It’s Armageddon around here. We may even stay up late, just to run outside.

You think I’m kidding.

IF and when the white stuff starts to fall, rest assured all hell will break loose. Latte’s will freeze. Hybrids will crash. And you better believe I’m waking my kids up, because this may not happen again for 25 more years.

I’m excited and making hot chocolate.

Stay tuned.

“I don’t know, there is some naked boy and he gets baked in a cake and flies a dough plane and swims in milk and goes to bed…”

“I totally remember that.”

“And Carole King sings…”

“Mommy, can I watch the penis boy who gets eaten by a lion?”

“ummm…sure honey.”

Some of you have no clue what I’m talking about. Some of you are having flashbacks. Right. Now.

I’ll be over at BlogHer today.

They took me down. All of them. Bastards.

Everyone in this house has been sick and I managed to avoid the spew for a good 10 days.

But not anymore.

Despite my flu shot in October, I have the flu. I think a truck running over me would be an improvement at this point.

SlushTurtle wrote to say us Hippo Dieters should post some good recipes to share. Today might be a good day to do that, since I’m not feeling very bloggy.

So while you guys talk about food, here are some photos to ponder…

if you talk about how your daughter’s hair is finally laying down…it will, inevitably, stand up again. Your husband will bake, for the first time ever, the week you start your diet.

I like to pretend I’m a martyr. Really I’m just a housewife with a knack for overdramatizing.

In t-minus 6 days, my parents and the Kaiser’s parents (boy howdy) will not stay in a hotel and occupy our home simultaneously.

The Kaiser and I like to make a lot of whoopie in the summer, thereby birthing our chil’rens in the spring.

In other words, we’re having a double birthday party a week from Sunday.

Trains (Thomas) and Butterflies will abound. So will cotton candy-blue ice cream cake with M&M’s and Pizza. 3-year-olds will get sugar highs. 1-year-olds will swipe age-inappropriate toys and nearly choke. And parents will drink too much beer. Grandparents will try to help decorate and everyone will end up in a pile of torn wrapping paper and bows.

This means we have to do something with the BBQ ribs my mother-in-law brought at Christmas, still sitting in my freezer. And I should probably put away the snowman mugs I took out for company at Christmas.

This also means I should do something about the 2×2 chocolate milk stain on the office carpet. The trail of cranberry juice droppings from the living room carpet to the kitchen stairs. And I should maybe get rid of the it-could-be-hamburger, it-could-be-pasta tupperware containers in the back of the fridge.

Oh, and we should probably move the Playboy from the guest bath to the master bath.

The good news, this time around, is I won’t have to hide my blogging. The bad news, this time around is I’m on a diet and my mother’s midwest cooking won’t be nearly as welcome.

Speaking of which, what’s with all the hate?? I never said I was 400lbs. But geez, jump on a girl for trying to improve herself. This is for you, Mocha. And to give some incentive to those of you out there that felt odd posting your before photos. I’m taking one for the team:

It was almost as good as Christmas, without the mess. Or inlaws.

I realize this may seem trivial to you, but Count Waffle’s head nearly exploded when he came downstairs this morning to find ducks in our pool.

He’s named them Baynasor and Jaynaysor or some such nonsense. And he’s telling everyone. We weren’t out of the car in the school parking lot this morning when he was attempting to tell other mother’s getting out of their cars. I think this is the biggest thing to happen to this child since cupcakes. (yes, a cupcake reference. I’m hungry, so sue me)

All of this also reminds me that this child of mine is growing an imagination. And I feel like I’m 3 again watching it all. He tells me stories of fish and the sea and what color the fish is (orange) and his name (Didgit) and his friends (a snail and a shark). He talks about the sea tickling his toes and pretends to see shooting stars on our bedroom ceiling. He likes to tell me how it was dark inside my belly, and he heard pretty music while he was being born.

We planted a garden together a few weekends ago. And every morning Count Waffles wants to check and see if there are cherries or strawberries or tomatoes or apples yet. When we get outside, he’s fascinated by a pill bug and will tell you all about it for the rest of the day.
“Did the pill bug crawl, mommy?”
“Was the pill bug tickling me?”

His innocence knocks me to my knees and reminds me how special childhood can be. How wonderful life really is. And how thankful and giddy this Mom can be to watch her son, watch a few ducks splash in a pool.

Here is my fat, Hippo Ass. I weighed in at 138.8lbs. Not horrible, but boy is it distributed funky.

You will note my hips could carry a litter of children. My left boob remains full, while my right boob is deflated. My granny flab on the underarm could trap insects and small animals. I seriously need a haircut and color. And the middle…dear god the middle of me is nothing but stretch marks and fat, folded over fat, over fat, over some more fat.

I’m also convinced that my nose grew during pregnancy. But unless you know a good surgeon, there’s not much a diet can do for that.

So, my goal is 130lbs. And tone. I want to be toned. Enough so I won’t feel totally self-conscience wearing a sleeveless shirt this summer.

I am also making a one-time-only deal with the Kaiser. I lose the weight (again) and he can pick one item from my current wardrobe of sweats and t-shirts to burn and replace with something a bit more revealing. Will he choose my flannel pants? My HUGE, Redwing, red PJ bottoms?

Come on HIPPOS! Get your posts up and email me at queenofspainblog@yahoo.com. We’re in this together.

…blogger sucks it today, by the way…and I’ll be over at BlogHer as soon as these kids take a freaking nap.