Unbelievable

You aren't even going to believe this.

We flew to Florida last night and the girls were ... well, they were good.

No. They were GREAT.

Okay, let me back up.

The day did NOT start off well. We were only two days past the craziness of Christmas, and we were facing our second day stuck in the house thanks to the Blizzard of 2012. Let's just say the girls worked together very well - tag-teaming to keep the Time-Out seat warm. Around 9:00-ish (am, everyone. am) Paige threw a 47-minute fit because she couldn't reach her piggy bank.

Forty. Seven. Minutes. I wish I could say that was an exaggeration. (You've got to hand her this - she's taking the weeks leading up to Oscar season VERY seriously. At one point, she threw herself across her bed and yelled "You don't even love me! You just hate me!! I'm serious!!!!")

Blair dumped her breakfast all over the floor. The kiwi was a pretty quick clean. The oatmeal, not so much. Ramsey, I never thought I'd say it, but I miss you. I've never had the vacuum and the mop out so much in 4 days!

To say my expectations for our 7:15 pm flight followed by an hour car ride were low would be a drastic understatement. I may or may not have made the following announcement at the beginning of the ride to the airport:

"Let's just all keep our expectations for tonight as low as possible. That way, we'll be pleasantly surprised if things go even remotely well."

Well, color me surprised.

We got through the check-in process and security quickly. The girls even earned Junior TSA badges ... which, come to think of it, might actually be an insult. They were being sweet and smiley, I promise.

Derrick and I took them to an actual sit-down restaurant. With menus and everything. And we didn't draw stares. Not once. (Okay, they did both have iPads in front of them and headphones on, but honestly ... we were going to do whatever it took to make this evening at least tolerable.)

At the gate, the girls sat on the floor and watched a movie on my laptop. I was pleased, but not optimistic. People smiled with that "Oh, look at those cute little girls" look on their faces and I just smiled back and thought "Wait for it, folks. You have NO idea how horrible these girls can make the next few hours of your lives."

We boarded the plane with relative ease. Granted, we were in Business Class (thanks for the upgrade, Nani and Botsie!!), but still. At a certain point it doesn't matter where your seats are located. You still have to tie down put seatbelts on two excited, tired, wriggling kids.

At the rest of the flight was uneventful. Even with Derrick across the aisle. Hand to God.

The girls had suckers during takeoff and gladly handed them to me with the promise of an iPad. They watched some 'Doc McStuffins' and 'Daniel Tiger.' And when Blair started getting restless, I put lullabies on my iPod and she quickly fell asleep on my chest (yes, this flight was brought to you by Apple).

Ladies and gentleman: I got to have wine. Not whine. WINE.

Paige watched 'The Sound of Music' for the rest of the flight, and we landed without incident.

Okay. This is the point in the story where you might start thinking I'm just making shit up.

After we deplaned, we were walking to the bathroom when a woman turned around and said "Oh my gosh. Your girls were SO well-behaved on the flight!"

Oh. My. God.

This wasn't just any woman. It was the woman who had been sitting in the row directly behind us.

Folks - people say a lot of things to me about my kids.

So cute! Thank you. But don't get too close - they'll scratch your eyes out.
So funny! I know, they definitely make me laugh.
So much energy! Really? I hadn't noticed.
So smart! Let's hope they use that for good one day, and not evil.
So loud! Um, that's not a compliment ... but I agree.

But so well-behaved? Never. Never in their entire lives.

I wanted to cry.

Both girls slept the entire car ride from Tampa to Longboat Key, and quickly went to bed once we got to the condo. We were flabbergasted. Botsie, Nani, Derrick and I just sat around staring at each other. We kept saying "They were so good!" As if we had just discovered that the Smurfs were real or something equally as unbelievable (sorry for the spoiler, fellow Smurf Fan Club members - I too was disappointed to find out they were make-believe. Gargamel and Azraell, not so much).

Let's just say I'm pretty sure last night was my double rainbow. My 4-leaf clover. My winning Powerball ticket. My ... well, you get the point. I'm certain this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

And I'll take it. My belief that I was a good mom was restored, albeit for a fleeting moment of self-satisfaction.

Never fear. Ive been brought back down a few notches today. They've been decent, but Paige has already been in Time-Out more than once (she remembered where it was from last time) and Blair didn't nap.

But for that one, brief, shining moment we were THAT family.

And my girls were "so well-behaved."

Merry Christmas!

Well, we survived Christmas 2012, and are now hunkered down hoping to survive what they are calling 'The Blizzard of 2012.' Call me crazy, but I'm actually looking forward to a day or so of being stuck inside. I can pack for our trip, take down decorations and clean before we leave. The kids can play with all their new toys.

Wait, and fight over their new toys. And 'unclean' all the cleaning I've done.

Seriously. Call me crazy.

Anyhoo - back to Christmas.

That sneaky old elf Santa brought me an extra-special gift on Christmas Eve - the flu! Wasn't that sweet of him? I didn't have a fever, but spent most of the evening/night enjoying the other flu-like symptoms (My Mamo had a very polite, very Southern word for it: upchuck.)

Still, we powered through and brought Christmas to the Feldmann house. So, so much work leading up to this one day. And yet, our morning played out like this:

• 6:12 am: Paige begins yelling that she would like to get out of bed to see if 'Snanta' ate his cookies.
• 6:20: Still yelling ... really just one, long continuous yell.
• 6:30: Derrick goes to get Paige out of bed, as she has yelled to let us know her clock has turned yellow. (She was not allowed to get out of bed on her own today, because she had to wait to see everything until Blair was awake).
• 6:31: The suggestions of "Let's go wake up Bear" begin.
• 6:40: The hazing is successful, and we finally wake up Blair.
• 6:45: The girls come downstairs, run to check to see if Santa ate his cookies, then race over to see their gifts.
• 6:55: Gift opening is complete.
• 7:00: The girls are playing with toys they already had, some of them since Paige was a baby.
• 7:01: Paige begins asking when she's going to see her cousins.

Yep, I'd call that a success. I guess?

Since I was still feeling horrible, I decided I'd take a hot bath. I was hoping I would be able to relax enough to start feeling a little better. I slipped into the water and grabbed my book "Raising Your Spirited Child." Perfect bathtime reading, right? Welcome to my life.

Then the bathroom door opened, and Paige walked in. The following conversation occurred:

P: "What are you doing, Mommy? Are you in the bath? Why are you in the bath? Can I take a bath with you? Pleeeeeaaaasssse?"

M: "No, honey. Mommy is just trying to feel a little better. Remember, I don't feel very good and sometimes a warm bath helps."

P: (touching the water) "OH, MOMMY!!! That is WAY too hot! Look! The circles say 'HOT!'" (pointing to our non-skid stickers that also have temperature warnings. Yes, the temp warnings work. No, the anti-skid does not. Ironically, they slide all over the place and I've almost 'shang-haied' it multiple times while showering.)

M: "It's okay, honey. Grown-ups can have their water a little warmer than kids."

P: "Mommy, your book is going to get wet. That is NOT safe. Here." (She takes my book and tosses it. I'm beginning to feel less better, and a little bit bullied.). "You know what? I'm just going to sit here and watch you, okay? Then you will feel better and be safe."

M: "Thanks, honey. Nothing makes a bath more relaxing than having someone sit on a stool and watch you" (luckily she doesn't yet sense all the sarcasm).

(After a few minutes of me closing my eyes and pretending to be alone while Paige stares at me and continues to touch the water to make sure it's cooling down, we hear someone on the stairs. 

Enter Blair - pushing the door open so hard that it bounces off the wall.)

B: "Maaaaaammmmaa!!! Ba?" (pointing to the water). "Ba? Bebe, ba?" (This loosely translates to "Mommy? Bath? Baby bath? She now refers to herself in the third person when she wants something. She's totally "that girl.")

M: "No, no baby. We're getting ready to leave soon." (Come to think of it, I call her 'baby' a lot. Maybe she thinks her actual name is Baby?).

B: "Bebe ba!"

And she jumps in. Headfirst. In her jammies. And her diaper.

And then Paige, who is already dressed in her Christmas outfit, runs into the hall, yells "Daddy, I'm getting into the bath with Mommy and Bear," undresses faster than I've ever seen her undress (seriously, this process usually involves at least two fits) and jumps into the tub with us.

And that's how my relaxing Christmas morning bath turned into a VERY full tub (we live in an old house, and our tub was crowded already with just me). We all played for a bit and got squeaky clean.

And, you know what?

I actually DID feel a whole lot better.

It was a FULL day with lots of gifts, laughs and love, even though I didn't feel great. And the day ended much the way it began.

The girls, Derrick and I were all in our jammies in our big bed. The lights were off, the small Christmas tree in our room was lit, and I was showing the girls a few scenes of 'The Sound of Music.' They were mesmerized. And I was practically purring I was so happy.

A very, VERY Merry Christmas indeed.

Ho, Ho, ... Eh

I'm pretty sure my girls have called Santa's bluff. (Or, 'Snanta', as we call him in our house).

Don't get me wrong. They LOVE the idea of Santa. Paige stops dead in her tracks every time he pops up on TV in a book. And Blair can "ho, ho, ho" with the best of them.

Paige knows he's magical, and that he arrives inside our house through our chimney. She knows he is the one who fills the stockings, and that he LOVES milk and cookies (so she obviously knows he's not an idiot - who doesn't love milk and cookies?!?).

She has written her letter to him, and asked for a pink bike (sorry, Paige - Santa only made purple AND pink bikes this year). Oddly, she said that Mommy and Daddy want new computers. Poor Blair only wants a candy cane, which I'm guessing Paige would probably take away from her and eat anyway.

She also knows that in order for said gifts to arrive, she must be a good girl. She knows there is a 'Naughty' list and a 'Nice' list. And, she has been told MULTIPLE times over the past few weeks that her name is probably going back and forth between the two.

Here's the thing. She doesn't care. Seriously doesn't give one sh... well ... you know.

We have taken her gifts away, and she is well-behaved just long enough to earn them back. Then she starts the 'losing them' process all over again. I've talked to Santa on the phone with her in the room, and she has the nerve to throw a fit within his earshot. She's even pushed her sister down right in front of Rudy, our Elf on a Shelf.

Get this: the little punk even lied right to his face and told him that she had been a "really good girl" this year.

She's got balls - I'll give her that.

Maybe '4' is the age where the threat of Santa starts working on behavior? Perhaps '3' is too young (never mind the fact that she will actually BE 4 in less than a month)?

Let's hope, because I'm pretty sure Christmas is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year. NOT the most let's-see-how-angry-we-can-make-mommy-because-her-face-looks-crazy-when-she-yells time of the year. (As I'm writing this Paige just sat on top of Blair and elbowed her - and Blair retaliated by ripping her glasses off her face. Such a sweet relationship.)

As for Blair ... well, let's just say the "ho, ho, ho" part of Santa is the ONLY part she is interested in this Christmas.

Yes, they are wearing Halloween jewelry - this was at a meeting celebrating the success of the Haunted House ... and just to confuse my kids a little more I had them wearing Halloween stuff while they sat on Snanta's lap. I am SUCH a good mom ...

Here's looking at you, Christmas 2013.

A Mother's Tears

I don't even know where to start.

I wasn't even sure I should write a post about the events that took place at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Because I think that whatever I write will only express a sliver of the grief I am feeling. A tiny amount of the anger. And none of the fear.

Shootings seem to be commonplace anymore. Yet I remember being in the senior wing of the Alpha Chi house at IU when Columbine happened, and I remember watching the coverage with my roommates. It was the first time I had seen anything like that. The first time it ever even entered into my consciousness that something like that could happen at all. All I could think about was the kids and how scared they must be.

But now I'm a mom. Of small kids. And I'm not saying that Columbine or any other shooting is at all LESS tragic than this. But ... I don't know how to describe it. It's just different for me this time.

I have been feeling sick to my stomach because all I can do is imagine various scenarios that must have been happening at Sandy Hook. All I can think about are the moments in that Kindergarten classroom - the sounds of those small children. All I can think about is what those innocent babies - the same age as my sweet, sweet niece Natalie - must have experienced. All I can think about are the siblings of those children who must have been in other classrooms of the school. All I can think about are the hours that must have seemed like days to the parents waiting in line to pick up their children.

And the parents who no longer were able to pick up their children. The fact that those children probably already have wrapped Christmas presents under the tree. That the lives of those families are forever empty, and their hearts are forever broken.

Derrick keeps getting upset with me because I am watching coverage of it on the news (or, rather, have the news paused for hours at a time because I refuse to have it on while the girls are in the room). But, I tried to explain to him it's not that I WANT to watch it. It's that I feel like I have to. I feel like burying my head in the sand and pretending like it didn't happen would be a grave disservice to the people who lost their lives, and to the parents who lost their babies.

And I feel like ignoring it is what got us into this mess in the first place. We cannot keep pretending that mental illness is a taboo topic. Or pretending that the we don't recognize when someone we love is on the precipice of a meltdown. Or looking the other way when someone is sick and in need of help, even if we don't know what to do.

We cannot keep pretending that it is okay for people NOT in the military or law enforcement to own automatic weapons and carry guns into public places. I understand you want to hunt animals with your rifle. Please do that in the woods, which are far away from my home.

When will people understand we are not trying to take away their rights? We are trying to PROTECT OUR FAMILIES. I am trying to protect my children.

It is not fair that I am scared all of the time. Not "typical" parent fears: that my child will get lost, that my child will make poor decisions, that my child will fail, that my child will have her heart broken. We now have to fear that our children's lives are no longer safe. Not in the company of their protectors - their parents and families. Not in any public place. Not even in school, the first place we ever send our children out 'alone' into the world.

This is an unexpected, and upsetting, part of parenthood. A part that generations past did not even fathom would ever exist. Our generation of parents are unprepared for this. We were not told this would be part of the deal.  Those of you who know me know that I am an anxious person by nature. I am literally a medicated person to help control this anxiety. When Paige was born, I was scared to take her out of the house. I was scared of everything from slipping on the ice while holding her to hurting her when I gave her a bath.

Those fears have faded, and instead I am now scared every time I take my children into a crowded place. My stomach knots when we walk into a mall, and it is difficult to enjoy things like "Christmas at the Zoo," because in the back of my mind I'm wondering if something horrible will happen.

I know this post is rambling, and I know it is far from uplifting. I promise a lighthearted, Christmasy post soon - maybe later today if I can get my act together. But this blog also serves as my own personal journal sometimes ... mostly because the people I spend my days with are of the toddler/preschooler persuasion, and they don't "get me" all the time.

I woke them both up from deep sleeps during their naps on Friday. I squeezed them tightly as my tears fell onto their sweet-smelling heads. Neither of them even noticed I was crying (which, actually, is a bit concerning, right?). I just kept telling them how much I loved them. So, so very much. That they are my entire life, and that nothing else in the world will EVER matter to me as much as they do.

Then, after we decided to head into the basement and play on the slide, Paige took my face in her hands. She looked at me with those big eyes and said in her sweet, raspy voice, "Mommy, I love you so much it breaks my heart."

Oh, sweet Paige. If you only knew.

Morning Time

Here is a sneak peek on what happens in our house. Before 9:00 am.

Now, mind you, I didn't actually start documenting until around 8:00. This was about 20 minutes after Derrick left and I was more than halfway through my cup of coffee. Aka, 'Mommy's Medicine.'

I began by attempting to put the duvet cover back on our down comforter (because it's been sitting clean in our room for more than a week). This turned into a game of "let's pretend this is snow and jump around like crazy people." We actually end up playing some version of this at least 4 days a week ... or however many days a week I end up making the bed (whichever is more ... probably 4 ... sorry, Dad. I know this is killing you to read.).

This is ironic because both of my girls HATE being cold, and when Paige was given the chance to do a snow angel last year she threw a fit because her coat got wet and she got snow inside her hat. She quickly ran inside and declared that she was done with snow.

Anyhoo ...

Please ignore the laundry in the background...

Blair is missing from this one because she rolled off the pillow and into the closet.

Actually, DON'T ignore the laundry in the background! How freaking ridiculous is it that I JUST put away an entire laundry basket full of clean clothes, and this is what is waiting for me?!?!

It finally ended when I had enough and told them I needed to actually accomplish something before getting myself dressed (I'm not sure why I didn't count getting them dressed???). Paige declared me "rude," told me she didn't want to play with me anymore, and took Blair into her room to play.

Oh, and she shut the door so they could have "privacy." I'm not sure if you're keeping score, but I absolutely count this as a point in my column.

Then she came back in, gave me a hug and said "Happy holidays, Mama." These mixed messages are difficult to decipher.

Which, come to think of it is probably part of her plan.

Shit. Point Paige.

Then it was time to brush our teeth (or "TEEF!!!" as Blair likes to scream as she runs to the bathroom). Anyone not currently a parent to children this age would be shocked (honestly, SHOCKED) to either learn or remember how long this process takes.

Sidenote: this is the first point of the morning where I wonder how the hell moms who work actually get out the door in the morning. Notice I say the first point. I'm actually not sure how they even get themselves dressed in time to get anywhere before 9:00 am. And my kids get up at 6:00.

Luckily, this morning I had a little help. Which was pretty nice. And more than a little cute.

Finally, everyone is dressed. Hair is done (or brushed, which are synonyms at my house). Beds are made. Laundry is put away.

We head downstairs so I can write this blog and check e-mail get the rest of the morning's activities done. Which include cleaning up cat puke, reprimanding Ramsey for eating the girls' breakfast leftovers off the table (yes - off the MIDDLE of the kitchen table), switching the laundry, emptying the dishwasher, talking about poop, changing poopy diapers, packing snacks, telling my little dementia patient (Paige) for the 200th time what our plan is that morning ... you get the idea.

How does she get this all done, you ask? Is she some sort of magician, or a Super Mom? How does she do it (besides sweatily, that is)?

Nah. I'm actually just standing in front of them reading a book.

Or ... um, that may or may not just be the general direction of where our television is hung. I'm not saying it was on. Okay. It was.

Off We Go ...

Most of the time, getting out of the house requires a few hours of effort, lots of sweat, a few outfit changes, a thrown fit (or two) and more than a few minutes of tears.

And this is just on my part.

Seriously. 

When the hell does the sweating stop? I don't even wear a coat now during the winter, and I HATE being cold. I'm so freaking hot all the time. And not in the "good kind" of housewifey-hot way. In the totally-stressed-out-trying-to-pretend-like-I-got-this-but-I'm-always-afraid-I'm-a-horrible-mom way.

I got bangs cut, for God's sake! Trying to be cute. Now I just have stringy, sweaty hair plastered to my huge forehead. It's a really good look for me. Not.

But, here's what happens when I finally shove everyone into their socks, shoes and coats and then toss them out the door while shoving the dog and cat back inside and trying to make sure I have my purse, keys and coffee have the girls ready to go.

They go and do this. Face the world together like a couple of feral cats. Super, super cute. Protective of  their territory and one another. And ready to scratch your eyes out if you mess with either of them. Or their mommy.

Seriously. Try it. I dare you.

Last Warm Day

This post is actually about last weekend, and some of you may have seen some of these pictures on Facebook already.

Tough.

I couldn't let what was possibly/probably the last warm day of the year pass without documentation. It was mid-November, and we spent all day outside playing in the yard (and cleaning out/de-cluttering the garage).

Paige 'helping' her daddy organize the garage - aka, take all the toys off the shelves after we just organized them.

These poor kids - they think that Playdough is an "outside" toy. Paige wonders why they get to play with it at school, and I just explained that school is a "special place where they get to do all sorts of fun things like play with clay, paint, and make messes. It's not like home at all."

The girls loved the opportunity to play on their swingset. For the past two months or so, Paige has been going down the slide all by herself. It occasionally takes a bit of coaxing, but after one trip down she remembers how fun it is. 

Look at that face. Pure joy. Now, if only she would let me brush that hair!!!

Blair enjoyed 'mowing' the lawn, digging in the sand table and playing in her Cozy Coupe. 

Until she noticed what her big sister was doing. And then this happened:

Yep. It took Paige ALL spring and summer to work up the nerve to go down the slide on her own. And Blair just climbed herself up the ladder (she tried to go up the "harder" ladder first, but this mom has limits to what I will let my nerves endure). She went down once and humored me by letting me catch her at the bottom. And then she would have nothing to do with that last safety measure.

Such a fearless little girl. 

Hand to God, she is going to be the death of me.

See? I'm not making this up - I turned my back for TWO seconds to look at something in the garage with Derrick, and I turned back around and she had pulled out the chair, climbed onto the table, changed the station on Pandora and was drawing on my garage 'blueprint' for organizing everything. Granted, she had some pretty good ideas, but still ... 

Partners-in-crime ... 

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

I'm thankful for my friends and family. I'm thankful for my health. I'm thankful I am able to be a Homemaker and stay home with the girls. I'm thankful it's warm enough today that the kids can go outside and burn off some steam before company gets here play for a while. I'm thankful for Chardonnay.

I'm thankful for so very, very much this year.

I'm even thankful for this guy (who let me brush him for 45 minutes this morning - which is actually something I asked Derrick to do last week. Nevertheless, I will still be thankful for my husband, too, today).

Oh, Ramsey. You horribly-behaved dog. You push us to the point of wanting to find you a new home, and then you do things like let Blair and Paige sit on you while they watch TV. Darn you, dog - fine, you get to stay (for now).

I'm NOT thankful that our girls have been up since 4:45 am this morning. At this point (a little before 9:00 am, as I'm writing this), we've had:

3 timeouts (all Paige)

2 breakfasts

2 snacks

1 bloody lip (Blair - and Paige was actually not involved!)

2 Thanksgiving projects

4 cups of coffee

1 Disney movie (Sophia the First)

1 Thanksgiving special (A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving)

1/3 of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

1 short (and much-needed nap) (Blair - her daddy LOVES her napping-style)

Oh, and 1 newly-penned song about Thanksgiving:

I THINK this is about a turkey? Maybe? 

And buying the book 'I Love You, Stinkyface' was the Worst. Decision. Ever. I am NOT thankful for that book. Not even a little bit.

Happy Thanksgiving. Stinkyfaces.

Hurt Feelings

I have lots of other posts cued up and ready to go (well, the ideas are ready to go - I actually have to write them first). But this just happened literally 5 minutes ago.

(Side note: youth of today - this LITERALLY happened 5 minutes ago. Note the correct usage of that word. If it had happened yesterday, I would not have used literally. You did NOT "literally die" when you read that Facebook post, and you are not going to "literally throw up" if Kiley wears that dress to formal. Unless you do. And that's just ridiculous (and, p.s., send me a picture of that dress. If it makes you 'literally' puke, I must see it).

Anyhoo.

I was putting clean sheets on Paige's bed when she and Blair came in to perform one of their favorite activities. One which happens to make me a nervous wreck.

These little monkeys LOVE to jump on the bed. And all I can do is picture split lips, cracked heads and broken arms. So I sent them upstairs with their daddy for bathtime.

Paige came back in and prepared to climb back onto the bed. I asked her nicely not to (literally. I was actually nice about it. I know it's hard to believe.). She did anyway. I bounced her off and told her to go upstairs for a bath. The following conversation ensued:

P: "Mommy, I'm not going to play with you anymore."
M: "Okay. Because when you play, you jump on the bed. And that's dangerous."
P: "Mommy, then I'm not going to be your friend anymore."
M: "Fine. If you are going to say mean things then I think I don't want a friend like that anyway."
P: Walking out the door "Mommy, I do NOT love you anymore." Slam. (That little .... deep breath ... she actually slammed her bedroom door?!?!).

I pretended to cry while I actually smiled and enjoyed the uninterrupted opportunity to make her bed. She knocked multiple times on the door, and when I decided she was probably sorry enough I opened it, hiding my eyes.

I then went back to her bed, anxious to quickly put the bedspread back on. And I may or may not have still been pretending to cry.

She slowly climbed up. "Here we go," I thought. "She's going to say she's sorry."

P: "Hey, Mommy?"
M: Through faux tears, "Yes?"
P: "Um, please don't cry too hard while you make my bed. I'm afraid you're going to frow up, and that would be disgusting."

Wow. That's all I have to say.

Literally.

School Picture Day

I picked Paige up from school yesterday, and she handed me the packet containing her first official school pictures.

Needless to say, the contents of said packet melted my heart.

Paige, age 3

This? THIS face?!?!?! This is how she gets away with being a stinker. And, honestly? She's not THAT much of a stinker. Just a little (okay, a LOT) too smart for her own good, and also mine.

I just don't know where she gets it...

Me, circa age 3

Sleep Study

Perhaps you remember that Paige isn't the best of sleepers (especially in the sleeping-in department).

Perhaps you remember the Tonsil Incident of Early 2012. Let us speak no more of that - just remember, okay?

Well, over the past few months we've noticed that while she sleeps Paige is still snoring, still breathing through her mouth, still making lots of noise, and still getting up at the ass-crack of dawn rather early. We tried to phase out her nap earlier this year, and it just wasn't worth the horrible evenings that resulted.

So, Paige is still taking a 2+ hour nap every day, and is still heading to bed around 7:30 (asleep by 8:30 at the latest) every night.

And yet, she was still yawning on the way to school. Still losing her you-know-what every afternoon and evening. So, after a loooong appointment with her pediatrician, we scheduled an appointment for a sleep study (we also ordered a book called "Parenting the Strong-Willed Child", but that's a story for another blog post).

I'd be building up the "sleepover" to Paige for a few days. I prepped her teachers in case they heard any "sleeping in the hospital with Mommy" talk (they indeed had - and they also said "you all always have the most interesting things going on!" To which I replied, "If by 'interesting' you mean 'crazy,' then welcome to the Feldmann family!"). We talked lots about the stickers they'd be putting on her. A lot about how she might not be able to sleep so well. I even watched some YouTube videos of a pediatric study and talked with a friend whose son had one to fully prep myself.

And it went pretty well. At first.

We arrived around 7:00 pm and quickly got settled into our room (which was huge, by the way). I got Paige into her jammies, turned on "Tangled," and proceeded to set up my pullout bed (which I'm pretty sure was made out of leftover flooring from when the building was built ... either that, or concrete. Whichever of those two options would be the hardest, most uncomfortable material known to man).

The respiratory therapist who would be monitoring Paige all night came in and introduced herself. And she quickly got to work placing the stickers and monitoring equipment onto Paige's little body. 

One minor snag - I forgot to mention that the "stickers" would have things underneath them (the sensors). And that they would be placed directly onto her skin. And that there would be something taped to her toe (Okay, FINE - three minor snags. Within the first 5 minutes.).

Still doing well after learning about the sensors and toe-taping. We had a few tears and a mild panic, but we pulled through it. She was having a snack and I was reading books to her.

STILL doing well - the gauze around the head was iffy, but then she found out it was hot pink and all was okay in the world again.

Then, the shit hit the fan (no dancing around the word this time). 

I didn't realize there would be a sensor that went up her nose. Which also had a little stem attached to it that pointed down into her mouth. That was then taped to her face. 

She panicked. She sobbed. I found myself getting stressed out about it, then I realized I was being ridiculous. 

What the hell was I apologizing for? This WAS scary, and she had every right to cry, maybe even scream a little, and be afraid. We cuddled, talked about it, and I may or may not have gotten my own nose tube to wear and promised to wear it all night (Don't tell Paige - I didn't. That thing was crazy annoying!).

Paige, with all the equipment in. Don't think I'm a horrible parent for taking this picture. They suggest taking pictures so your kids can see how "silly" and "funny" they look. This was the best I could get. Let's just say she wasn't amused ...

I finally got her settled down around 8:15, and it was immediately lights-out. 

My poor, poor, poor baby. 

She had a box the size of a shoebox filled with wires next to her in bed. She couldn't move, and kept saying my name every 2 minutes. I wanted to just crawl into bed with her, but couldn't. I finally realized that if I got into my bed and smushed up against the side, I could reach her little outstretched hand. 

So that's what we did. I had a magazine and a book to read with my book light, and election results to monitor. And instead I stayed perfectly still in the most uncomfortable position possible to hold my little girl's hand until she fell asleep. Okay. Fine. And for a little longer after that.

I was so, so proud of her. She was SO brave - especially for being only 3 years old, and having all past hospital experience stuck in her memory as horrible. She didn't sleep very well at all, and I slept in 15 minute increments checking on her and responding to her calls for me.

She woke up at 4:00 am and the therapist came in and said they had plenty of information, so I asked if I could get into bed with her. I did, and we snuggled until she fell back to sleep. At 5:15 the lights came on, the stickers and sensors came off, and Paigers and I headed to Dunkin Donuts. We went inside so she could pick out whatever she wanted (a pink-iced doughnut with rainbow sprinkles and some Munchkins, in case you wondered. L.A.R.G.E. coffee for Mommy.).

So, cross one more adventure off the Mommy/Paige Adventure List (Hmmm...I don't remember making that list, and I sure don't remember putting this on it.). 

Once again, Paige was braver than her Mommy, and came through the other side doing what little girls do best.

Eating pink-iced doughnuts.

October Re-cap

Okay, so this month pretty much got away from me. So, below is a quick (or, let's be honest, probably not so quick) recap of our October.


Haunted House - 

As you know, this was my first year as a member of the Guild at The Children's Museum - amongst other things, the organization responsible for putting on the annual Haunted House. It was time-consuming, yes. But also ah-mazing. So fun to get to know a great group of women, and get back into the "grown-up world" every now and then. Okay, and scare some kids. And some grown-ups. That was pretty awesome, too.

As a result of my Halloween season beginning well before October started, my girls were PSYCHED for the holiday this year. Paige loved knowing I was going to meet with my "witch friends," and every time I was at the Haunted House I sent her a picture so she could see my costume (in fact, she always liked to weigh in on what I should choose that day for my costume - her favorite was the black cat). 

Some samples of my Halloween pics sent to Paige (a pumpkin and a friendly witch, respectively) 

Awww yeah - Best Haunter (for both Friendly and Frightening, y'all!)!!!

Towards the end of the month, the girls were still jazzed about Halloween. But they were ... um ... less than enthusiastic about my leaving for multiple hours at a time almost every day. To paint a picture: at one point, while Blair was screaming on the floor (crying real tears) and Paige yelled "I am sick of you going to play with other kids, Mommy! Stay home!"

Yowza. Not so easy to leave the house on those days.

Thank God I don't "work."

Daycare - 

Speaking of work, I really stepped it up in the stay-at-home-mom department this month. Paige's whining has hit an all-time high, and her listening skills have hit an all-time low. Seriously, I feel like I could lose it.

Okay. I kind of lost it.

We may or may not have had the following conversation:

M: "Paige. I don't know what to do with you anymore. I don't know how to make you stop whining and start listening to me."

P: I don't remember the exact thing she said, but it was probably something along the lines of "Stop it, Mommy" or ... well, just the sounds of footsteps running away from me.

M: "You know what. I think maybe I'm not doing a good job as a Mommy. I think maybe I should find someone who can help you learn the things you should learn. I just don't know what to do anymore."

P: Now paying a TAD bit more attention, as you can imagine...

M: (bending down to make sure she could hear me) "I think we are going to have to send you to a place called 'daycare' during the day. You will go there after breakfast and come home after dinner, and they will teach you the things Mommy can't."

P: "Will Blair come too?"

M: (still bending down) "No, she will stay with me, because she's still listening and not really whining at all. Don't worry, Paige. You will learn lots of stuff at daycare. But, you won't like it ..." (Pause for effect...bend down even further) "... because it is. A. Horrible. Place."

Yep. Take notes people. I? Am a WICKEDLY awesome mom. Totally willing to sacrifice the truth in hopes of instilling some fear into the heart of my child. Yep. Wickedly awesome.

(And, no, smartasses. It didn't work. Well, maybe it worked for a day or two. Okay, it worked long enough for me to throw out the 'daycare' card again this afternoon. And today it didn't work. Not even a little.)

PDO Dropout - 

Well, she won. After weeks and weeks of crying and protesting, Blair is officially a PDO (Parent's Day Out) dropout. It's kind of a long story, but let's just say I decided that having her spend FOUR HOURS crying (seriously, people...she cried the ENTIRE time. EVERY time.) was less productive than, say, Gymboree or a Kindermusik class (or, most likely, a trip to Trader Joe's or Target).

Blair - 1  Mommy - 0

Next up on her to-do list: find a way to climb back inside Mommy's womb. Honestly, I really think that's her plan. She literally tries to crawl up my legs, and I'm pretty sure that's her destination. 

To be continued...

Cuteness - 

To end on a positive note, here are some seriously cute pictures of some Fall/Halloween fun. 

See? They are like puppies - they just keep luring me back in with their cuteness. 

Blair learned how to turn on, unlock, and use the iPad. Like, find the specific App she wants to use and play around with it, then switch it on up to another App. Genius.

Both girls have had their fair share of sick days already this month. It's going to be a loooonnnnng Winter. And it's not even Winter yet. Ugh.

The Twisters end a good  successful  winning  FUN season. They even got personalized trophies! And pretzels!! And hot tiny water bottles!!! (Excitement level listed in order here)

Blair practices trick-or-treating. And raises suspicion that she might not be a genius after all, and perhaps we should be hoping for an athletic scholarship someday ... 

Pumpkin 'carving' (aka, putting Mr. Potatohead parts into our pumpkins). Blair is less than impressed.

Meanwhile, Paige is all over it.

Fun at the pumpkin patch with the cousins (or just "cousins", as Paige calls them).

A cousin-filled-post-pumpkin patch bath!

Having an okay time, I guess, with Gramma and Grampa while Mommy and Daddy haunt (seriously? I'm pretty sure they didn't even notice we were gone!).

An impromptu, rainy day girls date to see "Hotel Transylvania" (very funny, and Paige loved it).

Blair was less than impressed, but having her snooze on my chest for almost an hour was my favorite part of the movie ...

Paige being excited for her preschool Halloween party!

Blair finally realizing how fun the bubbles are at Gymboree!

Mommy with her two favorite witches!

Trick-or-treating! They were going to be two witches, but since it was almost freezing, we stuffed Blair into the bumblebee costume at the last minute (poor second child - we didn't even wash it, and it had lint from the Abby Caddaby costume all over it. We love you, Bear. Just remember that!)

Blair non-verbally expressing her irritation with her parents' decision to hold-off on candy while walking ... NOT happy.

Paige showing her little sister the ropes. Blair caught on quickly (she would say "ta ta ta" - the words may have been a little off, but she had the inflection down pat).

This happened twice, people. I turned away for a second or two only to look back and discover that Blair had an entire package of Smarties in her mouth. Dear Smarties - please 'Blair-proof'  your wrappers.