Friday, February 24, 2012

It's Story Time: Winnie the Pooh

"You know, a single bee flits between 10,000 flowers in one day to make honey. I could never do anything as useful as that. I'll just go sit by a tree and try not to bother anyone."

"You know, people are getting tired of your shit."

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Fat Update

Well, I've successfully logged in and tracked my food at for 36 days. I've lost 7.5 lbs. Hooray! Here are my upcoming goals:

Increase water to 8 cups a day. 
This is hard for me, as I like Diet Coke and beer. But I got some Crystal Light bullshit to cheat a bit.

Exercise 4 days a week.
This is also hard for me, because I'm sort of lazy. But I started tonight with a dance workout from Netflix. I thought it would be fun for Norah, too. After five minutes, though, we looked like this:

I suppose that's weight resistance.

Anyway, I'll keep you posted!

Friday, February 17, 2012

It's Story Time: Romeo and Juliet

Romeo and Juliet in the 16th Century

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Romeo and Juliet Today

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

I don't hate Valentine's Day

When I was sick and miserable during my pregnancy, what kept me going was listing all the great things about having a child. One thing that always made the top of my list was holidays. Even stupid ones like Valentine's Day.

When I was little, Valentine's Day was pretty kick-ass. I'd work on my box for days, trying to be the most original. I'd painstakingly pick out the coolest valentines and spend a great deal of time matching the right card to the right classmate. After all, some cards said "You're the coolest friend!" and some cards said "Be my valentine." We couldn't very well give a "Be my valentine" card to some random boy. He might get the wrong idea. If I included conversation hearts in the cards, they, too, would be selected carefully. I couldn't have Matt Olson know my true feelings from a conversation heart that read "U R cute."

So Valentine's was approaching, and I took Norah to Target to pick out cards for her preschool buddies. She picked out Phineus and Ferb cards that came with little tattoos. Perfect!

However, from last year, I knew that the moms from Norah's school had a little too much time on their hands. Last year, Norah got goodie bags from each kid, filled with handmade cards, candy, pretzels, Goldfish, stickers, tattoos, and the like. I told Norah to pick out some other stuff. She chose chocolate SpongeBob hearts and tiny bubble containers. That'll do.

Last night we began our assembly. Armed with our valentine supplies and a class list from Norah's teacher, we set up at the kitchen table.

It was a little different than I imagined. And yes, I imagined it. I imagined Norah and I working together, folding little cards, placing heart stickers on them, giggling, her trying to write her name on the From field. But here's what actually happened.

"The tattoos are ready!" 
She lost interest about five minutes in, and I ended up assembling the cards and peeling heart stickers off of... well, everything within her reach.

Yeah, I know. She's three.

Then I tried to attach the bubble containers on each card.

"THOSE ARE MINE," Norah screeched, as she entered the kitchen, meaning to ask me to play Smurfs with her.

"Baby, these are for your friends. There's one for you, though," I said, giving her one.


She started to cry, and swept her arms across the table, trying to gather all the tiny containers in her arms. They fell everywhere. I tried to reason with her, which was futile. Finally, I let it go, and decided to just do it after bedtime. She'd forget about it in the morning. Hopefully.

After that activity, Norah and I were talking in the bathroom, as she was doing her business.

"Are you excited for your Valentine's party?"

"YES!" she squealed.

"Do you think we should get a valentine for Daddy?"

"Yes," she whispered, with a grin.

"Oh, Jesus," I heard from the living room. "Do I have to go shopping now?" Oh, Ryan, you romantic bastard.

"No," I answered, with a glare.

Then later that night, as we cuddled down for stories before bedtime, I told her when I was little, my mom, her Nana, used to give us heart-shaped boxes with chocolate in them.

"Can I have one of those?" she asked, amazed.

"We'll see..." I smiled.

Then she wrapped her arms around me. "I love you, Mommy."

So, I still don't hate Valentine's Day.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Monday, February 6, 2012

Nuk Fairy... of doom

Norah is three and still uses a nuk at nap and bedtime. I know she's too old for it. But it's like an addiction. She feels she needs it. She cries when she doesn't have it. She's placed it on the level of Bear Bear and Blanket. I don't want to be the one to take it away.

That's where the Nuk Fairy comes in. She's there to do the dirty work, while I come off scot-free.

I started prepping Norah about the Nuk Fairy months ago. At the first mention of it, there were tears.

"I don't like the Nuk Fairy!" she wailed.

"Honey, she's so nice. She'll give you a present."

"I want my nukky!"

"What about all those new babies who need nukkies?" I asked, pulling something out of my ass I read on another blog about weaning off the pacifier.


I stopped the Nuk Fairy talk for a few days after that. But I kept mentioning it occasionally throughout the last few weeks.

"...then she comes while you sleep, and she'll take the nuk and leave you a great, big present."

"She comes in my room?! WAAAH!!"


I enlisted the help of my friend, Kim. She had successfully weaned her son, who's just a few weeks older than Norah, off the pacifier. She had told him his nuk was broken. The first night, she poked a hole through the nipple. He didn't notice. Then she cut off a bit. He seemed a little agitated, but nothing serious. More of the nuk "broke," and eventually he was done. I can do that, I thought.

So I started prepping again.

"Sometimes you use your nuk SO much, that it breaks."

"Then we buy a new one?"

" They don't allow 3-year-olds to buy nuks."


What can I say? I'm not good off the cuff. Anyway, we kept talking about it. We told her that it would break little by little, and when it was all gone, the Nuk Fairy (yeah, her again) would bring her a sweet present. She actually seemed semi-cool with it.

Then one evening, as Ryan brushed his teeth and I got Norah a drink before bedtime, she came running into the kitchen.


"What the--" I started. I took a look. Ryan. Ryan.

She was surprised. She still used it, but would take it out of her mouth once and a while and look at it, and fiddle with it with her tongue.

The next day, she didn't use it for nap time. It didn't come up.

And the next night, she had it, but didn't seem so... attached to it.

So, go Team Ryan, right? No. I was kind of pissed. Part of me didn't want her to give up her nuk. I'm a crazy person, right? I know I am. I just feel like it's the last vestige of babyhood. I don't want my baby to grow up. I don't think I'll have another chance at babyhood. I was unreasonably sad, and I went to bed early to read my book alone and cry a little bit, leaving the once-smug-about-the-nuk-thing Ryan mystified at my bizarre behavior.

Then next morning, I heard her singing "Old MacDonald had a farm and Bingo was its name-o!" over the monitor, and I went in her room to say good morning.

"Look, Mommy! I found another nukky!"

Yeah, we didn't look behind the bed. Ryan said we need to let her have this little victory, so I guess I get a few more days of babyhood.

Friday, February 3, 2012