There is a lot that I thought I was prepared for when I decided to move into a household with children.

I knew I'd become a Dora the Explorer expert.  I knew I'd finally have an excuse to eat all the Kraft Mac and Cheese I wanted.  I knew I'd finally have an excuse to buy Valentines candy, Easter candy, any candy, and cheese-filled hot dogs.  And, therefore, I knew I'd finally have an explanation for weekly weight gain at Weight Watchers.

Then there are those things I was not very well prepared for.

For example - I'm still not used to bringing a baby places.  This leads to uncomfortable situations like this morning when I ran to the store to pick up some milk.  I walked in with Brody in his car seat, and after grabbing the milk with my other hand, lingered in the magazine aisle.  I was engrossed with reading the cover of People when someone next to me asked:

"How old is your baby?"

"I don't have a baby," I answered without missing a beat.  

That was met with silence, and so I looked up to see this woman looking at me with what looked like elation - she probably thought she'd just captured a kidnapper and could already see the ransom dollars dancing across her brain.

"Oh, you mean this one.  He's three weeks.  Months.  Three months."

"He's cute," she crooned.

"Yeah, he's pretty easy to love."

"He's big for three months!  How much does he weigh?"

"I don't know, a lot." I said, lifting the car seat with one arm to show her how far I'd progressed since the day I got here and could barely lift his diaper bag. 

"Huh." she answered.  "Is he tall for his age?"

"I don't know," I answered, wondering if I should tell this woman that I am not his mother and therefore these details are not immediately available to me.  But instead I decided to have a little fun with it.  

"Hey," I asked her, "Do you know - can they eat solid food at this point?  He seems hungry, and I just don't know whether I should buy him these Corn Nuts or some Combos." 

She gave me a horrified look and promptly left ... probably to head straight to the police station to report me.

I looked down to see Brody laughing at me - rightly so.  When that child laughs, it is impossible not to smile back.

"Are you ready for a bottle?" I asked him, and loaded him back into the car so I could take him home and feed him.  Milk, not Combos - in case anyone out there was worried. 

Another thing I was not prepared for when I moved in with children was all those little things I find myself saying naturally that I never thought I'd hear myself say - like talking easily at the dinner table about who has pooped last, its consistency, and what I think it means for his health.

Or a comment like one I made the other night, when I was washing Brody's bottles while on the phone with a friend in Chicago, and said very casually,

"Woah, that was a close one.  I almost lost a nipple down the drain.  Slippery little suckers."

I'm also listening to songs I used to like but never knew I'd listen to in such massive quantities - like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.  Brody has a swing that plays three such lullabies interchangeably on repeat; sans words, but you know the words, and so you sing along in your head.  All day long.

It gets to the point where the lyrics are running so quickly and so repetitively through my head that I'll open my mouth to have an adult conversation and instead will start singing The Farmer and the Dell. 

Which is why, this morning when I picked up the phone to call the same friend who was there to hear about my near nipple mishap (which means our friendship was already on thin ice,) the first word out of my mouth was not the 'hello' I meant to say.

Instead, when she answered, the first thing I said was:

"Mary had a little lamb." 

I took this as my first and only clue that today would not be a good day for any kind of marketing outreach to professionals of any kind.

Which is why I'm thankful for the three people who bought books anyway, since yesterday's post, to bring the total copies sold from 39 to 42. 

As for any kind of outreach, I think I'll wait until tomorrow, when there's not a Fisher-Price Laugh and Learn Jumperoo next to me, singing Old MacDonald.

Today I'll take Brody to the store and buy some Crunch Berries for Mason (but really for myself) and maybe sing him some lullabies.  

Although I wouldn't be surprised if when I open my mouth to actually sing a lullaby, the words that come out will be:

"Hello, my name is Melissa Milne and I've just written a book I'd like to talk to you about..." 

I feel a little like I gave up blogging for Lent.  In a way, I have.  What I actually gave up was coffee and soda, two of my favorite things in the world.  This led to the crankiest version of myself I've ever met, and it wasn't pretty.

I snarled at happy toddlers as they passed on the sidewalk, flipped myself the bird in the mirror, growled when anyone got too close to my food, swore at the wind every time it blew my hair into my mouth and got it stuck in my lip gloss, gave up lip gloss altogether, gave up make-up of any sort all together, started wearing pajama's everywhere, thought seriously about moving to my own island, downloaded a Miley Cyrus song, and probably unwittingly terminated at least 7 close friendships.  

But, I did it.  And now that caffeinated beverages and I have been reunited, I feel I can start blogging again without unwittingly terminating any readership.

The biggest thing that's happened in the last month or so is that my book came.  From the minute I got the email telling me it had shipped, I spent the majority of my time within a 10 foot radius of the door.  Anytime I heard the downstairs door open, I flew into the hallway to see if it was my knight-in-shining armor - or, my knight in those ugly brown nut-huggers they make the UPS employees wear.

But wouldn't you know it, my knight in nut-huggers showed up the one time we were all away from the apartment, and all he left for me was a sad little pink note, stating that he had arrived, seen, and conquered my last shred of dignity when he left again with my book in tow.  I immediately drove myself to the post office, where I waited in line for 45 minutes to learn that he had not yet returned, and that no, I couldn't wait, because they were closing.  But I could come back anytime after 7a.m. the next morning and ring a bell for service.

You'd better believe I did.  This was still before coffee and I reconciled, so I stood there before the sun had come up, in a banana-yellow pair of sweat-shorts, a bright red Wisconsin sweatshirt with two-day-old barbeque sauce on it, hair a mess, no makeup in sight, circles under my eyes, holding a baby in one arm and frantically waving my pink slip in the other. The disgruntled postal worker took it from me and left to search the back room for my package.  When he came back with it, I was pacing, twitching, and muttering incoherent sentences to Brody.  I laid my eyes on that little brown box and my face must have lit up - I literally ripped it from his hands.

I've since decided that this man must have later grappled with whether or not he should be calling the authorities, as it must have seemed very clear to him that I was waiting for some sort of shipment of crack-cocaine. 

I got Brody settled back in his car-seat before tearing into the package - and there it was.  All shiny and green, and my name was at the bottom of it.

My high lasted all of 5 minutes, until it sunk in that now that the book was complete, it was time to start marketing it - and my marketing plan still remains unfinished.

So, thus starts what will become a series of blog posts I like to call "Getting to 10,000."  My sales goal - 10,000 copies of Hearts Wide Open.  My experience in sales - little to none.

So come along for the ride ... it promises to be pretty comical - but hopefully fruitful.  As of 9:30 this morning, total sales were at 39 copies.  Only 9,961 left to go.  I'd like to say this will be a "5-month-serires" or even better a "Two-week series," but I have no idea how long this process will take.  For all I know, it could be a life-long series, and if it is, I can rest assured that all of you will stop reading well before the first year is over.  

Anyone interested in purchasing a copy can go to the "Purchase" section of my website.

Anyone interested in submitting tips or comments on how to reach my goal - please leave them here!  

And finally, anyone interested in sending me shipments of coffee beans and Wal-Mart gift certificates, to be used only for Diet Coke, don't be shy.

Today on my way into Scotters Coffee House I passed a man sitting on the sidewalk, who said to me as I passed,

"Maam?  Can you spare some change?  I'm saving up for a down payment on a cheeseburger." 

I started laughing out loud - and then dropped some money into his cup.  I told him I liked his approach, and I supported his end goal.    

And then I started thinking that perhaps this kind of financial soliciting is something I should consider for myself.

I've always been interested in new ways to make money.  It started with a lemonade stand here and there, participation in my parents garage sale, your typical Girl Scout cookie sales, and a few extra chores around the house.  I asked to polish silver, I asked to build things - in fact I think one of the most commonly asked questions of my childhood was "How can I make some extra money?"  What can I say, I was an inquisitive child.  For my 3rd birthday, we went to the county jail, which spurred a string of paranoid pre-bedtime questions that would go on for several of my childhood years.  My poor parents would turn out the light and almost be out the door when my little voice would pipe up:

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think I'm going to be arrested tonight?"

"No honey, probably not."

"Do you think I'll need to go to jail?"

"No."

"But do you think the police are looking for me?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"I just know." 

"Is the house going to burn down tonight?"

"No."

"Are all the doors locked?"

"Yes."

"Are all the windows locked?"

"Yes." 

"Do you think my bunk-beds will hold up tonight?"

"Yes." 

"Do you think I'm going to wake up tomorrow morning?"

"Yes."

"Are you and Dad going to be awake for awhile?"

"Yes."

"Are you and Dad going to be awake tomorrow when I'm awake?"

"Yes."

"Do you think Dan Jansen knows I exist?"

"Goodnight, Melissa." 

Probably about the time they started having discussions about the therapy I'd inevitably have to be put into, the line of questioning started to change.  There was no longer a string of questions at night, but one very important question in the morning:

"How can I make a little extra money today?"

And it didn't stop at lemonade stands and silver polishing - I asked to sweep the garage, to wash the car, to scrub the hub caps, to scour the backyard for dog poop ... there was nothing that was below me.  When I ran out of things to do around the house, I began to think of what businesses I could start.  Right away I wrote up a business plan for a cookie-making business, and a pet-sitting business - two things you generally don't want a 7-year-old in charge of.

The cookie business never took off, but the pet business lasted awhile - probably because the only family we suckered in couldn't find it in them to fire a child.  

Around this time I also pasted a sign to my bedroom door that read "Melissa's Massage Parlor," a term I would later learn was a polite way of saying "Melissa's Brothel."  

Also something a 7-year-old shouldn't be involved in any aspect of.  

But here I was, blissfully unaware and thus running my massage parlor from my bedroom.  And then I took to the streets.  I asked around to gauge interest - friends at slumber parties, parents of friends at slumber parties - I couldn't believe no one was interested.  Looking back I realize that they were simply trying to keep themselves out of jail.  Had I known that then, I would have skipped the local market and taken my massage business straight out to Neverland Ranch.  But Michael Jackson was not top of mind, and so that business failed as well.

But my interest in new ways to earn money did not. 

Fast forward to 2008, and I spent a weekend trip to New York hailing exclusively mini-van cabs and passing over all the rest, hoping to get picked up by the Cash Cab.  As recently as last night I looked around my room to see if there was anything I had gotten for free that I could turn around and sell on eBay.

So today, the entrepreneurial spirit inside of me was happy to see this man working towards a very manageable and delicious goal.  I almost asked him if I could join him for that cheeseburger, but I had things to do - one of which was find a creative way to sell 1,000 copies of my book a month.

So now I'm sitting here trying to harness all that childhood financial interest, but all I can think about is that perhaps a sidewalk stand isn't such a bad idea. 

That, and how badly I want a cheeseburger. 

A few months ago I was hanging out with some friends, and one of them turned to the rest of us and said,

"Did you know that more people are killed annually by donkeys than die in air crashes?"

The first thing I did upon hearing this was breathe a sigh of relief.  I am an incredibly nervous flyer, for the very reason that for the duration of the flight, a heightened sense of my own mortality flashes before me each time the seatbelt sign is illuminated.  It will be so comforting to know that while I'm sitting there being jostled by turbulence, someone below me is getting killed by a donkey.  

We all agree that no, we did not know that, but we'll be steering clear of donkeys from now on. 

"Donald Duck's middle name is Fauntleroy," someone else threw in.

This made me smile, as it will also help while I'm flying - I'll just say the name out loud and laugh, which will take my mind off of extreme danger of the shifting overhead luggage. 

"The King of Hearts is the only king without a mustache," said yet another.  

One fun fact is just that, fun.  Two, maybe.  Once you hit three, it just gets old.  So I set out to put a stop to it.

"That one I did know," I said.  "It's a funny story, actually.  The Queen of Hearts hates facial hair.  See she was originally a princess in a very clean shaven family - so she made it quite clear to her father when he started looking for suitors that he only find ones without facial hair.  But while he was out trying to find her a husband, she started to fall in love with this other guy ..."

Before I knew it I was weaving a tale that I'm pretty sure got old a lot faster than the random facts would have, had they continued.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I tend to get a little carried away.  It starts with one comment - and if someone laughs, bolstered by their encouragement, I just keep going, until the pithy joke that started out with an Irish guy and an Italian woman meeting in a bar turns into a detailed story about the genesis of cross breeding between leprechauns and mermaids.

Sometimes people laugh, sometimes they don't, but almost always they ask me where I got a mind that can take a simple statement and expand it into such a detailed story.

I wasn't quite sure myself, until late last week.

My parents have a cat named Gato.  I've written about him before - he's a big orange cat with exactly one facial expression and an obsession with pipe cleaners, Party Mix, and his Burberry collar.  We joke that his uni-expression is a reflection of Gato's opinion that he is, in fact, above it all - that he wants to eat from a crystal bowl, dreams of owning a yacht, etc.  That's about where the joking ends.

So, when I sent my family a picture of a store called "Gato's Cat Boutique" I expected just a few short responses.  I saw the store at a trip to a local mall, snapped a quick picture and emailed it to my parents and sister along with the text "It looks like Gato's gone into business down here in Kansas City - did you guys know about this?"

I'd expected a few one-liner responses, maybe a 'haha,' and I was right, for the most part.

My sister responded with "Haha, he's probably saving up to buy his yacht."

My Mom said "What a riot!  I bet they sell burberry collars and gold pipecleaners!"

And then, there was my Dad's response:

"Yes we did.  Gato asked us not to talk about it because he just wants to be treated like a normal cat.  The truth is that Gato had started a number of boutiques areound the country prior to 2004 when we acquired him.  We created a cover that he was a kitten who we picked up at the humane society.  Gato had become quite famous, beginning with the boutiques, which ultimately led to spots on various cat commercials.  He really hit stardom when he became the official face of Nine Lives cat food in 2003.  By 2004 he came to realize his fame and fortune was not bringing him a deep inner peace.  I was introuced to him at a Crow Canyon function and his agent asked if we would be interested in acquiring Gato and allowing him the opportunity to start all over.  We agreed but said that Gato would need to get rid of his flamboyant style.  That's when Gato decided to become more stoic and take on his unipersonality.  By the time he came to live with us in 2005 he had morphed into an entirely new cat, without all the pomp and flash that had made him so famous.  He still has the boutiques and we still get a very nice royalty every month that goes towards extra treats.  Gato would prefer if you would keep this information to yourself and never discuss it with anyone.  When you see him you can wink and he will know that you are in on the secret.  This is the last time I will ever mention this and will deny I ever had this conversation if pressed.

Love, Dad

Well.  That cleared up a lot for me.  It answered a lot of questions about Gato, first of all, and the paparazzi that is always lurking outside the farmhouse.  It answered the question about why Gato quickly leaves the room whenever a cat food commercial comes on.

And, ultimately, it answered the question of why my mind works the way that it does.  It's just another thing I got from my Dad, like his love of Camp Randall and aversion to certain textures, and I wouldn't have it any other way!  What can I say, the man keeps me laughing.

Which I'll need a lot of, with a few months of trans-Pacific flights coming up.