I'm Amber and I'm a Target-holic.
(Hi Amber!)
I should probably set up a second house at Target. Since I’m there so often. Is it wrong that a lot of workers recognize me?
The truth is, I rarely buy anything full price at Target. I buy items when they go on clearance. I bought Tommy two pairs of pants for 75% off and I felt as though I had won the lottery or something. You have to understand that my son goes through pants like David Hasslehoff goes through booze.
Sometimes I just like to go to Target to browse. You never know what you’ll find on a clearance rack. Tom doesn’t comprehend this. He once called me and asked where I was.
“Target,” I answered brightly.
“What do you need at Target?” he replied.
“Nothing. I’m just looking,” I explained.
Tom was confused. Tom only shops when he knows exactly what he wants. His brain just doesn’t compute why women like to go into a store and just browse.
It’s probably why we rarely shop together.
It usually ends in disaster. Because I’ll go down an aisle and Tom will ask why I’m going to look at the candles.
“Just to look,” I’ll say.
This irritates him. He’ll give a long sigh and say, “But why? We don’t need candles.”
He just doesn’t get it. Sometimes I like to pick up a candle and breathe in the lovely cinnamon scent. Just because I can. Tom would never waste time sniffing candles. If we need one, he just plucks one off the shelf and tosses it in the cart. Without even smelling it!
“Tom, how do you know if that smells nice?” I once asked him.
“It’s vanilla. Vanilla smells nice,” he’ll assure me.
But you just never know. Some vanilla candles smell like rotten toe cheese.
But I digress.
I did have a reason to go to Target yesterday. I wanted to pick up new sheets for Natalie’s bed. But of course I couldn’t look just at the sheets. I had to look around the rest of the store too.
I didn’t find much on the clearance racks. Then we made it to the sheet section and I showed Natalie the set I wanted to buy.
“Isn’t it pretty?” I asked excitedly.
“I play?” she responded and tried to climb out of the cart. She draped one leg over the handle. I had to pick her up and put her on my hip. After she attempts to break free from the cart, it’s nearly impossible to put her back. I mean, you could try, but she’ll scream the entire store down. So out of respect for the other shoppers I just pick her up. You’re welcome, shopping patrons of Cheyenne, Wyoming.
We headed for the book section next. It’s no secret that I’m a book lover. I could read all day if my children would let me. As it is, they find it amusing to rip the book from my hands and attempt to throw it away.
I’m not kidding.
Natalie did this the other day. I thought she had been happily entertaining herself by playing with her toy kitchen. But I suppose the fact that my attention drifted away from her caused her to be insulted, because she came over and plucked the novel away from me and then rushed off.
Then she smiled at me sweetly and tossed it in the trash.
Thank goodness I had just changed it. I’m not sure if I could have read a book that smelled like old tacos.
I explained to Natalie that we don’t throw away books.
“I sorry, Mom,” she told me in what I thought was a genuine voice.
But then she tried to throw away one of Tommy’s books.
So now I have to constantly check the trash to make sure Natalie didn’t chuck something else away.
“Toodee!” Natalie suddenly shrieked as we approached the book section. She was gesturing wildly to the area in front of us. It turns out she had spotted a creepy Yo Gabba Gabba book. She nearly kneed me in the gut while trying to get to it.
I bought it for because I want her to love reading as I do.
Okay, fine, and because I wanted a few minutes of shopping peace. Which I got. She even sat back down in the cart and flipped silently through her book.
Thank you, creepy Yo Gabba Gabba.
While we stood in line to check out, Natalie suddenly set her book down and looked at me seriously.
“Boob,” she said.
I whispered, “Not right now.”
Natalie was not pleased. “BOOB!” she said, a few octaves louder.
There was an older woman behind me. I heard her chuckle. “She’s calling you a boob,” she told me brightly.
I felt my face grow warm. “No,” I explained. “She wants boob.”
The old lady leaned over towards Natalie. “You’ll just have to wait until you’re older,” she said.
Natalie, who tends to freak if strangers get too close to her, shrieked, “BOOB!” which was followed by a dramatic screech.
I bet the old lady is sorry she put her hearing aids in that day.
“She wants milk. From the...” I trailed off. I couldn’t say the word boob again. I have no idea why. I mean, when Tommy was younger I could easily tell him that penises belong in our pants and not out for all to see without batting an eyelash.
But apparently, it’s difficult for me to say the b-word more than once.
“She looks too old to still be drinking breast milk,” the old lady said. She looked a little disgusted.
“Well,” I said. “I’m trying to wean her.”
I bit my tongue to keep from adding, “You old biddy.”
And I am. Trying to wean her. It’s just, I believe I give birth to extremely stubborn children. Natalie refuses regular milk. I’ve tried chocolate milk. Strawberry milk. Soy milk. She doesn’t want any of it.
I’m cutting her off when she’s two. I’m sorry, but I’d like my body back.
When we got home I threw Natalie's new bedset in the washer to get rid of the store smell.
They were ready by naptime so I explained that she was getting new sheets and wasn't that exciting?
"Cah-co-dat," Natalie answered. Which is how she says chocolate.
Okay, fine. I can't blame her for wanting some chocolate. If I had a choice between sheets or chocolate, I'd pick the chocolate. Well, unless they were like 10,000 count sheets. Do those even exist?
Here are Natalie's new sheets. Bought for only $29 at Target:
Natalie was jumping on her bed. I wish I had that much energy first thing in the morning. I really do.
As it is I'm like a lump. With crazy hair.
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