Nuk Fairy II

(Disclaimer-- I stole this tactic from another mom.) 

A few weeks ago, I found the one toy that could be Norah's weakness. The one toy that might outweigh the need for a nuk. It was walkie talkies.

I figured this out because Norah thought our baby monitor was sort of like walkie talkies. She'd go in her room and try to talk to me on the monitor. Or she'd have me stay in her room and pretend to be her, and she'd be me, and I'd pretend to wake her up through the monitor, and she'd come to her room and yell at me for waking her up. (I don't know where she gets this-- seriously. I am awesome at putting on a happy face in the morning.)

Anyway. I explained to her what walkie talkies were all about.

"Ooooooo," she replied, eyes widening.

 So I'd plant little seeds every once in a while.

"Wouldn't it be cool to play with walkie talkies?"

"YES! Let's get some right now."

Then I started telling her about the agents that work for the Nuk Fairy as well as Toys R Us. I told her if you're ready to give up the nuk, you can trade it for walkie talkies at Toys R Us. She looked incredulous, to say the least. And she shook her head. She wasn't ready.

That was okay. I kept reminding her. Soon, she started to believe it.

She'd start telling me to get ready to go to the toy store. I'd remind her that it's forever. No bedtime nuk after you trade it in. Then she'd back down.

Was I sabotaging her? Or making sure she was truly prepared? Not sure. Maybe a little of both.

Then on Sunday, she said, "Let's go to the toy store!" She grabbed her nuk payment. The three of us were on our way.

She picked out black walkie talkies (of course), and we also got some foam swords and shields. Hell, I probably would have bought her anything she wanted. I was so scared. Nervous. Sad. Guilty. But she was happily dancing around the store, looking at giant crayon banks and clearance toys near the registers.

I went up to the cashier first. A dude in his twenties with a goatee.

"Hi. Can you do me a huge favor?"

He looked at me blankly.

"My daughter is trying to give up her nuk, and we made a deal with her."

Blank stare.

"Do you know what the Nuk Fairy is?"

Blank stare. Ok. Time was a-ticking. Norah and Ryan were making there way to the register. No time for a back story.

"Here's how this is going to go down," I said. "My daughter is going to give you her nuk. You are going to give her the walkie talkies she wants to buy. Then she and I are going to play on that coin-operated horse, and my husband will give you actual money and you can give the nuk back. Is that ok?"

"Sure."

The transaction took place. She did it with a big smile. I didn't make a big deal out of it, although I wanted her to say goodbye or something. Look at it solemnly for a moment before releasing it to this stranger. Nope. Not Norah's way. She practically threw it at the dude. Okay.

Then we took her to McDonalds. I still felt guilty about making her ditch the nuk and was trying to buy back her love, even though she made no signs of being pissed in the first place.

We went home and played walkie talkie (which was a lot of "Hold it in the whole time you talk! Then let go!" She'll get it.) She laughed hysterically. She made us all go to different parts of the house. She tried to make Mongo meow in it. Her Smurf figures took turns. Then we played swords. Mongo exited pretty swiftly when the swords came out.

Then it was bedtime. Ryan settled her down, and I went to my room to read more Sookie Stackhouse, and I listened in. No trouble. One "I miss my nukkie." That was it. She went to bed.

The next day there was no utterance of the nuk.

Success.

*Sniff.*

Halloween: Candy, Costumes, and Raging Sexism

It's almost Halloween, and I'm having mixed feelings again. I love Halloween-- the decorations, the dressing up, the events, the candy, the pumpkin carving, yadda yadda yadda.

But I loathe-- and I mean loathe-- the bullshit sexism that goes along with it. Sexism is often institutionalized in today's world, but for Halloween it is just flagrantly twirling its nipple tassels at us.

Really? A sexy skunk?

This is Alice in Wonderland.

And while I could go on and on and on and on and on about the expectation of women dressing like hookers on this hallowed holiday, turning helpless animals and storybook characters into sex-crazed, lingerie-wearing, fetish-enabling, pedophilia/zoophilia-inflicted misogynist perv-tantalizing creatures, what I'm going to focus on is the perpetuation of gender stereotypes in toddler costumes. Sound awesomely interesting? Read on!

Now, Norah changed her mind every day for the last two months about the costume she'd have for Halloween. Princess, fairy, shark, Big Bad Wolf, butterfly... every day it was something new. So when she said she wanted to be a dog three days in a row, we figured it was semi-safe to commit and procure a costume. Aunt Sarah, Norah, and I looked online and Norah decided Scooby Do was the winner. Great. I personally love Scooby and those gang of meddling kids.

But did you know that Scooby is in the boy section of the costume places? So are dinosaurs, superheroes, humorous costumes, police and firefighter costumes, and all spooky costumes. Guess what's in the girl category? Never mind. I'll show you.

BOYS

TV/Movie (Includes Yo Gabba, video game characters, characters from Cars and Thomas the Train, Scooby, Spongebob, Toy Story costumes, etc.)

Superheroes (Includes Superman, Green Lantern, etc.)

Sports (Includes football players, baseball, etc.)

Dinosaur (Duh)

Classic (Includes pirates, ninjas, monsters, devils, etc.)

Career (cops, firefighters, astronauts, military, cowboys, etc.)

Animal (Dogs, assorted zoo creatures, etc.)

GIRLS

TV/Movie (Princesses, Strawberry Shortcake, Lalaloopsy (whatever the hell that is), Minnie Mouse, storybook characters, Dora, etc.)

Bugs (Bees, butterflies, ladybugs)

Classic (Cute witches (not spooky), ballerinas, angels and devils, mermaids, clowns, etc.)

Career (Cheerleader, genie, dancer, referee, etc.)

Disney Princesses (Duh)

Princess, Fairy Costumes (Duh)

Storybook (Alice, Red Riding Hood, cute witches, rag dolls, etc.)

Superheroes (Spidergirl, Supergirl, Batgirl, Wonder Woman, etc.)

Let me point out some obvious stuff.

1. There are no angel costumes for boys; just devils. Because boys should be mischievous and devilish.

2. Girls have no scary costumes. Girls should be pretty.

3. Girls have no funny costumes. Boys are funny. Girls should be pretty.

4. Athletic goals are vastly different. Girls can be cheerleaders, referees, even soccer players, as long as they're cute. Boys are tough and strong and... whatevs.

5. The career aspirations of girls vs. the aspirations of boys are also wildly different. Each-end-of-the-spectrum different.

Astronaut

Cheerleader

6. Look at this shit.

Elmo

WTF?

Spiderman

If there were a Spidergirl, she wouldn't wear this.

SpongeBob

Come on.

7. God forbid a little boy want to be a Care Bear or a unicorn or something. THE SHAME. (This is heavily sarcastic, for the literal.)

Now, I know, I know-- boys can just buy "girl" costumes and vice versa. But the point is, we keep clutching on to these stereotypes and it's stifling us. It's crippling our imagination. It's limiting our vision. And it's even hurting some. It's not just stupid Halloween costumes. It's the message behind them. Girls SHOULD be one way, boys SHOULD be another. If you are "other," you are different. And guess what? Even in 2011, different = bad.

And that sucks.

So, while I love Halloween, I hate it, too. Because on Halloween, gender expectations seem exaggerated. An in-your-face reminder of how we judge and crate people in to what "we" believe they should be. We need to remember that every day kids, teens, and adults face these ridiculous expectations. We see it in bullying, discrimination, and exile. When are we going to just mind our own damn business and let people be who they are meant to be?

Toddlers and Cats

Well, we got a friggin' cat.

Norah has been saving her money in a bank for months. It's a bank that calculates the contents through some magical coin detector thingy. She had an idea that once it was filled, she would buy an orange cat.

We have a lot of loose change in our house. In drawers, on desks, in flower pots, in my bags. Everywhere. She hunted for every coin.

Then it filled up on Sunday.

Now, we're not "those" parents who fulfill every whim and wish of their child. We had actually planned on picking up a feline around Norah's birthday. We used to have a pretty kick-ass cat named Hobbes. We sort of missed having a furry companion anyway, and thought a pet for Norah would be a fabulous idea.

And there it was-- the bank was full. I had checked out the humane society's website and they had a ton of cats-- more than usual. Maybe it was the right time now.

So first we went to PetCo to get cat stuff-- litter box, brush, food, etc. When we arrived, we saw they were having an adoption event. There were four cages stacked two-on-top-of-two housing four cats. Norah was grinning ear to ear and poking her fingers through the bars. The cats were smashing their heads against the cage doors vying for some attention. And then Norah fell in love with Mongo.

Mongo, a grey and white little guy, is neutered, one and a half years old, and a very mellow, cuddly fellow. The other cats were also great, but the two kittens were too wild and bitey, and the bigger one didn't like being held. These traits are fine, of course, but not right for a "spirited" girl like Norah. He was the one.

As Ryan filled out 276,000 forms, Norah and I paraded Mongo around PetCo and she announced to every single patron that she "buyed" a cat. We met a couple people with dogs, to which Norah would say something like, "Meet Mongo! I buyed him," and then she'd grab some bone or ball from an end cap and hand it to the dog owners. "You need this?"

We got home, and I expected the cat to hide out under a bed for a week or so, but he made himself right at home, exploring every corner of the house and being very relaxed and accepting of the toddler following him around, shrieking with laughter and shouting out commands like "Sit here, Cat!", "Come here, Mongo!", and "Look at my Bear Bear!"

Norah showed the cat all of her favorite toys, like Bear Bear, Go Go, and the like. She threw tiny unsettlingly realistic toy mice for him, and he chased it and attacked to her delight. She even brushed his head, which resulted in a quiet purr. They played Doctor Noonie together and Mongo silently submitted to his physical, which included being measured with Ryan's tape measure and reflex checking with a toy hammer. He even licked her after she was done, which was sweet, but Norah was confused that his tongue was "ow-y." And after school on Monday, Ryan and Norah came home and for the first time, I didn't hear, "MAMA!" I heard "MONGO!" (Sniff.) But I'm glad they're good buddies already.

Mongo and Norah, spying on the neighbors

CAT PROS:
Gentle and sweet with Norah
Cuddly and playful
Gives Norah something to play with that might allow me to read my book for ten minutes

CAT CONS:
Litter box. I forgot how unpleasant that is.
Hair. Not much so far, but I know it's coming. Ugh.
Mini blinds. Just leave them alone, you little asshole!
Begging. I dislike the begging for people food. Annoying.
Claws. So far I'm the only casualty. He was cuddling my head a couple nights ago and kneaded my scalp. Ouch.
Meowing. Not so bad, but unfortunately he only seems to do it really loudly when I'm on a work call.
Escape. He wants outside badly, but won't wear a harness without flipping out. So he lingers by the door, plotting his escape. Worst-case scenario, he gets out, runs away or gets killed by a car, and Norah is scarred for life. Great.
Farting. Since when do cats fart? Seriously? The "reason for surrender" stated "too many animals." I think the real reason was "unnaturally smelly farting."

Hmm. Maybe we should have made this list before getting the cat...

Potty Training and the Indulgent Leisure Time of Heather

Potty training is still going well, surprisingly. Just one accident yesterday, and that's probably Ryan's fault. Anyway, she's doing great. We're still nervous about taking her places, but so far we did go to Target accident-free, and went to the park accident-free. Whew.

Speaking of Target, because that's where I spend too much time and money, I went there last night solo to get a few necessities. Upon coming home, Norah and I unpacked the bags, I cleaned up her little accident (stripping her down, putting her on the pot, throwing the clothes in the washer, washing the floor in the kitchen, soothing her, washing her shoes, wiping her down, etc.), and ran a bath for her. I asked Ryan if he'd like to do bath time and he said:

"You just got to go out. Why don't you do it?"

And I did. But here's what my brain was saying as Norah and I facilitated Ernie and Elmo's diving contest in the tub.

"45 MINUTES AT TARGET DOES NOT EQUAL HAPPY FUN TIME FOR ME."

(Before you think I'm a selfish jerk, Ryan works many different shifts, like 2 to 10 or 7:30 to 4, so he has a great deal more alone time than I.)

And it's not like I don't love spending time with Norah-- I do. She is hilarious and sweet and perfect. But once in a while, I want Ryan to give her a friggin bath so I can have 30 minutes of solitude.

Don't worry-- I'm not a complete wuss. I told him that doing errands isn't considered Heather Leisure Time after Norah went to bed.

Anyway. This isn't a very funny or well written post. I just wanted to vent. Thanks!

Grocery Shopping Blows

I despise grocery shopping, as I suppose 90% of the population does. Of course, there's always that one person who says, "Really? I just love grocery shopping. Feeling and selecting produce is so spiritual." For the rest of us, here's a list of things I strongly dislike about grocery shopping.

1. The planning.
Making a list, stressing about forgetting something really obvious like milk or toilet paper, having Ryan not really participate in the list-making process, but then scrutinizing said list and making comments such as, "Really? Ice cream sandwiches? Are those for Norah, or for you?" Then forgetting the list at home anyway.

2. The parking lot.
You inevitably go at the busiest time of the day, even though you purposefully try different times of day every trip. Then you pull into a semi-acceptable parking spot to find a lone cart in your way. Because the entitled jerk before you thought they were above the societal norms which indicate that putting carts in the cart corral is expected and shows respect for our fellow human beings. And I know some of you may be thinking, "Oh, it's hard to put the cart away when you have a baby/toddler! I can't leave them in the car alone to go put the cart away!" Park closer to the cart corral, or lock them in your car for the whole 30 seconds it takes to do a decent act. Geez, we used to beg my mom to let us stay in the car for the entirety of the grocery shopping mission, and once in a while she'd cave. Because even at an early age, people hate grocery shopping. (I don't recommend leaving your kids in the car while you shop, by the way. I understand times have changed.)

3. The carts.
I know it's cliche to make fun of grocery carts with one wonky wheel. And actually, our regular grocery store just got lovely, brand-new carts. But it still takes the reflexes and strength of a ninja to yank one apart from another. And when you're really tired and out of it, you could be all the way to the coupon bin before you realize you've got 30 carts trailing behind you and bewildered people staring at you.

4. The produce section.
Now, I really love produce. I'm a frickin' vegetarian. But the produce section is a plethora of disgusting sights and sounds not meant to be associated with food. There are people touching, squeezing, caressing, pressing, sniffing, and sometimes sampling food that has the potential to eventually be in your mouth. They're also sneezing and coughing up phlegm, using hands that have been doing God-knows-what, letting their sticky, snot-nosed kids touch, and other atrocities. Yes, we wash our produce when we get home. But there's always the lingering feeling that it's not enough.

5. Going there with a toddler.
This could be a post on its own. Because this blog isn't meant to be the length of a Russian novel, I'll just give you a couple super-short examples: running out in front of peoples' carts, loudly protesting the selection of food, begging in the bakery, popping holes in the valleys of toilet paper packages when you're back is turned for one second, the painfully slow pace which makes the trip a 3-hour tour, the meltdown at the cashier because we've exceeded our time limit of tolerance. Sigh.

6. Not being able to find stuff.
Really? The saltines are next to the soup? Fuck that. They belong in the cracker aisle. What authority declared that all saltines must be accompanied by soup? No one else eats saltines in any other way? And where the hell are my Fiber One pop tart thingers? Luckily, my pal Amy works at General Mills, so yesterday I texted her while staring blankly at 52,476 different types of Pop Tarts, granola bars, cereal bars, and the like. DISCONTINUED? I was so pissed I wanted to ram my cart into a stranger.* Don't worry, I didn't.

7. The checkout.
You are staring at the cashier's screen, watching your bill grow and grow and grow, and you want to change your mind about the donuts and organic hummus and fancy cheese but you can't because you're trapped. And you feel like shit because you probably should have stopped at the coupon bin, but you were too lazy.

8. Bagging.
You're either at a store that bags for you, which makes you feel kind of guilty because it's probably something you could yourself, or you're at a store where you have to bag your own, and you wish someone could bag for you because it's like playing Tetris minus the fun. Can't make them too heavy. Can't make them too light, or another bag will end up being too heavy. Can't have 40 bags because they won't fit in the cart. Can't squish the hamburger buns. Gah.

9. Unloading at home.
Forgot to purge the fridge of old and suspicious food and leftovers that we never eat, so there's very little real estate in the fridge for new stuff. Tired from the excursion and usually hungry. Ryan always mysteriously gets busy with Norah or something else and it falls to me. I get annoyed and just randomly cram things in cupboards, knowing full well that I won't be able to find the croutons tomorrow and I'll be irritated.

10. Eating.
Now we have too much food. Can't decide what to make. Screw it, it's a cereal night.


* Don't go grocery shopping while PMSed.

Toddlers are Weird

Here are just a few recent and weird things my 2.5 year-old has done and/or said.

Where: Target food area (I know, I'm an awesome mother and provider.)
Who: Norah and Me
What: We were sitting down, Norah eating chicken nuggets, me eating a giant pretzel. There were three flies buzzing around. 

Norah: Those are my buggy friends.
Me: Okay.
Norah: They love me so much.
Me: I'm sure they do.
Norah: Oh, buggy friends! Eat this nugget!

She tears a bit of nugget off and sets it on the corner of the table. 


Norah: Oh, buggy friends. Come here, buggy friends. Look, Mama! That buggy friend looks at me!


Another family comes in and sits at the table next to us; a mother, grandmother, and a girl around 4 years of age. The girl promptly starts running around the table, shooing the flies away.

Norah: NO! THOSE ARE MY BUGGY FRIENDS!

The family freezes and stares at Norah. The little girl continues shooing the flies.

Norah: NO! STOP! MY BUGGY FRIENDS! STOP!

Norah gets up and gets in Little Girl's face.

Norah: THOSE ARE MY BUGGY FRIENDS! LEAVE MY BUGGY FRIENDS 'LONE!

The mother and grandmother look at me blankly. Probably expecting some sort of parenting.

Me: Uh, the flies are her friends.
Norah: They love me so much.

Luckily, the mother and grandmother started laughing, and the little girl and Norah started to both talk to the buggy friends and all was well. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Where: In the car on the way to Grandma's.
Who: Norah and Me
What: I have no idea.

Norah: Our house is going to break.
Me: What?
Norah: Our house is going to fall down. It's going to break.
Me: Well, that's kind of chilling, Prophet-O-Doom. Why is our house going to break?
Norah: Because the other houses are mean.
Me: The other houses are mean to our house?
Norah: Yeah. And our house is nice.
Me: That's good. Being nice is a good thing.
Norah: Yeah. I want to go to the farm with Minta (her BFF).
Me: Okay, Honey. You tell Nana.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Where: Target (Yeah, we go to Target a lot.)
Who: Norah and Me
What: Shopping for soap, wipes, a new pillow, and bananas.

Norah is dancing down a main aisle, heading toward the produce section.

Norah: Old MacDonald had a farm, and Bingo had a name-O! LOOK! A rocket ship!

She hugs a column/pole that has a service phone on it and probably supports the roof or something.

Norah: I'm in a rocket ship! 1-2-3 b'astoff!
Me: Let's get some bananas.
Norah: COME IN THE ROCKET SHIP.
Me: Okay, okay.

I grab the column.

Norah: NO! Get closer.

I get closer. Passersby are looking and smirking. 

Me: Okay, Honey. Off to the bananas.
Norah: 1-2-3 B'ASTOFF!
Me: I think it's 3-2-1 blastoff. Backwards.
Norah: 3-1-2 B'ASTOFF!
Me: Close enough.
Norah: Yay, rocket ship!

She promptly lets go of the column and stares hard.

Norah: You hold rocket ship. I'm pooping.

A couple alarmed looks from passersby. 

Me: Okay, Astronaut Baby. Then can we get the bananas?

Stuff Your Baby Doesn't Need

Okay, the title of this post really should be "Stuff My Baby Didn't Need," so don't get all defensive.

1. Moses basket
I fantasized about my perfect little angel asleep in a beautiful, wicker Moses basket, trimmed with sage green ribbon and white lace, as I tote her from room to room, cleaning and finishing my graduate thesis.

Reality: the Moses basket was beautiful. And Norah hated it with a passion. And I didn't do any cleaning at all.

2. Changing table/contour cushion 
My house is shaped like a U. If I'm at one end of the U and the baby takes a deuce, I'm probably just going to change her where she's at, stat. So the contoured cushion that sat atop her dresser was used very minimally. A waterproof pad on the floor, bed, or couch did the trick.

3. Real clothes

Newborns can pretty much live in sleepers and onesies. They don't need little jeans or dresses or cashmere cardigans. Granted, you may want to cute them up when visiting coworkers or relatives or whomever, but, really, sleepers. They're just babies. They're not looking for dates.

4. Diaper Genie
Eh. Just throw that stinker into a used Target bag (you'll have a shitload of those), tie it up, and toss it in the garbage.

5. Most toys
Babies do need visual and tactile stimulation. But you can give them Tupperware, a wash rag, and show them the screen saver on your phone and they'll be just as stimulated.

6. Your Baby Can Read
Come on. They've only been on the planet for a few weeks or months. Give them a friggin' break.

Best Buys for Baby

I have a lot of stuff. And a tiny house. If only I had known what was a winner and what would ultimately become a loser. And while I realize that every baby and toddler is different, I thought I'd make a list of Best Buys in case someone else has low square footage and a hatred of clutter. Which I have.

The list isn't complete, and I hope to continue it throughout the next few weeks. Here are some essential baby needs, according to me.

Ikea highchair

Ikea highchair

Cheap, easy-to-clean, and you can take the legs off for easy travel usage.

Bouncer
Any kind that vibrates and has dangly things to amuse a baby.

Happiest Baby on the Block, by Harvey Karp
Greatest book ever on getting kids to sleep and stop crying. Hands down.

Aquaphor
Good for babies with sensitive skin and little rashes.

Wedge thing

Wedge

For newborns. Keeps them on their backs, hugs them snug, easily washable.

Bibsters
Disposable bibs for lazy moms like me.

Pouch
For wearing your baby. Not just for crunch moms. It makes shopping and housework easier. I got a cheaper Bjorn version, and it worked great.

Weebles
These toys got a lot of use, and they're still being used. Babies laugh at their wobbliness. Toddlers still use them and come up with make-believe relationships and such. Also, Norah (a generally constipated little kid) always had a number two while playing, so I think they're relaxing, too.

Carseat Cozy

Carseat cozy

Hey, we live in Minnesota.

Play Mat/Gym
Yes, it's dumb that they call these "gyms." But it's a great little space for setting your baby down once in a while. Music, mirrors, squeakies, crinkles, and a semi-soft area for tummy time.

Gym

Oh, Target. I Apologize.

We need to go to Target tonight. This is what will happen.

Papillon

1. Go to MIL's to pick up Norah. (She watches her once a week.)

2. Listen to stories about all the cute little things her amazing Papillon did today.

3. Repress urge to vomit and collect child.

4. Go home, make dinner. At this time, Norah either watches a Diego or a Dora, or she stands on a chair by the sink and fills cups with water.

5. Eat dinner. Norah dips dinner in applesauce and proceeds to eat.

6. Clean up.

7. Tears or screams of "NO, MOMMY!s"during clean-up.

8. "Norah, do you want to go shopping?"

9. "YES!" Brief boogie dancing.

10. Chase around house with coat and hat.

11. Drive to Target.

12. Begging to forgo Target and enter Playland.

13. Tears.

14. Enter Target. Explore dollar aisle.

15. Long conversation ensues. Short version: "Can you put that back, Sweetie? No thank you, Norah. No-no, Sweetheart. We don't need a tiny pot that grows something. Nope. We don't need tiny notepads. No. No. No, Honey. No plastic bugs. No. No. Uh-uh. Sorry, Sweetie. OH, JUST PUT IT IN THE CART."

16. We move on from the dollar aisle.

17. I scowl at the bathing suit display. Norah says loudly, "Look, Mommy! Boobies!"

18. We hit the baby clothes and I pick out things that Norah doesn't need, but that are on clearance. Which makes them irresistible.

19. Norah starts to beg: "I want look at toys. Toys. I want toys. Over there, Mommy, over there. Mommy. Toys!"

20. We go to the toy aisles and she plays with the exact toys she plays with every time we go to Target.

21. When I can't take it anymore, I muster up an enthusiastic: "Hey! Let's look at something else!"

21. "No."

22. Eventually I pry her away and we desperately look for something else mildly entertaining in order to transition into the extra-painful part of shopping. Usually we end up in the camping area or backpacks.

23. We transition to the painful part of shopping-- actually shopping for things we need. If it's a cart-worthy trip, I will bribe Norah into cooperation by allowing her to sit in the cart-- not the seat designed for children, mind you, but the cart. I will brave judgmental looks from workers and random people. If it's a basket-worthy trip, I try to put Norah in charge of finding things. This works for one item. Possibly two.

24. After we make it through food, health and beauty, and hit cleaning materials, Norah is done with shopping. She starts getting extra squirrelly. This usually includes singing loudly, trying to escape my clutches, dancing or trying to skip, and pulling things off the shelves to play pretend. "This is Mommy," she will say, pointing at a box of Q-Tips she placed on the floor. "This is Daddy," she says about another Q-Tip box. "This is Baby," to a travel-sized Q-Tip box.

25. This will only last a few minutes. I've got a time-bomb on my hands. Once she gets bored, then entertains herself, the last stage is always "I GO HOME."

26. I take too long looking for something. Norah starts yelling, "I GO HOME! I GO HOME NOW!"

27. Now people are staring at us, as I try to reason with her, like a total moron. "Baby, we're almost done. Just let Mommy get the dryer sheets and we'll go home. Settle down, Honey. Come here, Norah. Norah! Stay by Mommy. Sweet Jesus, we'll get dryer sheets next time."

28. We go to the least busy checkout line.

29. I try to throw everything on the conveyor belt while holding Norah, because at this point, she has lost the will to walk.

30. People piling up behind us are visibly regretting choosing our line, as I try to open my purse and wallet while holding Norah, while fumbling for my check card, while apologizing for taking so long, while loading the Target bags back into the cart, while kicking myself for buying Norah more clothes.

31. Norah sweetly says, "Thank you!" to the check-out person. They smile, aww, and give her a sticker.

32. We stop by the customer service area and I chase her around with her coat and hat.

33. We head back to the car. Norah starts begging for Playland.

34. Tears.

35. We finally pull into the driveway.

36. Norah says, "I want go shopping!"

Best Dollar You'll Ever Spend (disclaimer: gross exaggeration)

My book is on Amazon!

Expect This: A pregnancy memoir

Once a formally anti-kids couple decides to chuck their birth control and go for it, this mom-to-be soon learns that pregnancy isn't all about playing Mozart to your stomach and glowing. Along with relentless nausea, unleashed emotions, and interfering bystanders, Heather learns to deal with her fear; fear of her body changing, of her shifting identity, and the fear of having to be responsible for another living being.

Author: Heather Slee

Price: $0.99

Buy it now!

FAQ

1. Why should I buy this? 

The book is all about my pregnancy, so it's new stuff to you. And it's kind of funny. And it's short-- only 60 pages or so. And it's cheap.

2. It's only available electronically. What if I don't have a Kindle?

You can download the Kindle Reader for PC for free. This way, you can pretend to be working on something important on the computer, when you're actually reading my book and taking a break from your chaos.

3. Why is it only a dollar? Does it suck?

Because it's short (60 pages or so) and only available electronically, which can be kind of a pain for some. Also, "suck" is a relative term. However, here are things that cost around one dollar that rule, and are more fleeting than a book:

• Dollar menu french fries at McDonald's
• Two tries at a skill crane game
• A Diet Coke from the fountain
• Paddle board from the Target dollar aisle 
• Two songs from a jukebox (suckiness may vary)

Christmas is Coming

Presents


Norah is convinced all presents are for her. Yes, all presents should be for her, but it simply isn't the case. But that doesn't stop her from either ripping them open or shoving them in your face demanding, "Open dis, pleeeease." I have decided to wrap all the gifts in healthy food labels or bubble bath, so that she won't touch them.


Santa

Norah loves Santa. Well, in theory. She actually met Santa in person last week and was flipping terrified. But that's not the point of this. She loves Santa. Santa says "Ho ho ho!" Santa equals everything Christmas-y, which apparently means everything says, "Ho ho ho," including reindeer, snowmen, lights, gift wrap, everything. Somehow, Santa's catchphrase became another noun for him. And for everything Christmas. Check out the  Norah Loves Santa post.

But now it's rampant. If we drive past Christmas lights? "More hos, pleeeeease!" See Santa on TV? "More hos, pleeeease!" A commercial interrupts Charlie Brown's Christmas? "Where da hos?" We walked by our new Catholic daycare/school's plastic, glowing nativity scene and Norah cheerfully called out, "Bye, hos!" Uh-oh.

Jesus

Speaking of our new, Catholic daycare/school, it is going swimmingly. She loves it. I picked her up and as we walked down the hallway, she enthusiastically pointed to all the Christmas decorations on the walls.

"DEEEER!" [Reindeer]

"NOMAN!!" [Snowmen]

I oohed and ahhed appropriately and she beamed as if she had made every last one of the cotton-ball glued, glitter-spattered pieces of art. At the entrance, there's a picture of Jesus. Out of curiosity, I asked her, "Who's that?"

"Jim," she said, matter-of-factly.

I blinked. "Oh." They must be good buddies if He lets her call him Jim.

I told this story to my mom, wondering if Jim-the-guy-who-worked-on-their-roof was a long-hair like Jesus and she said he was not. Then she seemed extremely concerned about Norah's lack of knowledge about Christ. I sense a Christian-themed gift under the tree as we speak.

Norah Loves Santa. Mommy Hates Shopping.

It's official. We can't go to any stores until well into January. Norah loves Santa and everything Christmas-y.

So, why deprive her of such joy, you ask?  Because when a toddler sees a shining, singing, sparkling, spectacle of a Christmas display, she never, ever wants to leave. When you say, "Come on, Sweetie, time to go," you will hear, "NO!" as a reply. When you say, "Honey, come to Mama," you will hear, "NO! NOOOOO!" And when the store is closing and people are forcing us out and threatening to call the police, she will throw herself to the floor, facedown, and throw the mother of all tantrums.

Okay, it was morning and we'd only been there for about 40 minutes, but it was lunchtime and we needed to go.

I don't even know how she remembers this stuff. She was just a few days under one last year when Grandma taught her "Ho ho ho!" and gave her a Santa ornament. How could she have possibly remembered that? But she bolted toward the Christmas display at Kohl's and bellowed "Ho ho ho!" to the glittering Santa ornaments hanging on white and green plastic trees. I was surprised, to say the least, but also amused as she went to each Santa object she found (chotchkies, ornaments, Santa stockings, snow globes, etc) and said, "Ho ho ho!" to each one.

Soon she was dissatisfied by just ho-ho-hoing. Now she wanted to touch-touch-touch. I tried to gently guide her hands away from the displayed items, but she got more and more irritated with my interference. She'd whip her hand away and squeal, and then find another item to break-- I mean, touch.

Now a group of little old ladies were browsing the Christmas section. At first we got a couple smiles. We usually do-- Norah is damn cute. But then as Norah started getting more rowdy and resistant to my pleas, we started getting those looks. You know. The my-child-never-acted-up-due-to-my-superior-parenting-skills look, or the that's-what-bad-parenting-will-get-you-look. I even heard one of them utter something about a "plug." I'm assuming the old broad was discussing my nearly-two-year-old's pacifier.

Okay. It was time to leave. Not only was it lunchtime, but I was dangerously close to telling some old bat to mind her own business.

"Time to go, Baby," I said quietly, crouching down to her level.

"Ho ho ho! Ho ho ho!" She blissfully galloped to the next display.

I must avoid a tantrum. Think, Heather. 

After bribing her with a number of things (we'll go find an Elmo toy, let's find more Santas, do you want some apple juice, etc.), I pulled out the big guns: "Should we visit Daddy?" Daddy works at a home improvement store, which is like Disneyland to a toddler for some reason, and Norah loves to visit. Grandpa works at the same store, so it's double awesome.

She broke out of her Christmas trance and looked up-- "Yeah!"

Then she turned to her Santa friends, as well as the sour old hens, and yelled at the top of her lungs, "Bye, Hos!"

Awesome.