A few weeks ago a friend posted a photo on Facebook of her daughter surrounded by baby goats. I clicked the picture, which was geo-tagged, which led to a place name, which I then typed into Facebook and their page popped up. (Technology, man!) It turns out the place with the baby goats is called Oak Leaf Dairy and it’s only 20 minutes from my house. So after ballet class on Saturday I forced my family into their coats and put the directions into my phone and said “WE’RE GOING TO SEE GOATS EVERYONE IN THE CAR.”

I have about a 20% success rate with Family Fun Days. 80% of the time I am slightly-to-very disappointed because the Family Fun I had pictured never materialises. The kids are hungry, the weather is bad, my husband doesn’t think “wandering” or “browsing” count as fun activities at all. The more kids we add the more often I am stressed instead of relaxed and the picture perfect day trips I image for our family ends with everyone just needing a nap and a break from each other. It’s something I struggle with a lot – I WANT to be a family that loves to do lots of things together but most of the time we do better just watching a movie. That’s not much of a photo-worthy occasion.

BUT. Sometimes. Sometimes everyone remembers that they actually like each other and we have an awesome time.

The goats were an awesome time. Oak Leaf Dairy gets an A+ for Family Fun.

Since it was snowing/raining we didn’t get to walk around the farm for the full tour, but we spent more than an hour in the baby goat shed just cuddling and petting baby goats. You can hold the goats. You HAVE to hold the goats, because they will literally leap into your lap. They also nibble your clothes and hair and phone and shoes but they have baby goat teeth and it doesn’t hurt. There were tiny babies literally born THAT morning in a separate quiet pen but the children could climb in and out of the other stalls (if they WANTED to be covered in goats) or hang out in the main room if they wanted a little more space. There were a few other people there and they were all as overwhelmed with the adorableness as we were – one of them FaceTimed her sister to show her how much fun the kids were having playing with the goats. Even my husband, who rolls his eyes at everything, loved the baby goats. BABY GOATS ARE THE BEST.

I would like to recommend baby goat therapy be added to Ways To Avoid Hating Everything.

After we got in our baby goat time – even Lincoln liked petting the baby goats – we stopped at the cheese room to try out some samples: aged cheddar, cheddar curds, 4 kinds of chevre, feta, and caramel sauce. They also sell soap, but we couldn’t eat that so we didn’t buy any. We DID buy an obscene amount of everything else and then stopped for bread and ice cream on the way home so we would have cheese and caramel mouth-delivery devices.

It was an excellent Family Fun Day and we are going back as soon as possible.

So. My resolutions-goals-plans-whatever get a resounding “meh” right now.

My two big setbacks last week were discovering my BMI still puts me firmly in the “overweight” category and trying to order a dress online that required me to take my measurements, after which I promptly declared my tape measure defective and cried into a bag of candy.

I don’t know why the BMI thing made me so upset. BMI is stupid. I don’t even BELIEVE in BMI as a scale of health. I bet you $100 that when I get to the doctor on Thursday I am declared insanely healthy and my weight isn’t even mentioned. And yet when I saw a link on some website to calculate my BMI I clicked through and did it. Now I feel like all the weight I’ve lost up until this point doesn’t even count because I’m still OVERWEIGHT.

But then there’s the trouble with taking my measurements. I can’t say I don’t believe in inches. It’s one thing to know what size pants I wear and quite another to know how wide around I am in concrete numbers. I can scoff at arbitrary, meaningless clothing sizes easily – I’m swimming in my only pair of dress pants but an old sundress in the SAME SIZE won’t even zip halfway – but an inch is an inch is an inch. (Of course, then I compare the number showing on the tape measure to the ones on the size chart online and oh look, that website thinks I’m a fatty too. Congrats, Chubby, here are the ugly tunics and mom-jeans we’ve decided are the only things we approve for you. Go sit in a corner and feel shamed.)

The truth is no matter how unhappy these stupid numbers make me I have almost reached my deprivation-capacity. I am willing to snack on grapes instead of chips. I am not willing to eat lettuce without any dressing. I am willing to switch to low-fat cheese. I am not willing to give up all dairy. I am willing to watch my portions. I am not willing to feel hungry all the time. I am willing to work out more days a week if it means I can have a burger on the weekends. I am not willing to get up at 4 am to do The 30 Day Shred and STILL skip the burgers.

I consider it a quality of life issue. You know that saying “Nothing tastes as good as thing feels?” Whoever made that up had never eaten REALLY GOOD FOOD.

All those super clean eating raw unprocessed juicing diets might be amazing and everyone always loses a ton of weight but they won’t work for someone who LOATHS them with every fiber of her being. Up to this point I’ve been able to balance my choices and still end up on the winning (losing) side. Having the points from Weight Watches makes it math instead of guessing and I like the structure AND the flexibility. But once I wean Caroline (and the end is near) my body isn’t going to need an extra milk-making calories and I suspect I’ll have to drop dessert AND dairy to stay under my allotted points. Bless me grilled cheesus, I am just not sure I can do it.

The silliest part of all of this is I am still losing weight. My doubts are just SPECULATION about my FUTURE weight loss and depression over the total number of pounds I have to go before I am in the “normal for my height” range. I think I need a smaller goal – teeny tiny, like ONE POUND LOST – next week and a real reward for reaching it. It just probably shouldn’t be cheese.