Like a Sharpie with a chisel. Of diamonds. Big ones.

It continues to be Birthday Week.

On Monday I enjoyed regaling my pretty terrific husband P.J. with a list of 29 reasons why he should remain married to me.

Today's featured birthdaygoer (and haver) is none other than Nora Jane, One Year Old Extraordinaire (well, tomorrow, anyhow.)

What?! How can she be that aged already, didn't you carry her for thrice this long, you exclaim? (AGREED.) But since it wouldn't be fair to only list 1 reason why she should continue to remain my daughter (and how thoroughly incredible she is)...I've decided to compile a number that shall reveal itself when I finish this post, as I shall make it up then.

Dear N.J.,

1. You may be small (in size as well as years), but you have already- undeniably- learned the important life skill of getting exactly what you want. And- despite my tireless reinforcement of  rules, politesse and patience- whenever you want. What's your trick? Why, it's the same as your Daddy's- offering up a stunning and genuine smile before and after the event or object of your fascination.

It goes like this: grin/point/thatthatthat/applause/poke/patpatpat/grasp/beam.

Here's your pony.

2. You have a miniature library containing hundreds of titles. Despite this, we are captive readers each night of Ten Little Ladybugs. This in and of itself is not amazing- but what is is your ability to be constantly enchanted by these twenty pages, sometimes flipping back to marvel at earlier plot developments. So much so, in fact, that we find ourselves laughing along with you, excitedly pointing out characters in a tale that, frankly, had long ago ceased to be suspenseful. ("Previously, on Ten Little Ladybugs...")

In short, you make everything really, really fun. And did you know that your father would be so adept at voicing grasshoppers and butterflies?

3. You eat pesto and eggplant and Armenian delicacies. Actually, "eat" is too ladylike of a term for how you destroy plates of food. Actually, same goes for "plate." It's a good thing you're strapped into that highchair and it's made of fairly solid and toxin-free wood. Watching you consume food is an almost daily revelation. You've never tasted this or that- your reactions are immediate and for the first time ever.

That is so cool.

Subsequently, you make us feel like really, really good cooks. Which is awesome! Even though sometimes you eat to mimic us and pack teensy bites of bread into that cavernous mouth of yours like the squirrel-cheeked beastie that you are...you NEVER lie or pull punches. If the alfredo sucks, then the alfredo sucks- and it's going on the floor.

4. Our days together kinda always feel like a Saturday, early in the afternoon. We have a good time. You're game for strollin', car seatin' (usually), being slung (slingin'?), ridin' in the shopping cart, swingin' at the playlot...and pretending that you don't know how to walk. (I know you do. I've seen it when you think I'm not looking, lazy bum!) We watch Jeopardy. (You get super excited when Alex Trebek laughs. And the other day, when they showed a pic of a cat sarcophagus, you squealed "catkittycatmeowhihihihimeow" for, oh- a good half an hour.)

You climb on our tall speakers and tap them for emphasis, announcing to the room at large that it would be great if someone could make something happen here. You love music. All music. But especially stuff that lets you dance with lots of hip and knee action. (Again, this is a lot like your Dad.) And speaking of him...you innately know when he's due to arrive home and you bounce impatiently by the speakers, clapping and cheering like an Elvis sighting when you hear the key in the lock. And then he plays songs that the two of you have deemed your favorites. And then you dance identically.

But there are also afternoons where you are beyond content to sit and play with a pile of blocks, dolls and books by yourself. Happily turning pages, patting babies' eyes, shoving smallish pieces into your mouth or shirt or underneath a pile of something that will be unearthed later in the week (you've recently discovered the concept of a "nook")...this is when you allow me to return emails, write, start dinner, lay facedown on the area rug in unfolded laundry...

We've discovered, you and I, what so many relationships strive to attain throughout years of togetherness: we can just be. Sure, me more than you, but you've allowed me to work on the discipline of Not. Having. To. Work. On. Something. At. All. Times. (And yes, definitely, that's still a work in progress.)

5. Nora Noodle Junebug Jane, you've made me a more prolific writer. (I hesitate to say "better," because I'm barely functional in terms of grammar and punctuation in my casual writing.) And it's not all about sunlit beams over sleeping babes and blah blah- because, as most people are well aware, my poetry is God Awful. (It's really bad. It even rhymes.) But, when I need to write something down and explain it (and tangent it) to death, you've inspired me to write and write and write. 'Cause babydoll, now I know fear. And rage. And comedy so dangerous to bladders it should have its own warning label.

Granted, the stuff I write isn't exactly the apex of literature- but then again, in my kid-free days, I wasn't exactly penning Chaucer. [Note: Really? Chaucer? I've been an avid reader since the early 80s and my go-to example of literary greatness is the Canterbury Tales? Really?]

Oh, Nora, I've failed you in this list. The idea of even pretending that individual numbers correspond to itemized ramblings is a little inane. So...

20. Everyone said how hard IT was. How hard IT was gonna be. Few people said- or were even able to let on- how unimaginably wonderful IT is. How full of wonder, joy, exquisite sadness and shocking hilarity this whole shebang was gonna turn out.

And, weirdly enough, "life-changing" (as overused as it is) doesn't seem big enough to cover it. Because it was- obviously. But any time you do something new and nutso, your life is bound to change. I need a new term for something so upside-down-making, so outside the realm of one's comprehension, that you can't help but be immediately catapulted into a stronger and more strongly defined person.

Nora, you've so thoroughly outlined my edges that I've been Etch-A-Sketched. With a Sharpie.

And, no I don't think that this kinda transformation is exclusive to parents- I can think of at least five other Life Etch-A-Sketching events- but I think I was lucky enough to get it right with you, kiddo.

I think I was lucky.

(Happy birthday.)

I have a crush on my husband. How nerdy.

She's fine.

Pre-bloggy-blurby: For those of you interested in winning this toy, please please leave a comment on that post telling me how many entries to give you. I'm totally digging all of the votes and clicks, but I have NO way of knowing who's doing what, when and how. You can do one humongous comment on Friday that lets me know how many chances to give you, or you can do one comment daily. Whatever's clever. Just want to give you credit for giving me credit. I love you.

Okay.

We are entering a very exciting time in our household. This week marks the beginning of All Things Festive. First up, we've got Peej's birthday on the 27th. Followed by Nora's [first!!!] birthday on the 29th. And Halloween. Then it's just a hop, skip and jump to Auntie Kate's birthday, Nat-Nat's birthday, Mim's birthday, Thanksgiving, Pop-Pop's birthday, Christmas, New Year's...and on and on and (wonderful) on.

Started off quite nicely, with a Southport Ave Trick or Treat and a Raggedy Nora tentatively asking for candy. (Oh, she got the hang of it.)

And as Nora has fallen asleep in a pile of construction paper- with eyeliner freckles permanently etched into her head- I thought I'd take this opportunity to mention my husband.

In honor of my darling Peej's upcoming 29th birthday (yes, I am a cougar- hush), here are the summy-uppest reasons (that I can manage) of why I am SO lucky that he remains married to me/returns my texts/thinks I'm neat:

1) He keeps things 'wick' in the garden. More than once a year, which, apparently, is how you garden.
2) He knows how to break into our house.
3) That coupon thing actually saves money. Who knew? (Besides P.J.)
4) He can effectively argue with the neighbors in Spanish.
5) He can effectively argue with our contractors in English...and Spanish.
6) Peej has made room in his all-encompassing Netflix obsession for my childhood movies...for Nora, obvie.
7) He convinced me to watch fireworks on our garage roof even though I was scared. And it was rad.
8) He endures my sleep antics.
9) He tucks me back in, too.
10) With a humongous blanket and the heat on, even though he's usually on fire.
11) Even if he wanted to be Yoshi, he always allows me to choose him first.
12) When I suck at certain Mario Kart tracks, he blames the computer.
13) When we plays against worldwide players, he blames them.
14) He holds his tongue (and his breath) when I Feng Shui the house.
15) But he's always the first to genuinely complement the new room.
16) And this has happened seven separate times this month.
17) P.J. invents really nice stories to gloss over really yucky things.
18) He has exceptional taste in music. And a large collection of vinyl/mp3s/cassettes. (And plays them all!)
19) Every Sunday night he shoves me out the door for Pilates.
20) And feeds/bathes/tucks in Nora...and gets din ready for me, too.
21) This weekend he dressed Nora in brown velour pants, a red onesie, a purple hood and fuschia socks.
22) He thought she looked STUNNING. She seemed pretty pleased, too.
23) Even though he prefers the left lane and top speeds, he's amended his driving skills/habits.
24) I do not presume that this is for me.
25) Remember that rat shenanigan?
26) When he calls us from work, he actually has convos with Nora. He waits for responses, too.
27) Even though it is no longer dangerous to me, I have not cleaned cat litter in two years.
28) He will buy anything at the store, no matter how embarrassing for a guy it may be. Uses a coupon, too.
29) P.J. keeps a wooden baseball bat next to the bed. Just in case.

I love you, sugar. To quote Joe Esposito and the Karate Kid- you're the best around.

(Nothing'sEverGonnaKeepYouDowowowowowown.)

(Except maybe your chore list.)

I also made a really sweet frog! Kinda.

Chewing it over.

Today's blog posting is about a toy.

A really rad toy.

One that you could win. (Curiosity piqued? I know.)

Thanks to our pals at thenewtoy.com- a nifty online site that only features nine handpicked toys at a time- Nora and I received a fuzzy set of awesomeness known as Brain Noodles. They're humongo pipe cleaners with a twist (and that you can twist)- they're silky, non toxic and sans any sharp edges. (This is crucial in our household. For me, mainly.)

The Noodles come in a big ol' bunch and are brightly colored. My favorite is the zebra striped set. (Try finding that on a pipe cleaner. That's right, it doesn't exist. Unless you have a very fancy pipe with specific cleaning needs.)

Here is why this product is brilliant: it's an extremely simple toy. Its predecessor was a basic staple of craft projects in my childhood. You could glue them, twist them, decorate edges, poke your sister in the nostril, sky's the limit.

Opening this toy produced an 'aha' moment for me, like when I realized that no matter how awesome the birthday present, Nora was always gonna want to play in the recycling pile afterwards. Having Brain Noodles around equates having that fabulous refrigerator box in the kitchen- minus holes in the side, packing tape stuck to your hair, and metal staples gouging your forehead. That's right, buying this toy is like buying your favorite childhood activities...but bigger, cooler, and with less forehead-gouging.

And it comes with an instruction booklet! I've never been much for those, but having grown up with a sister who very much was- she could actually make the Lego car- and having married a guy who thinks methodical directions= a pitch perfect sonata, I decided to give it a go.

First off, I had to convince Nora that it was totally cool to touch the Brain Noodles. (Sure, she'll kiss her reflection in the oven window, but grab a soft toy? Mother May I?) After we did a series of patpatpat and kisses, it was on.

We started by forming a puppy. Kinda. Granted, written directions make my head a little wonky, but it didn't really look like a dog so much as an anemic wombat. Plus, Nora was "helping" me make the woofie. The tail may be a little over-bent. With love. I accept full responsibility for the wombat.

Then we went all freestyle and made a crown with antennae. We both wore it. And one of us may have chewed on it. (Note- Nora may be a little too young for unsupervised play with this toy, non toxic though it may be. However! She definitely got a mouthful of orange Noodle with ZERO side effects. Score!) I was also hit by one of these and am pleased to report that the claim of no sharp edges is correct. I've definitely been thwacked by worse things (a wet noodle, for example.)

Later, we straightened the Brain Noodles back out and laid them in her toy box (patpatpat) for later use.

So, by the numbers:
26 Brain Noodles
For ages 5 and up (or a really awesome almost 1-year old)
7 idea booklet instructions (with snippets of trivia!)
3 trillion creative options
1 really great toy store (they have hilarious product videos AND, with packaging, send stickers and notes about recycling. Awesomesauce.)

0 reasons why you shouldn't try to win this set

And now, How You Can Win This Set!

In honor of the Nora Jane First Birthday Extravaganza, The New Toy will generously donate a brand new set of Brain Noodles to one of my readers. Here's how to score it:

1) Vote every day at Top Mommy Blogs. (One click to the page, one to vote.)
2) Tweet about this blog, the giveaway, whatever you like. But it has to be nice. I can give you tons of ideas. For example- Isn't Keely looking trim today?
3) Facebook about the blog, the giveaway, whathaveyou. (And no, 'whathaveyou' is not a legit thing to post.)

Once you do all that, comment below and lemme know how many chances to give you on randomizer.org. (It's on the honor system- after all, did you know that 'Nora' is derived from the word for 'Honor?') The contest is open from now until her actual birthday on Friday, October 29th (and the winner will be selected on Saturday the 30th.) You could potentially score three votes a day until then.

And then we could all have a playdate. And thwack each other with Noodles. Just like in the old days.

BYORefrigerator Box.

Did I just nickname my blog?

Leaves a bad taste in my mouth, too.

So many good and positive things have happened lately- the kind of stuff that makes me really dig my life and reflect on how blessed we all truly are.

Also.

There's been a slooowly growing list of minor irritations that, if left unchecked, could level the entire north side of Chicago.

This is that list.

Politics:
I'm just kidding.
While there certainly are plenty o' things to find a) hilarious, b) sad, or c) infuriating in the current political arena...that is NOT the job (nor point) of the Loll Blog. L'blog? LoBlo? I like LoBlo.
Besides, I know so many other folks who can (and will) give those shenanigans their proper [written] due. I'd instead like to focus my extremely narrow attentions on-

Unsubscribing:
Why must I wait ten business days to stop receiving spam email correspondence? Really, ten days? You have no problem hammering out insignificant updates of things for which I do not recall signing up and yet no one's manning the store? Ten days? Are you on safari? Take me off of your list. I could WALK there in ten days.

Incorrect Decorations:
Yes, I realize that none of this is groundbreaking...but come on. Costco is decorating for Christmas at the end of September? Real Simple magazine's Thanksgiving issue is 3/4 Christmas ideas, tips, gifts and budgeting? Why hasn't this been properly dealt with yet? Christmas season= the day after Thanksgiving to the day before New Year's Eve. (There. It's been decided.)

It gets earlier and earlier each year. I have a very real fear of this pre-sale stuff going back and back until it actually gets right back on track for the actual holiday season. Only catch is: you're a year too early. Then what?

Improper Bummage:
Seriously- leggings are not legit pantsware. Use this handy dandy rule of thumb: if you would not wear tights that revealed as much, do not ask things of your leggings that it can not deliver. Again, leggings= really thick tights. Not pants. If I must see your spandex-clad bum, you'd better be: a) leading the Peloton in the Tour de France, or b) on the 1996 Olympic women's gymnastics team. (Okay, it could be any gymnastics team I suppose- but weren't they incredible? Oh, Kerri Strug.)

To reiterate: wearing leggings with an indecent mini skirt does not lengthen the skirt nor affect the acceptability therein. It simply makes your legs a different [loose-moraled] color.

Being A Terrible Person, i.e. Do Not Do This To Me:
Let's say, hypothetically, that I'm patiently waiting for a parking spot at a popular children's sporting venue. (The typical sports class generally has seven or eight kids. About six classes are running simultaneously. The parking lots allows for- oh, nine parked cars.) There are painted arrows that helpfully guide the direction of In and Out, This Way and That, Stay On the Right, etc., all kinds of good things that validly licensed American drivers [should] know. And let's pretend that I left ten minutes early to queue up for this mind-destroying melee of really nice cars...and mine. And, oh, let's just go ahead and admit that I was second in line. And saw two cars pull out and leave before the class even started- which is crazy unheard of- and perhaps even that my panicked, hardened and adrenalined heart got kinda excited.

And so the first car- the one ahead of me- parked. And I wished them well. Then, being the good-hearted, law-abiding citizen that I am, I allowed them to straighten their car. After all, my time wasn't any more or less valuable than theirs, am I right? And what would I have to show for a dinged-up fender other than Loud Words with someone to whom I may or may not be legally wed?

But as I turned the corner to take my rightful spot, a car zipped in through the exit and parked in it. Poorly. As I sat there, mouth agape, giving her the universal sign for Are you kidding me, she flipped (flipped!) her hair at me, scoffed and pointed at her kids and then the door as if to say I have to go inside for a class.


OH MY GOD, BY ALL MEANS. You're here for a CLASS? Don't mind me- just huffing some carbon monoxide and singing You Are My Sunshine to quell the kiddos (that do not rank quite as highly as yours, obvie) for the eleventieth time.

Enjoy your latte.

And the one and a half spots you've somehow managed to find and squander.

I'll wait. And remember.

(I feel much better now...my neighborhood is safe from my rage. But seriously-)

I'll remember.