In my head this seemed like a better deal than it actually is

Nap Time: The Game

My 3-year-old doesn't take naps anymore, so for her, a fun game is pretending to take a nap. You know what would be a really fun game? Actually taking a nap.

You'd think playing nap time would be a really restful game. Not so. That's because Nina is a dictator. You must nap according to a very specific set of rules, in a location of her choosing (the more uncomfortable, the better), with blankets covering your whole body, always with your head on a pillow (don't you dare try to prop your arm under there), and next to the stuffed toys she forces asks you to sleep with.

Lights out. We're all settled in for our pretend nap. Now we can rest, right? Wrong. Now she jumps up every 10 seconds or so, turns on the lights, and screams "Wake up! Start talking!" This is a dream come true for her. I am sure that whenever she wakes up at night, she thinks about running to my room, flipping on the lights and screaming "Wake up! Start talking!" But part of her must also fear the firestorm that would rain down upon her should she ever really do it. Playing nap time is her outlet for such whimsical fantasies.

Playing nap always ends badly, because I'm already bitter about the fact that I can't actually sleep. Sure, rub it in my face, kid. But it also ends badly because 8-month-olds are no good at pretending to sleep.

So here we go, with an episode of "Nap Time: The Game":

Nina: I want you to sleep here with me.

Me: That sounds like the worst game ever. Why don't we play something else?

Nina: No, I want you to sleep. (Turns off the lights) And bring Owen too.

Me: You know what will happen if I come over there with Owen and try to sleep.

Nina: What?

Me: He will crawl around and try to touch your toys, and then you will cry and push him, and then I will put you in time out, and then we will all be upset and it will be no fun.

Nina: I want you to sleep here with me. And bring Owen too.

Me: ...

Nina: Or we could play hide-and-seek again.

Me: Well played. Zzzz. Zzzz.

Owen: I'm going to just crawl around here.

Nina: Owen! It's time to go to sleep. Make Owen go to sleep mommy!

Me: Zzzz. Zzzz.

Owen: Toys! Let me just put a few of these in my mouth! 

Nina: Noooooo! Owen! My toys! Ahhhh! (Pushes Owen)

Owen: Waaah! Wahhh!

Me: Time out!

Every. Freaking. Time.

My ideal child

Nina: My game just turned off all by itself! Maybe the batteries just ran out.

Me: No, it just stops making noise if you don't play with it for a while.

Nina: ...

Me: If only that's how children worked.

My point exactly. No, wait. Not at all my point.

I showed my husband this hilarious post from one of my favorite blogs, Crappy Pictures, and he laughed the whole way through. Then he said this:

Him: That is just like you!

I started nodding in agreement, because yes, I was up every two hours for six months with our son while hubby snoozed the night away, just like in this Crappy Picture. Then in the morning, my dear, sweet, husband would unwittingly say crazy-making things like, "I slept so well, I didn't even know you got up!" or even better, "I sure am tired from being slightly disturbed by the baby's crying and then immediately going back to sleep!"

I stopped nodding when he finished his thought.

Him: You need 10 hours of sleep too, just like that guy in the cartoon! Ha ha ha ha ha!

Not exactly the comparison I was hoping for.

There were 32 in the bed and the little one said...

When Nina was a baby, I did what most first time moms do. I read all about baby care, panicked, and was overly cautious whenever possible. So naturally I wasn't going to let my baby sleep in a death trap. Everyone knows that babies die if they so much as think about a snuggly blanket while in their cribs. I was very careful about removing the fluffy menace from areas in and around her crib. She didn't sleep with anything cuddly for the first eight months of her life.

This is what a baby with a loose blanket looks like.

Then Nina started going to sleep with her favorite stuffed animal, a little piece of fabric with a zebra head sewn on top named Moosie (I know, but Zebra-ie doesn't have the same ring to it). They purposely make these toys so small and flat that infants cannot die on them, but I was still pretty sure she was going to suffocate, so I dutifully sneaked into her room every night to take it away.

Finally, she turned that magical age: 1. The age when she would no longer be in danger of instantly dying from (this list is abbreviated): egg yolks, peanut butter, facing forward in a car seat, being in the vicinity of blankets, honey nut cheerios, and of course, suffocating on a teeny, tiny stuffed animal. So it was then that I stopped stealing her most favorite, favorite, favorite toy away while she slept. It was also then that I started leaving some toys next to the crib, and hanging over the crib rail, so when she woke in the wee hours of the morning mama could sneak in a few extra minutes of sleepy time while Nina busied herself pulling  toys through the rails or onto her head. And if she knocked herself unconscious for an hour or two in the process, all the better.

Maybe it was all those months of waking up in the crib all alone, no Moosie in sight, that led to her eventual downward spiral into addiction. Maybe it was the excessive number of toys I left around the crib in my selfish attempt to catch a few extra Zs. Or maybe it's just in her nature to be completely insane. We may never know. What we do know is she has a problem, and when a 3-year-old has a problem, everyone has a problem.

This morning, Nina woke up with 32 "friends" in her bed:

• Moosie the zebra
• Joshua Giraffe
• Owen the cabbage patch doll
• Upstairs Panda and Downstairs Panda (Two panda Pillow Pets)
• A backpack
• A Fisher-Price camera
• Louise, the Build-a-Bear cat
• Teddy Bear the tye-dyed Beanie Baby
• Ballerina Bear
• Strawberry Bear
• Winnie-the-Pooh
• Max from How the Grinch Stole Christmas
• Josie the snow leopard
• Sophie, the very squeaky giraffe
• Four books
• Hop Hop the rabbit
• Other Hop Hop, the rabbit wearing a tutu
• Hop Hop's ball (because even her stuffed animals have to sleep with their toys)
• Mouse
• Hoo Hoo, the owl
• Monkey (I just asked her what monkey's name is, and she said, "I'm going to call him mommy.")
• Rexy the T-Rex
• Pinwheel
• Big Bad Wolf puppet
• Thomas the Tank Engine Flashlight that says, "Bust my Boilers! It's dark in here!"
• Toy Story flashlight
• Big Doggy, a stuffed dog as big as she is (thanks, Aunt Elsie)
• Glow Baby, the glow worm

In case you were wondering, she doesn't sleep in a Target. She sleeps in a twin-sized bed. Which is a step up from the toddler bed she was sleeping in a few weeks ago. Back then -- "the good old days," I like to call them -- we were able to keep Nina at a measly eight to ten friends at night because that was all that could fit under her itty bitty blanket. But now she has an entire big girl bed to fill up with snuggly love. And fill it she must.

Now, I don't really care what she sleeps with (well, within reason), as long as she sleeps. But as you can imagine, with so many toys crowding up her bed, this is what I find at 2 a.m.:

And the little one said, roll over, roll over...

Her falling out of bed is the least of my worries, though. The real problem is she is obsessed with her friends being in some magical, OCD-specific order (most loved to least?). They must also be completely covered by her blankets throughout the entire night. Oh, and did I mention she wears glasses and so she can't see unless something is two inches from her face?

So this is what inevitably happens:

8:30 p.m.

Nina: Mom! I can't find Hop Hop!

8:35 p.m.

Nina: Mom! I can't find Joshua!

8:42 p.m.

Nina: Mom! The blankets aren't on Strawberry Bear!

9 p.m.

Me: Finally, she's alseep. Let me just press play on the DVR, stick my hand in this big bowl of greasy, buttery popcorn, and....

Nina: MOM! I really really need you! I can't find Big Doggy!

Seriously, you know that phrase about "the elephant in the room"? Nina wouldn't be able to find it in her bed unless it was in its magical, OCD-specific spot. And she would be so pissed that it didn't fit under her blanket.

So every morning, I take a few friends away and I hide them in the closet, or in a Tupperware in the crawl space, or in the trash can. Slowly, the pile dwindles to a manageable number. Sure, everything still has to be covered by blankets or it's nuclear meltdown time. Sure, she still can't find her most favorite tiny HelloKitty toy because without her glasses everything is a dimly lit smudge. But at least I can find the offender without a search team and detection dogs.

Still, every day, she finds some new toy to obsess over. That McDonald's Happy Meal piece of junk? "It's my favorite, favorite, favorite mom! Hey, and that reminds me, didn't we have 10 other McDonald's toys that I used to sleep with? Where are those mom?"

"Uh, I don't know sweetie. Just don't check the trash can."

Things my three-year-old likes to talk about vs. things I like to talk about

At least we have that in common.

I'm not seeing this, I'm not seeing this

I'm pretending I don't see Owen chewing on a shoe so I can finish drinking my coffee for once.

Cleanliness is next to... ah, who am I kidding?

My highchair's removable top says, "Dishwasher Safe Tray" but what it should say is, "Only when you have a starving, screaming baby doing the plank to avoid being strapped into his highchair will you remember that you never cleaned the oatmeal-booger-drool encrusted layer that formed on this tray after breakfast, so just snap this sucker off and presto! There's a mostly clean tray underneath!" But kudos to Fisher-Price for advertising it as if I actually put the tray into my dishwasher to clean it, rather than just rubbing it with a wipe every few days. It makes other people think I clean things.

I mean, I do clean things. Or at least I make an attempt. Usually I start something, like wiping down the counters, and three to eight seconds in I hear, "Blah blah blah blah, YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME! Blah blah blah blah" and then I have to go do something even worse than cleaning -- playing with a 3-year-old.

"But little kids love helping their moms clean!" you say. You must not have kids. Because if you did you would know that while kids do love helping their moms clean, their moms do not love having children. I meant their moms do not love having children around while they clean. And also the other thing you thought I meant.

It is so much easier to (insert any activity here) when you distract your little walking disaster with something shiny rather than trying to get her to participate. Not that I didn't try letting Nina help me clean. The Books say things like, "pitching in can be a great way for your little helper to feel like she is part of the family" and "if you don't let your sweet, innocent child help around the house, he will turn into a heartless, selfish, antisocial failure."

I was pumped! My house would be spotless and my kid would end up a well-adjusted failure instead of just a selfish one! But what The Books don't say is you better hire a construction crew to put your house back together after Teeny Tornado starts "helping."

Here is what you can expect when you ask your child for help:

Say: Be mommy's big helper and throw this diaper in the trash!
Expect: To clean poop off your walls.

Say: Let's all clean up after dinner!
Expect: To find a trail of smashed food leading from the dining room table to to the kitchen, the kitchen to the bathroom, the bathroom to your bedroom, and if you have an especially helpful child, from your bedroom onto every nice pair of pants you own.

Say: You can help sort the laundry!
Expect: To fold laundry for the rest of the day and still end up with a pile of unfolded laundry.

Say: Why don't you use your cute toy broom to help me sweep?
Expect: To be hit in the eye with a cute toy broom.

Say: Use this harmless wet paper towel to clean whatever you want while I use the real cleaner to do something useful.
Expect: To stop cleaning every three to eight seconds to pretend-spray the wet paper towel with 409.

Say: You can watch TV while I clean.
Expect: To spend several hours watching Busytown Mysteries and wondering why all of the adults are so stupid and all of the children drive cars shaped like food.

So go ahead and invite your little one to help out. At least it's more fun laughing at their attempts at "helping" than playing hide-and-seek for the umpteenth time.

Pretending to wildly overpay for something you already own? Priceless.

We are playing store with our toy cash register.

Mommy: That is too much money to pay for a used coloring book.

Nina: Charge it!

Mommy: Charge $71 million?

Nina: (swipes card with reckless abandon)

It isn't easy to teach the value of money when the toy comes with a credit card.

Sorry officer, my daughter won't stop talking

We are driving to gymnastics class.

Nina: Where are we?

Mommy: We're on Antioch Street and 149th Street.

Nina: Antioch?

Mommy: Yes.

Nina: Where are we now?

Mommy: Uh... 148th Street.

Nina: Where are we now?

Mommy: 147th Street.

Nina: Where are we now?

Mommy: 146th Street.(Repeat this exchange until 141st Street)

Nina: Where are we now?

Mommy: Nina, I am not answering you anymore. We are almost there. Stop asking me.

Nina: Where are we now?

Mommy: ...

Nina: WHERE ARE WE NOW??

Mommy: ...

Nina: You aren't paying attention to me!

Mommy: I told you I am not answering that question anymore.

Nina: Wherearewewherearewewherearewewherearewe....

Mommy: Please stop, you are making me crazy!

Nina: *laughing uncontrollably* Where are we now?

Then several things happened at once. My blood pressure shot up, my brain gave itself a lobotomy, I realized I was speeding, and I noticed a police officer with a radar gun on the side of the road.

My first thought as the officer walked to my car was "maybe she will arrest me and I will get some quiet alone time." No such luck.

On the ticket there is no place to plead "guilty by reason of insanity."

Moments with Baby: Snuggle Time

Doggy time out

Rocky stole some of Owen's food off the table today.

Big mistake, buddy. Nina caught him red-pawed.

Nina: *gasp* Rocky! You are a bad doggy!

Rocky: *munch munch munch*

Nina: If you do that one more time, you are going to get a doggy time out!

Rocky: ...

Nina: In your bedroom!

Rocky:...

Nina: And I am not going to pet you! I am going to pet your doggy friend Hailey instead.

Oh snap, Rocky. She went there.

A dog by any other name...

This morning I was reading this article from Baby Sideburns, and Nina saw a picture of the author and asked, "Is that you mommy?" It certainly could be, because this is my life.

Nina: (Pointing at her brown stuffed dog) What's his name?

Mommy: I don't know, what do you want to name him? (mistake #1)

Nina: How about Moosie?

Mommy: You already have a Moosie. How about Scruffy? He looks Scruffy.

Nina: No, because that is the dog on Charlie Brown.

Mommy: No, that is Snoopy. Do you want to name him Snoopy?

Nina: No, because Snoopy is black and white and this dog is brown.

Mommy: Ok then, how about Brownie? (mistake #2, suggesting a color name, because now she wants to name everything for its color)

Nina: No mom, because Brownies are something you eat, and you can't eat my doggy.

Mommy: Ok, then what do you want to name him? (mistake #1, repeated)

Nina: How about Teddy Bear?

Mommy: Sure, we can call him Teddy Bear since he looks a little like a teddy bear. (mistake #3, saying too much)

Nina: No mom, he isn't a bear.

Mommy: We can just call him Teddy then.

Nina: No. How about we call him Doggy?

Mommy: ...

Nina: Because he's a dog.

Mommy: Great. Doggy it is.

It's hard being a girl

Nina runs into the kitchen, slips, and lands on her face.

Nina: Owww! Owww! Boobie! Boobie!

Mommy: You are fine, get up.

Nina: Oww! I have a boobie! I have a boobie!

Mommy: You have a what?

Nina: A boobie!

Mommy: How many boobies do you have?

Nina: Three! Here, and here, and here (pointing to her face and hands).

Mommy: They are called boo-boos.

Nina: Oh yeah. Ow! I have a boo-boo!

Bedtime Stories: Princess Nina's Magical Unicorn

Nina: Tell me a story, mommy.

Mommy: Once upon a time there was a princess named Nina who lived in a pretty pink castle and Nina never wanted to sleep and always asked her mommy to tell her one more story, but mommy was really tired and wanted to go to sleep so Princess Nina's magical unicorn told her stories instead. The end, good night.

Nina: But mom! I don't have a unicorn.

Mommy: Nina, it's a story. It's pretend.

Nina: I don't have a unicorn!

Mommy: Ugh, OK, fine, your dog told you stories.

Nina: Hehe, yeah. Good night.