I have not forgotten about the Order of Saint Anne contest this month, I swear. Instead I was thinking we’ll make it a Hippo Diet incentive. Most lbs. lost gets a mug and April’s slot as Annie’s Knight.

At last check, about 10 of you were game for starting the Queen’s Hippo weight loss program. Here we go!
Diets (of any kind) start on Monday. I will keep track of participant’s weight loss via email at queenofspainblog@yahoo.com. Personally, I’ll be doing Weight Watchers, but you do whatever works for you.

I’ll keep a post of progress going at least weekly and more if the competition really heats up.

I’d like everyone to post a before photo on their blog on Monday. You don’t need to post your weight, just email me with what you lost weekly. I know. I know. But I will do it too, and we’ll have a record of our fat, hippo asses as incentive.

Tell your friends. The more we all band together on this, the more we can support eachother. Bathingsuit season is around the corner people. If we start now, we may not all have to wear those grandma skirts at the beach.

Come on HIPPOS! Let’s do it!!!

p.s. I’m at BlogHer today

You don’t just get to stand in line with normal people while waiting for a prescription…you get Joe Isuzu and his daughter.

That’s almost as good as our LAX David Hasslehoff sighting.

Laurie at Stranded in Suburbia is, by far, the coolest chick ever. She ruined the first day of my diet with Paczki’s STRAIGHT FROM DETROIT.

For those who don’t know, these are jelly filled pastries used to get you all sugared up for Fat Tuesday. It’s a big tradition from my hometown. Basically you indulge before Lent.

They are the yummiest things on earth. And filled with calorie goodness.

As for the Hippo diet. Umm…we’ll start Monday.

Naked and vulnerable, I was stepping into the shower this morning when I hear a tiny giggle behind me.

“Mommy, your butt is bouncy…like Gloria on Madagascar.”

Dejected, I shower and emerge to tell the Kaiser what his son thought of my ass.

“Wow,” said the Kaiser.

And then nothing. It was the typical male “if you can’t say anything nice” freeze.

Yes, the baby will be 1 at the end of next month. Yes, I’m still carrying a dozen or so extra pregnancy pounds. Yes, I’ve given up the diet while focusing on my mental health. I can honestly say chocolate is the reason I did not kill anyone during the worst of the post partum.

So, I suppose, it’s now time for my hippo ass and I to get back on the wagon. It is Fat Tuesday afterall.

Tomorrow starts my own Lent. I’m calling it the Hippo Diet. Who’s with me????

I braved the Rat Palace today, for no other reason than it’s raining here in La La land and playgroup didn’t want to go to the mall. No one wanted to clean their house or make coffee and muffins, so we all opted to take our chances at the place-that-shall-not-be-named.

I survived. And I ate salad. Bonus!

But here are some things that hit me while chasing the Count through a maze of “ping ping” “ding!” “beeps” and “clink clinks” rounded out, of course, with some horrible animatronics and cheesy covers.

Why do so many random Dads bring their kids? Is this a divorced/single Dad staple place?

How much are the 40-somethings working there making? And do they really love their jobs, or are they just pedophiles?

Is there crack in the pizza sauce? Because its the only substance on earth I know of that had every toddler in our group actually EATING. And eating well.

Is whack-a-mole too violent? The Count played once, then got upset he was hurting the moles.

Punch a duck? We punched ducks, and that was hilarious. So does whacking moles equal abuse yet punching ducks equals high comedy?

Is it just standard practice the cheap toy “bought” with the minimal tickets a toddler can earn ALWAYS break on the way home? Every. Single. Time.

How long until we’re all sick from that germ infested place? I’m giving us 24 hours.

It’s unreal the transformation that has gone on with me. UNREAL. Today, the Kaiser said “Glad to have you back.”

Ouch. and WOW.

I’m so happy I’m on meds and feeling better, but I’m also, very sad. It took me too long to get help. Too long. And I’m feeling the guilt, big time.

For those of you who may even slightly suspect you have PPD. Get help right now. Don’t wait. Don’t tell yourself it’s just a phase and it will get better soon. Just GO GET HELP. Drop what you are doing right now and call a doctor.

Don’t be ashamed. Don’t hesitate.

It’s a night and day difference around here. And I wasn’t even sure I had PPD. So if you even have just the slightest thought in your head that you may be post partum-get help.

Public Service announcement over.

I promise something stupid and light later-maybe another crotch shaving story.

Some houses have their “Good Night Moon” and “the Cat in the Hat.”

We have the Thomas the Tank Engine catalog. Count Waffles is obsessed.

For 4 full days, naps included, he’s wanted to “read” the catalog before he goes to sleep. He likes to point out what he “has at home” and what he would like to have at home. These toddlers, not so good with the subtle.

This whole thing has the Kaiser and I a little worried the Count maybe has too much. He’s so focused on what he has and what he wants and what a friend has.

Did we do that?

I certainly didn’t try to do that. I don’t give him everything he asks for. He wants a turtle for his birthday.

He’s not getting a turtle.

But we will drop a stupid amount of money to ride Thomas, again. Last year the Count nearly had kittens when he saw Thomas chugging down the tracks.

So maybe we are suckers. And I should just get comfortable with the idea of spoiled brats now, instead of later.

…and I’m trying to get a post done over at BlogHer.

Why is it I am so PROUD my daughter can now wear a barrette? Is it some rite of passage? Some bizarre girl bonding thing? Or is it, simply, that it makes her hair seem less insane?

Whatever the reason, I love that I can stick things in her hair now. And I can’t wait until the morning Daddy has to do it. That also excites me. I have no idea why. I just think Dad’s doing daughter’s hair is hilarious.
Does me liking her hair all girly girly ALSO kick me out of the feminist club? I feel like I keep getting kicked out of that club. I give her dolls to play with too. If you ask Princess Peanut to give her doll some milk, she holds it to her chest to nurse. Cracks me up every time.

As for my little man, he’s repeating phrases from Madagascar that include him spitting out apple juice and saying “Ziplock Fresh!”

Last night we read a book with a farmer, and animals on the farm. We moo’d. We quacked. Then they showed the farmer and Daddy taught him to say “Fricken’ Frackin’ subsidies.” And you people wonder why I’m medicated.

p.s. Sarah has posted a very old picture of the Kaiser today that has me in tears. Go see my hot, hot husband.