Not everyone speaks your language

I was raised by a nurse and a laborer - Dad worked swing shift at Harrison Radiator before Dephi took it over.

I grew up hearing nursing terms and having the "general pick up" note marked with shorthand that I still to this day have no fucking clue what it means. I spent the greater part of my childhood sitting in the garage with my dad occasionally asking him to tell me about the parts of a car. If I wasn't there, I was in the pool or in the kitchen because that's where things happened with my family. We never really were "living room people." Life did not revolve around the television .

We have awesome conversations. But when it all comes down to it, we speak different languages within our professions.

When autoimmune disease runs rampant

Three times now my blood work has come back and I've been told to stay on the same dose.

Three times I've gone in and been told my TSH was "elevated."

I'm exhausted. I'm cranky. I'm yawning halfway through my first cup of coffee and I know it isn't just because the caffeine hasn't kicked in yet, or rather *now* I know.

The problem with autoimmune disease and being blessed with two of them is, for me, sometimes not knowing if it's just a case of poor sleep that leaves me fighting to stay awake at 10 a.m. or if it's too much coffee at night (which I rarely drink at night) that keeps me from actually falling asleep.

Is it lack of sleep because I stayed up too late writing that causes me to go from 0 to RAGE in a matter of seconds over something as inane as my child asking me to turn the water on in the bathroom for her to wash her hands or should I really be that miserable and pissed off because she won't just do it herself? Am I just a shitty parent? Why isn't there a fluffy pillow and a box of tissues here right this second so I can have my miserable cry fest while questioning everything I know to be true about me?

This is the face of hypothyroidism. It's also the face of hyperthyroidism.

How to not give a bath

My thoughts this evening have gone something like, "Jesus wouldn't really care too much if my kids went to church stinky tomorrow, right?" "Honestly, the son of God didn't have running water, so I'm sure he didn't always smell fresh as a daisy." "Clean hair is really overrated." "I could just put perfume on them. They'd feel super special."

Between some late nights I've had, Charlie having a cough and sinus issues, the Boy sneezing and pinching or pulling something in his neck and back this morning and now me with something funky happening with my left eye, I'm just not really in the mood to deal with a bath time fight.

I don't know if I could stand for them to not bathe, though. And a thorough wash up isn't going to cut it because my kids use their hair as napkins - I think there are tomato seeds, ice cream and chocolate milk in Charlotte's hair right now.

Social experiments: The spiritual cup

After a week of whatever the heck virus kicked my 3-year-old's tush, I think Josie is finally on the way to good health.

Now Charlie has it. We're on day four of vomit, though she might have skipped a day and I just don't remember. Sleeping (if you can call it that) sitting up with a trash can next to your bed for your 2-year-old to puke into tends to blur time and days.

I'm hoping this isn't going to be the beginning of a repeat of Winter 2012-13.

I refuse to panic about this. We're back to popsicles, Pedialyte and watered down juice. Charlie refuses to eat solid food, I think more out of fear of how much it will hurt if she throws up again. At the very least, I need to try every trick in the book to get fluids into her.

But all this trying to get them healthy is exhausting, and I hate to complain about my babies because they can't help what's happening, so on Sunday the kids stayed home with the Boy and off to church I went. I had a pie fundraiser to help button up so we could start baking on Monday. And my spiritual cup needed a refill.

No less a rock star

Sick kids are the worst.

It sucks.

It's not just sucky because they're sick, though. Sadly, it's more because the problem can't always be fixed and as a parent it makes you feel helpless. You spend all your time guiding, teaching, snuggling, kissing away the ouchies.

But then along comes a virus that wreaks havoc on your preschooler's intestinal tract and leaves in its wake little hands and little feet and, in our case, even a little nose covered in hives.