Hippo Hiatus

I’m contemplating a Hippo Hiatus.

But I keep dithering back and fourth between calling it a Hippo Hiatus or Hippo Hibernation.

I mean, really you can go so many different ways with it.

But I don’t think hippos hibernate. Or do they?

This is the part where I’ll let you open a new tab, and google “hippo hibernation.” You can get back to me. Frankly, I don’t care either way. Well, I guess I kinda care, because if they do hibernate where would they do it? Clearly they can’t hibernate in the water, they’d drown! Then there’d be a mass hippo extinction every winter. But wait…it would only take one winter to wipe out the whole hippo populous.

My argument has holes, this is why I’m not an arguer. I’ll stick with other things, like I’m really good at putting pony tails in my daughter’s hair and getting things out of the cracks of carseats because I have short tiny hands. I basically have baby hands; like if baby’s hands were incredibly nimble. It’s my special skill. It helps me to play Nintendo’s Super Mario Bros. really really well. I just defeated Bowser and saved the princess. Take THAT baby!

And that is what I wanted to talk to you about, I’m leaving my blog to play Super Mario Bros. professionally.

Only kidding.

I’m leaving my blog to become a hand model. For a baby.

Only kidding.

I’m leaving my blog “temporarily” because I’m sick of it. It’s like when you hang out with your best friend for longer than 10 days in a row, and your periods sync up and you become all hormonal with each other and you start picking fights with her over things that happened 6 years ago, and you’re like, So why didn’t you invite me on your trip to Switzerland? Did you think I wouldn’t enjoy sipping hot chocolate and looking at a bunch beautiful blond people?? And then you finally realize enough is enough and you need some space.

Well my blog is my best friend.

And we need some space.


Don’t try to stop me, I’ve already made up my mind.

Don’t try to beguile me with your flattering comments and your witty repartee…

Here I go—

I’m leaving.

(shuts lap top, walks to kitchen, pours another cup of coffee)

(…and then cries uncontrollably)

Alright FINE, I’m gonna miss you!!

But I’ll be back. I promise.

Maybe with a new shiny site design that has fireworks that go off when you click on my face.

Awesome, right?





I’m pretty sure I have a hernia.

Because it makes sense.

Because I have nothing else going on in my life currently.

Nothing on the calendar.

Wide open.

Why, I would LOVE to stop everything and have surgery!

(She says sarcasmically)

Wait, sarcasmically isn’t a word. But it should be, I think it would make a lovely word. Let’s enter it into the dictionary. How do you do that? Do you just mail them a letter?

sar·cas’mi·cal-ly adv. word mash of sarcastically and cosmically. Suggests a sharp taunting and often cynical tone, also denoting a cosmic reference, because galaxies and cosmos are cool. Cool like lasers and dinosaurs are cool. Like if dinosaurs had lasers beams and shot each other. Um, hello, I just solved dinosaur extinction. You’re welcome very much.

How about you mail that sucker in to Webster and Merriam, because that’s practically a gold mine, and I’ll stay here and continue to freak out about my possible hernia? Mmm-kay?

I’m so good at delegating.

So, I think I have a hernia because this knot of skin sticks out of my belly button area. And it didn’t used to do that.

Plus I can squish it back in, and when I do it makes this smashie-bubbly noise. Like if you had a ziploc bag filled with chocolate buttercream frosting and you mashed it all around in your hands.

Ooooh chocolate frosting…

But I’ve had it for about a year, and haven’t done anything about it. Even though every time I mention it to someone, they’re like, “GO TO THE DOCTOR!”

I told my friend Dena about it and she practically called the doctor for me, and then offered to drive me, and she even told me that if I went she’d bake me a cake with chocolate frosting…

But I’m in denial.

It doesn’t really hurt. And I’m afraid that if I go to the doctor they’re going to tell me that I need to have surgery. And I can’t deal with that right now. I have stuff to do.

Plus, who’s going to watch my kids when I have to recover?

They can’t really watch themselves yet.

I know, I’ve tried.

And, surgery hurts.

And doctors can leave gauze or a turkey sandwich in your insides.

But I’m jumping to conclusions. Maybe it’s nothing.

Maybe it’s a impacted turd that just won’t move along.

Maybe it’s scar tissue from my 16 year-old decision to get my belly button pierced.

Gosh, I was cool.

Maybe it has something to do with the two pregnancies that I’ve had.

Maybe it’s all in my head and it’s absolutely nothing at all.

Writing this post is freaking me out just enough to finally call the doctor, and I just made an appointment for later today.

I’ll let you know…

Ooh, thrilling right?

Nothing like a good cliff hanger.


Since all of you are all sitting on the edge of your seats, I can tell, by the way, by the overwhelming amount of comments I’ve received (which is ZERO!), It’s fine. It’s not like I keep track of those things or anything, and it’s not like I read your comments at 4 am when I should be sleeping, and it’s not like I print them off and hang them on my bathroom mirror so I can see them every morning when I brush my teeth and pop my zits, it’s no big deal, seriously.



I will not keep you waiting anymore.

I saw a doctor today, he said, “Congratulations, it’s a hernia.”

After we smoked a celebratory cigar together, he gave me a referral to a surgeon.


And then the surgeon will decide if he wants to cut me open or not.

But seriously, what surgeon passes on a chance to cut people?

Maybe I can convince them that duct taping a quarter to my belly button will do the trick.



The day my heart swelled

Mothers’ day was awesome. Mainly because Berlyn made me something at school. And there’s nothing that I love more than a handmade something. Now I just have to find a place to hang it…

She also had this to say about me…

Then we headed down to Solana Beach to have lunch and enjoy the afternoon.

We found Pat’s doppleganger in 30 years.

Both kids sat quietly in the stroller and checked out the sights, they didn’t cry, throw tantrums, or repeatedly ask for ice cream. There weren’t any blow out diapers or lost shoes, it was the perfect day. It was as if they knew it was Mothers’ day and nothing would make me  happier than quiet angelic children whom I occasionally forgot were there.

We went into a vintage shop and found this gem. It says “Boucherie” which is French for butcher shop.

Naturally, we’re planning on hanging it in our bedroom.

I love being a mom,

Especially because I have the best little monsters.

Hope you all had a great Mothers’s Day!