Friday Night.

I earned this mojito.
It’s been “One of Those Weeks.”
Staph infections, ear infections, water in the keyboard, mud in the carpet, flood in the garage and so on and so forth.
I’ve been looking forward to Friday night, so that I could pour me a glass of that minty stuff and try to put this week behind me.
The new bumps forming on my son arms lead me to believe our troubles aren’t over yet, but I plan on enjoying my adult beverage and forgetting my cares if only for a couple of hours.
mmmm, devil water.

If You Read My Blog, CHECK THIS.

I read on a few blogs that today is “Delurking Day.”
I did it last year and had every intention on writing every single person who came out of hiding to comment back.
That didn’t happen. Partly because I’m a quitter, but mostly because I didn’t expect so many people to participate.
I still have all of the emails saved because I still have this dream that I’m going to respond– but I think it’s time I admit that I failed you, Oh (former) Lurkers and I am sorry.
And even though I suck and didn’t respond to every single comment last time, I’m going to go ahead and do it again this year. If only because I sincerely LOVE to hear from the people who read here every day. Does that make me an asshole?
Don’t answer that.
Anyway… If you read this blog and have never commented, I would love to hear from you today.
Why, hello, Horse.
Random Horse is all “COME ON… SAY-AAAY-AAA-AAY SOMETHING.”
***
(Coming up next: My Weight Gain, in Pictures. mmmmmm Belly Fat.)

Urgent Care Doctor: 0 Mommyblogger: 1

Me: Hi. I think my son might have the chicken pox. Help?
Urgent Care Doctor: Doesn’t look like chicken pox, but it could be! but probably not! but there’s nothing we can do anyway! so just give him benadryl and calamine lotion.
Shorty Mom (in my comments): I took my son in for a visit when he got up one morning complaining about a headache and dizziness. He had a spot on his hip the night before that I thought was another bout of ringworm we suffered with through the summer. That afternoon he had more red spots and I cringed at the thought of chicken pox. His doctor said to keep him away from pregnant women but she thought it was a staff infection and not the chicken pox. Staff infection was right when the antibiotic she prescribed started clearing them up within a couple of days. The longer they go untreated, the more they look like a big pimple. Hope you get it figured out!
Me: (googles staph infection) OH SHIT. I think it’s a staph infection. (calls my doctor. My doctor says bring him on my lunch hour.)
Diagnoisis? Staph infection (waiting for the culture to come back to find out more… but starting on antibiotics now.)
The thing that pisses me off the most is that they could have started treating it that night had either one of the doctors listened to me when I pointed out the large bumps on his arms. “It started with THESE TWO BUMPS RIGHT HERE.”
Didn’t even phase them. I pointed them out at least 5 times and they just went “hmm” every time. Had I not written about it on my blog, I probably would have just kept waiting to see if they got better on their own because they specifically told me THERE’S NOTHING WE CAN DO. IT WILL CLEAR UP ON IT’S OWN.
I love you, oh readers of my blog. I really, really do. And because I love you, I am going to try really hard to stop writing about my family’s medical problems because, enough already, yes?

Chicken.

My boys spent the night with their Grandparents on Saturday night. When they came home Sunday evening, The Teenager was covered with some little, some very large bumps on his face and arms.
Because I am a “Nut of a Mother!” I immediately freaked out.
“THE CHICKEN POX!!” I screamed.
“But he’s been vaccinated against the chicken pox! It can’t be!”
So for an entire day, I looked at pictures of The Pox online and I compulsively checked my son. They didn’t look like chicken pox, he hadn’t had a fever… as far as I know, he hadn’t been around anyone who had the chicken pox, so what in the hell?
Last night I took him to urgent care looking for answers.
“We can’t DO anything for chicken pox” snapped one of the nurses.
“I KNOW that.” I snapped back. “that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I need to know if it IS the chicken pox so I know if I can send him to school or not.”
Shut her rude ass up.
They receptionist had called ahead of time to let them know that it was “possible chicken pox” so I was SHOCKED to see that the doctor they sent to see us was pregnant.
Pregnant lady + chicken pox = me scared. What were they thinking? Wasn’t there a doctor there who wasn’t pregnant that they could have sent in? Anyway…
She put a pair of gloves on and began to examine my son.
“Hmmm” she said. “It doesn’t look like chicken pox. But… It could be!”
Naturally, I was like “WTF does that mean? Does he have it or doesn’t he?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, it doesn’t look like typical chicken pox, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not chicken pox.”
She went to get another doctor to get a second opinion.
I was hopeful that the new doctor would give me an answer.
She came in, examined him carefully and said “I don’t know. It could be, but then again, it might not be.”
So, basically “your guess is our good as ours, but thanks for wasting an hour of your life and $10 on a co-pay!”
I have no idea if it is or isn’t chicken pox, but either way, I’m trying to keep both of the other kids away from him and when you have a little girl who thinks her big brubber is The Son of God, it’s NOT easy.
“But, I LOOOOOOOOVE HIM SO MUUUUUCH I WANT TO HUUUUUUG HIM MOMMEEEEEE PLEEEEASE?”
Maybe I’ll let her eat some cookie dough to distract her!
Good Lord– The Cookie Dough. I had no idea that Cookie Dough was SO SERIOUS.
The Pro-Doughs are all:
“Let your little girl enjoy her childhood! How dare you take away the joy of raw cookie dough from her! She has a greater chance of dying from a car accident then from raw egg you freak!”
Meanwhile, The Anti-Doughs are all:
“I will NEVER let my kids eat anything with raw egg in it. WHY WOULD I PUT SOMETHING IN THEIR MOUTH THAT COULD POSSIBLY KILL THEM?!”
Honestly, the reaction to that post (which, by the way, I almost deleted because I thought “who’s going to care about stupid cookie dough?”) is going on the list of “Reasons That I Love The Internet”, right next to Her blog.
I really enjoyed reading through all of your opinions on The Dough and am thinking that maybe I’ll start a weekly installment of “am I crazy for not letting my kids…”
Because if I loved hearing the different opinions on COOKIE DOUGH! I can only imagine what would be in store for me if I wrote about about the time I refused to let my boys eat the food from a Mexican caterer that I saw pick up pieces of raw chicken with her bare hands and then walk over and pick up tortillas with those same hands without washing them first. (Although, I think that raw chicken is worse than raw egg and no one could call me crazy for that, would they? Or, would they?)
Or maybe I’m just looking for a little validation from The Internet that I’m not crazy.
Ha.

I Think I Need to Stop Watching 20/20

Baking Cookies is Very Serious.
If you ask any member of my family what kind of a parent I am, they would say that I’m a good Mom, but that I’m too paranoid and need to relax and not worry so much about my children getting hurt.
I would have to agree that I’m a little on the “too cautious” side. When my boys were little, I’d have to go inside when they’d play because I would see them riding their bikes down the hill and shout things like “OMG. SLOW DOWN! YOU COULD FALL OFF THAT THING AND END UP IN A WHEELCHAIR!” And Tony would tell me to leave them alone and let them have fun. It’s not in my nature to be all “go ahead and climb trees, who cares if you fall and break a leg!” It’s always been a struggle for me to watch my children play because I DO worry about them ending up in the ER with a life threatening injury.
In my defense, I have learned to put my (sometimes irrational) fears aside and let my children enjoy life. Even if everything in me is screaming “OMG YOU COULD DIE FROM DOING THAT!” I walk away and keep my mouth shut. I learned early on not to let MY issues interfere with their ability to enjoy their childhood, but that doesn’t mean I don’t freak out on occasion or that I put my foot down when I think the risks outweigh the fun that they think they’ll have.
Yesterday, I was telling my sister a funny story about the night me and Gabby baked cookies.
“I told her that she couldn’t eat the cookie dough, because it had raw egg in it…”
“Wait. You won’t let Gabby eat cookie dough because it has raw egg in it?”
“No. I won’t let her eat it.”
“WHAT? Ok. I’m sorry, that’s insane. I can’t believe you won’t let her eat cookie dough. I let my kids eat it all of the time.”
“Well, I don’t want her to get sick. I’ve watched the specials, I know raw egg can make you sick.”
“Y… are you serious? She’s not going to get sick from eating a little cookie dough. We used to eat it all of the time.”
My brother in law chimed in and they both started laughing at me for being a little “crazy”.
I have to admit, usually, when they tease me about being overprotective, I laugh it off because while I know that I do need to chill sometimes, I also know that it’s my job to protect my children and I’ll never apologize for not wanting them to get hurt. But until my sister made me feel like a jackass about not letting my children eat cookie dough, I never really thought that it was crazy of me to be all “OMG DON’T EAT THAT RAW EGG IS BAD. But! Raw egg IS bad.
Right?
I mean, um, like, you don’t let your kids eat raw cookie dough, do you?
Or, do you?.

Finally.

Yesterday I had a little bit of an emotional breakdown.
After months of telling anyone that would listen, including my doctor, that I thought there was something wrong with my thyroid and after months of being blown off and made to feel like I was “just being lazy” and maybe a little crazy, I have been diagnosed with Hashimoto’s thyroiditis.
Let me give you a few examples of how my cries of “something is wrong!” were ignored.
“I feel tired all of the time.”
“You are getting older. And you ARE overweight. Those things can make you feel tired.”
“Oh, the weight! I can’t lose anymore weight. In fact, I keep gaining weight!”
“Well, how many calories are you eating a day? Are you working out for at least an hour a day? Mmm , hmmm.”
“But you don’t understand! I’m too tired to work out. I have no stamina. I try to work out, but I can’t. I feel horrible!”
“Excuses, excuses. Get thee on a treadmill. You’ll feel better.
“I feel like I’m dying sometimes at night. My heart starts racing and I feel like I can’t breathe.”
“You DO have a history of anxiety attacks. You’re probably having them in your sleep. Let me give you some anti anxiety meds!”
“My hair is falling out in clumps. It’s dry and OMG! It’s curly?!”
“I lose WAY MORE hair than that. Also, it’s totally normal for women to lose hair in cycles and I don’t see any bald patches so… you know… you’re fine.
“There’s a lump in my throat. I can feel it when I swollow.”
“It’s probably just reflux. Here’s a pamphlet to read. Quit eating greasy foods.”
“My periods are irregular and when I do have them, they’re extremely heavy. I soak through a pad an hour and bleed for DAYS.”
“Again, you’re getting older, that’s normal. It happens. Get over it.”
“I have trouble concentrating. I’m forgetful and in a mental fog.”
“You need to go to bed earlier!”
“I have no joy in my life. I don’t even get excited about riding the Tony Baloney Pony anymore. I think my Horny died!”
“Oh noes! You’re probably getting depressed again! Go see a psychiatrist or pray! Start going to church!
One can understand how I started to feel like I was crazy, right?
No matter how many of the symptoms that I had of “hypothyroidism”, I was still told that I was fine.
Yesterday, I got this email from my doctor.

This absolutely means you have a low thyroid, and the second test just means that its your body that is making antibodies against your thyroid,
So congratulations, its time to start you on thyroid medication

.
Congratulations!??
What? Congratulations… you’re not crazy after all? Congratulations… you were right and I was wrong? Congratulations… you get to take meds for the rest of your life?
Congratulations!
I wanted to write back and tell him to shove his congratulations up his ass, but I refrained and asked instead to please tell me what my official diagnoses was, even though I already KNEW it was hashimoto’s based on all of the hours of research I’ve done since he patted me on the back and told me he was “SURE all of my tests would come back normal” and he’d go ahead and “put me on a weight loss pill though, but hey, you know what else works? Weight Watchers.. You should try it!”
(Seriously. He said that. Because, you know, having lost 70 pounds myself, I had no idea that weight watchers combined with diet and exercise helps you lose weight!)
He told me that yes, I had Hashimoto’s disease and that I’d need to start on meds right away and be re-tested in 30 days.
When I read that, I lost it. All of the frustration that I’ve felt, all of the anger for being ignored and not taken seriously was unleashed as I read my doctor’s email.
I cried so hard and when my husband walked through the door a few minutes later, I collapsed in his arms and wept.
(Oh! The Dramatics!)
“I told you. I told everyone and no one took me seriously. Everyone thought I was crazy or just looking for excuses for the weight gain. I told you I felt like shit, I told you that something was wrong and I was right.”
It was a very Soap Opera like moment, but after many months (years, even) of not feeling good, months of not being taken seriously, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. A Good Cry was in order.
In fairness to my doctor, he had ordered tests before when I had told him my symptoms, but when the tests came back “in the normal range” he refused to believe anything was wrong and the fact of the matter is that YOU CAN NOT GO BY THE TEST RESULTS ALONE. Symptoms are important and those were ignored and brushed aside as “other things.”
So here is what I say to other women out there who may be experiencing the same symptoms and NOT being taken seriously.
Demand that your thyroid be tested and if the results come back normal, ask to be retested in 30 days. And ask for specific tests ( listed here.). NO ONE KNOWS YOUR BODY BETTER THAN YOU. If you feel like something isn’t right, if you have the symptoms, demand that you be taken seriously. Educate yourself. Don’t be intimidated by any doctor because, GUESS WHAT? They’re wrong sometimes.
I realize this post is choppy and I apologize, but dudes, I am not lying when I say that I can’t think straight and have problems focusing, so I ask that you show a little mercy to the Thyroid Impaired.

Tap Tap My Tagline! (Or “The One in Which I learn That One Should Always Consult the Urban Dictionary Before Hitting Publish.)

I was surfing the myspace accounts of my son’s friends last night.
Most of the accounts are marked as “private” so I couldn’t view them, but a few of the kids have changed their age to 19 so that their accounts are not locked as private.
Thank God for that, because had they not lied about their age, I never would have found The Greatest Blog Post by a Teenage Boy EVER.
Although I am tempted to copy and paste the entire entry here on my blog, I won’t because, as my son would say “that’s messed up”. But I am going to share with you the funniest thing that I have read on the internet in a very long time.
In this post (which was about a “gurll” who “was lying because she just wanted 2 b seen and get attention from ppl”) he said the following…
“ur toothfaced! Don’t ever talk to me again kk?”
When I first read it, I was all “What is this ‘toothfaced’ the youth are talking about?”
And then it hit me that he really didn’t mean toothfaced. He meant two- faced. He just didn’t KNOW that he meant two-faced, because he thinks it’s toothfaced and this makes me laugh so hard that it physically hurts.
I don’t know why I found it so funny, except that maybe it reminds me of the time that I got spanked for shouting what I thought was “Geezus!” in anger (You know, kind of like “gee whiz!”) but my parents thought I was saying “JESUS!” (You know, as in “JESUS CHRIST!”) And I really was saying “JESUS!” I just didn’t know it because whenever I heard people saying “JESUS!” I honestly thought they were saying “GEEZUS!”
Anyway. You can be sure I’m using that word (TOOTHFACED!!!!) every chance I get.
I think that it will make Geezus very happy.
Bonus Toothfaced

Let’s play a game of “Which is Worse?”

Ripping a 7 second odorless fart that sounded like a machine gun with a car backfiring at the very end or unleashing a series completely silent burps that smelled like chicken nuggets that had been marinated in apple cider?
I suppose I should ask the two women who had the pleasure of standing on either side of me while at the elliptical machine at the gym.

Happy Birthday Jesus… Sorry Your Party’s so Lame

Merry Christmas! I just wanted to take a break from what can only be described as “The Christmas Joy” (Can you see my eyes rolling?! Because when I said that, I ROLLED MY EYES.) up in this house to wish you all a Merry Christmas.
I hope that you’re family listens to you when you ask them to “clean up their mess” and that when you tell them “not right now” they just say “yes ma’am/sir and they go sit down and wait patiently with a smile on their face instead of going “OHMYGOD Why can’t we do it right now? Please now not later OMG NOW!!?” and that they don’t throw an effing tantrum when you ask them (politely, even!) to put a bow on their head so you can take a preeeeety picture of them because bows on heads is FUNNY!
I also hope that your period comes when it is supposed to and that you’re not 3 weeks late and all bloated and feeling like crying for no reason at all except that YOU LOOK 8 MONTHS PREGNANT AND HAVE HORRIFIC GAS.
Picture or Video 899 copy
Ah, The Christmas Joy.
Can’t you just feel it in your soul?
But seriously, Merry Christmas. I love you (well, I love all of you, except for like, two of you.) Your presence in my life (even if it is “on the internet”) during this extremely difficult, challenging, life changing year of my life has meant more to me than I can express without sounding like some kind of sappy asshole. Just know that I hold your encouraging and often time hilarious words close to my heart.
(See!? SAPPY ASSHOLE!)
XOXO