING! MY HEART IS NOT BEATING!”
I sent a message to my doctor 2 weeks ago to ask him to PLEASE IN THE NAME OF JESUS refer me to a endocrinologist, but I have yet to hear back from him. I don’t know how much more I can take of feeling this way.
I keep telling myself to SNAP OUT OF THIS. I keep going to bed with every intention of working out first thing in the morning! But then the morning comes and The Tired overwhelms me. And then I feel horrible about myself for not being stronger than The Tired! For giving into my laziness. For being such a wimp about all of this.
I’m really sorry about this. I’m sorry that I’m still talking about it. I’m sorry that I haven’t figured out an effective way to deal with this. I’m sorry that my husband and my children have to put up with me every day of their life. I’m sorry that I’m being such a big fucking baby about it all.
But mostly, I’m sorry that there’s a big, beautiful world out there and I’m sitting here in my fucking tracksuit crying again.
(I really meant it when I said comments closed, but because my brain doesn’t work right these days, I forgot to close them. Whoops.)

Fanny

When my first born started kindergarten, I had every intention of being a PTA mom. I imagined spending long hours at school, helping out in the classroom, planning various fund raisers and generally being very active in school activities.
But then, my son started school. I got to know the women in the PTA and suddenly, I realized that Parent Teacher Association was just a cover for what PTA really stood for.
Power Trippin’ Assholes.

(If you’re on the PTA at your kids school, please don’t take offense. I’m only talking about the PTA at my son’s school. NOT YOUR PTA.)
Never in my life had I experienced such ugliness in human beings then what I saw in the women on the PTA at my son’s school. They were rude, petty, bossy and man, did they ever love to talk shit about people. It didn’t take long before I realized that the PTA wasn’t the place for me. I decided I’d help out in my son’s classroom and my involvement in school things would end there.
One year, a very good friend of mine decided she was going to try to change the PTA (ha ha ha!) and volunteered to be President. I remember telling her “Look, you know that I love you, but I can’t stand those other women. HOWEVER! Because I love you, I will help you any time you need me. Just be warned– I have NO tolerance for the way the other woman act.”
A few weeks later, she asked me if I would be willing to help her at the book fair.
“Of course!” I told her. “Whatever you need!”
What she needed was for me to volunteer a few hours to help out at the book fair by helping the Kindergarten and first grade students make their book wish lists. Easy, yes?
I got a sitter for Ethan and showed up bright and early on a Monday morning. The first class came in and I walked around helping the little darlings write which books they wanted their parents to buy for them.
While I was helping one of the little girls, we found a book that I LOVED. I called out to my friend “look at this book! How cute is THIS?”
Just then, one of the PTA moms walked in, for the sake of this post, we’ll call her “Fanny.” As in “wears a Fanny Pack.” She was the nastiest one of the group. She looked over at me and I could see that she wasn’t happy. I had no idea why she was mad, but it probably had something to do with my Non PTA ass being there. I ignored her and continued talking to my friend.
“If I had a little girl, I would buy this book for her! It’s just so cute!”
“Ladies!” Fanny said, all Power Trippin’ like. “We’re here to help the kids!”
I looked over at my friend. She had turned white, because she knew that whatever was going to happen next wasn’t going to be good.
“Excuse me?” I snapped back.
She smiled in a manner that made me want to knock her teeth out. “I said we’re here to help the kids.”
“I AM helping the kids.” I said. “I’ve BEEN helping the kids.”
“OH, REEEEAALLY.” She snapped back. “If you’re helping the kids, then explain why you were talking talking to Vicky when I walked in just now?”
I immediately felt a wave of “OH NO SHE DI’UNT” rush over my entire body. Fanny was trying to call me out. In front of five year olds.
I walked over to her, got right in her face (and quite possibly put my finger in her face) and said something like “First of all, do NOT talk to me like I’m a child. Second of all? I am here, volunteering my time. Time that I could spending at home with my toddler, time that I could be doing the 5,000 things that I need to do today, how DARE you walk in here and talk to me like that. I have been here helping the kids all morning. I saw a book that I thought was cute so I said something to my friend about it. I’M AN ADULT, I’M ALLOWED TO DO THAT. YOU’RE NOT MY BOSS AND DON’T EVER TALK TO ME LIKE THAT AGAIN. EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” (And YES, the head, she was a’bobbin.)
I walked over to my friend and said “I’m so sorry about that, but I will not let that women treat me the way she treats the other moms here. I need some fresh air, I’ll be back in a bit.”
I took a walk to calm down. I realize that what she said wasn’t THAT big of a deal, but after a couple of years of listening to this woman boss people around, degrade people and generally just be a complete bitch to everyone, I HAD HAD IT.
When I came back into the room, my friend told me that the woman had started crying. And then? She told my friend that her husband had warned her that one day, someone was going to snap at her and put her in her place, because she was too aggressive (see: bitchy) and that not everyone was going to “bow down” to her.
I went looking for her to apologize, because,well, I could have handled it in a more appropriate manner. When I found her, I told her that I was sorry for the way that I reacted, but that I was really upset that she felt it necessary to scold me. She apologized as well, but I wasn’t convinced she meant it. I didn’t care though, really. As long as she never spoke to me that way again, it was all good.
For weeks after that happened, Fanny was always extremely nice to me. However, the other PTA moms wouldn’t even look at me. I found out later that she had told everyone who would listen that she was “scared of me” because “I yelled at her for no reason.”
Ah, poor Fanny. *eye roll*
I do feel guilty that I let my intolerance for those nasty women keep me from serving on the PTA. It was something that I had always imagined I’d be a part of when my kids were in elementary school. I just couldn’t bring myself to associate with a group of women who treated anyone who wasn’t in their clique so poorly. I did what I could do make a difference in my son’s elementary school, by helping in his class weekly. Ultimately, the one thing that was important to me was that I did my part to make my son’s experience a good one and I don’t think I needed to be on the PTA to do that.
That said, I plan on giving the PTA a second chance when G-Unit goes to Kindergarten. She’ll be at a new school and hopefully, they’ll be a lot less Power Trippin Assholery and a lot more Parent Teacher Associatin’ at this school.
Have you had an experience with PTA that you’d like to share with me? I’d love to hear it.

Fifteen.

First Birthday
That right there is my first born son at his First Birthday Party. I remember I started planning that party when he turned six months old. I couldn’t wait for my boy to turn one. I couldn’t wait to celebrate the first year of his life.

Oh, what an incredible year that it was. I loved every minute of being a new mother. Back then, I don’t think I could have understood the moms who write about how hard it is being a mother. It wasn’t hard for me. Sure, there were moments that were difficult. There were times that the crying became overwhelming. But those times with my first born son were few and far between. (The second child? TOTALLY DIFFERENT EXPERIENCE.) That boy was the most laid back, mellow, sweet spirited baby a mother could ask for. And I’m not saying that to sugar coat the experience of becoming a mother at the age of 22. I’m not saying it to be all “children are a blessing!” I’m saying it because it’s simply the truth.

I loved being a mom. I reveled in it. I felt like it was what I was born to do. And I believe it’s all because of the sweet spirit of my son. He was always happy, but quiet. He never fussed much. He wasn’t demanding or difficult. He always seemed content and laid back, as if he was habitually high on The Pot.

Planning his birthday parties has always been one of the highlights of being his mom. I’ve loved watching him enjoy being showered with attention on his big day. I’ve felt pride and unspeakable love as I’ve watched him blow out the candles on a cake. How lucky, how absolutely lucky I’ve been to have another year with this boy. And there aren’t words that can begin to express how I felt watching him walk around school with an orange crown made of construction paper, glue and glitter.
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As my son approached teenage-hood, my feelings for his birthdays began to change.. A day that once brought me pure joy and happiness now was mixed with tears and sadness. I suppose that’s part of being a mother– learning how to accept that they’re only children for a season and your job is to raise them to be the best people they can possibly be. But, no one really, truly tells you how difficult and painful it is. People say “enjoy them while they’re little! They grow so fast!” And you nod your head and say “I know! They’re growing so fast!” But, until your teenager fills out his highschool “career goals” and checks the “police officer” box or until he starts locking his bedroom door and coming out all sweaty and red in the face (HOLD ME) you can’t understand how meaningful those words are. “Enjoy them while they’re little” is so cliche, but, oh parents of little ones, Enjoy them while they’re little.

One day, one day you’re just going to look back at pictures of them and you’re going to sob because your heart aches at the same time as it soars. In the blink of an eye, the little baby that you once held in your arms is  a beautiful, thoughtful, kind, hilarious human being who you’d want to be friends with even if they weren’t your child because they are THAT AWESOME– but my GOD, what you wouldn’t give to go back in time and hold them tightly in your arms while sniffing their sweet baby breath.
The annual "This is what I looked like when my mom woke me up on my birthday" shot.  Happy 15th Birthday, Son.
(I have a tradition of taking their pictures first thing in the morning on their birthday. I want to remember EXACTLY what they looked like the day they turned a year older. This was taken at 6:45 this morning.)
Happy 15th Birthday, Nunu. I love love love you and as sad as I may feel about you being another year closer to adulthood, today, I celebrate you.
I celebrate the day you came into my life.
I celebrate every memory we’ve made together.
I celebrate your love of music.
I celebrate your kind gentle spirit.
I celebrate everything that makes you the beautiful person you are fifteen years after the first time that I laid eyes on you.