Monday’s weigh-in didn’t pan out anything pretty. Actually it was UP to 250. Only one pound, but STILL.

So, I decided that my scale MUST be broken (either that or it’s gonna die a nasty untimely death)…so I called Abbie in. She’s 7 and is too young yet to loathe the scale, so she was all excited she got to see how much she weighed…to my dismay she does NOT weigh 250 lbs. So I called in my 3 yr. old Megan. As happy as she was to jump on the scale as well, she too, does not weigh 250 lbs. So, without him knowing the reasoning behind why, I had my husband grab the dog. Our 2 year old chocolate lab. Yes. He’s a monster of a dog on my tiny bathroom scale. Why I didn’t just give up, or make it easy and just have my husband get on the scale is beyond me. Nope. I had to make a ‘Lisa’ situation out of it all. Anyways, he fights for about 3 minutes, holding the dog under his arm pits, the dogs hind feet are scattering all over looking for something solid to stand on, all the while I’m sitting on the potty too far away to actually help laughing my ass off. All because the scale HAS to be busted, mind you. The dog finally rests his paws on the bathroom counter and catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and is very intrigued (you could see it in his eyes) and his feet finally sit still on the scale. Damn dog only weighs 85 lbs.

All that for nothing. Friggin plateau.